I Just Need A Friend Right Now

I took a final look outside Heathrow Airport before walking through the entrance. I didn’t want to leave; the week had gone by so fast. Seeing the airport again meant I was heading back to America and the life I didn’t want. I had just spent six days exploring London and surrounding cities with my best friend, Serena.

We went around and did all the tourist trap things. We rode on a Double Decker bus, saw Big Ben. It was technically called Queen Elizabeth Tower now, but I would always know it as Big Ben. We also rode on the London Eye just for the experience. Her family took me on a day trip to Bournemouth as well on a particularly sunny day. It was a beach resort. Crowded, but still enjoyable. Another day was spent in Paris. I had booked my ticket for that when I booked the flight as well. We had no plan for Paris except to see the Eiffel Tower. The rest of the days, we spent just hanging out around her neighborhood. She showed me her favorite restaurant, where she went to school, and different places that meant something to her or her family growing up.

There was one night where we stayed out until well after midnight, seeing the night life in another country. Granted, it was just another night for Serena, but I loved it. We were basically pub crawling. They didn’t call them bars over here.

My memories were paused as the sites and sounds inside the airport hit me at once. I could hear an announcer saying something, but for the life of me I couldn’t understand it from the echo as the sound bounced around the walls. The floor was tiled and grey. The ground floor- where I was- had an open concept feel to it, dotted here and there with sections of chairs and stand alone carts where people were selling varied items. The airport was like a small city in itself. There were places to eat, shop, have a drink.

I was directed through a portion of the airport by a Welcome Desk worker. I’d flown international before but never alone. I usually just followed the other person wherever I had to go. I still had a couple hours to get to my assigned terminal and gate so I wasn’t worried. I let my eyes wander as I waited in line for the baggage check and to get my ticket. Off to the side was a fairly long line where I would have to go through the metal detectors and other security.

I arrived at the same airport last Friday, but I’d been so excited to meet Serena outside that I made a beeline for the main entrance when I landed and didn’t look at much of anything besides the signs pointing me to the pickup lanes.

My flight was scheduled to take off at eight this morning. After flying into D.C. and then another couple hours of a car ride down into Virginia, I would be getting home around four in the afternoon, depending on traffic. I planned to sleep as soon as I got home.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I looked away from the vast area of shops and restaurants as I pulled my phone out. It was Serena, wishing me a safe flight. She sent a photo along with the message. I smiled.

It was one of the first things we did in London. Posing at the infamous Abbey Road cross-

No, Zebra crossing.

They weren’t called crosswalks in the UK. Zebra crossing was a lot more fun to say anyway. It had only been the two of us so we just stood together and had someone take our photo. It was definitely a tourist trap and we had to stand in a line on the sidewalk for close to forty-five minutes just for the three seconds to take a picture. I saved the photo and quickly made it my background.

We ended up visiting the Abbey Road Studios next. There weren’t any available spots for a tour inside, but I was happy just staring at the outside of the building. Music was a big part of my life and the behind-the-scenes work always interested me.

“Passport please,” a lady said, signaling for me to move to her line. I tucked my phone back in my pocket and pulled my passport out of my bag. I still had my ticket from the trip over tucked away safely between the pages.

“Did you enjoy your stay here in the United Kingdom? The lady glanced her eyes to me quickly before returning back to the screen and typing fast. I knew it was just her being nice, but I answered her anyway.

“I did. Wish I could stay longer.” I really did. I loved it in this country. Everything about it was exciting. I was sure it was mostly because I’d been waiting for over a year to get here.

And now it is over. I was already thinking of reasons and ways to come back.

“You’re all set,” the lady said with a smile. I grinned, realizing that her accent was almost identical to Serena’s. “Have a great flight.”

That was something else I realized as we traveled around; the accents changed quickly. We traveled through most of the country, stopping periodically to use the bathroom, grab a snack, or just take pictures. Serena gave me the inside scoop of her neighborhood and the different places she’s visited herself. She was a massive fan of The Beatles so the Abbey Road was something we agreed was our favorite.

I looked at my ticket. I decided to treat myself and get first class on the way home. It wasn’t every day that I would get to fly internationally. Sadly, it wasn’t even every year.

I’d looked up the facts about Heathrow Airport when I booked the trip and tried to memorize the online map as much as I could. That didn’t mean I didn’t get turned around trying to find the terminal and gate I needed. I still had an hour after getting through security and finding a seat at the right gate.

There were a couple of restaurants within the terminal. It was just past seven and I wasn’t sure when they would serve breakfast on the plane. I decided to sit in a place called Cafè Nero. It was a nice little restaurant for an airport. I picked up the menu on the table and started looking through. A man came and got my drink order, a small coffee with cream and sugar. I had decided on my breakfast choice by the time he came back.

“Scrambled egg with toast and a side of bacon please.”

The man took the menu from the table and disappeared to the back again. From the spot I chose, I could see the gate where I would be boarding just in case I couldn’t hear the announcer. I could also see all the other people that had an early flight as well. Despite it being seven in the morning, the airport was quite busy. I sat and watched the people as they passed by.

A guy covered in tattoos strutted by with nothing but a backpack. He was wearing a beanie and gave off skater vibes. Next was a family of five. The parents were trying to keep the kids in line as the dad also looked at a piece of paper and then up at the board telling departures and arrivals.

The most interesting person though, in my opinion, was the woman in a pantsuit. She actually stopped in the restaurant and sat two tables over. Definitely British by the sound of her accent. She was on the phone- with a boyfriend from what I gathered- raising her voice.

I tried to hide my smile and adverted my eyes as I overheard her end of the conversation. The one thing I loved the most about the UK was the way everyone spoke. It was much more free worded than in America. They weren’t scared of offending you; half the time they didn’t mean it in any particular way.

There were two totally different people you would meet. The first were the ones that called you things like ‘love’, ‘darling’, and so on. The second- my personal favorite if I was completely honest- were the ones that used ‘bitch’, ‘tart’, and the likes as everyday adjectives. Serena and her family were part of the second group and it just made conversations this past week so much more interesting and hilarious in my eyes.

Pantsuit hung up the phone with an exasperated grunt when the same waiter that helped me asked what she would like to drink. After taking her order, he assured me that my food would be out in just a few minutes. I wasn’t worried. I still had about forty minutes before the plane was scheduled to board. I took out my notebook and decided to write a little more about the trip to the airport and the last of my memories in this country.

Two pages of thoughts and a full stomach later, I heard the call for my flight to start boarding. I gathered my bags and stood in line for the Priority One boarding. I was standing between a mom and her infant son in front of me and an older gentleman with a cane behind me. He had to be at least eighty-years-old.

“Would you like to go ahead of me?” I asked, stepping slightly out of line so we could switch places.

“You are too kind, dear. Thank you.” His voice was shaky and it took him several seconds to take the two steps forward. I brushed off his comment and took my place back in line behind him.

I was hoping that an airline associate or someone would help him once he got through the gate. The line went by smoothly, but no one helped the older man. His hand was shaking as he handed his passport and ticket to the gate attendant. I could see a look of pity on her face before she masked it behind a smile. That didn’t sit right with me.

I quickly got myself through the entry and tapped the man on the shoulder. I didn’t ask him or say anything; I just took his bag off his shoulder gently and started walking beside him like we weren’t total strangers. I didn’t even know his name. People were passing by us, hustling to their seats without a second glance in our direction.

“You don’t have to walk with me,” the old man said, watching the others pass by as well. For every step they took, it took the old man at least two to cover the same ground. His voice was just as shaky as his hands. I wondered how old he really was. He still had the distinct British accent. From my limited experience, I would say somewhere more Southern than Northern. He spoke slow, like he was thinking of every word before he said it.

“I don’t mind,” I said, brushing off his protests. “It’s not like they’re going to leave without us.”

“That is true, love,” he said with a wink. “I don’t mean to pry, but where are you from? I imagine you are heading home and not away.”

“Unfortunately,” I said with an exaggerated sigh. “I came over here for a week to visit a friend and explore the country. It’s amazing here.”

“High praises from an American,” he nodded. I stifled a laugh at the joke.

We were still only about halfway through the jetway. We’d been walking for about five minutes and the people passing us seemed to be dwindling down. I didn’t say anything though; I was happy to help. Besides, it was possibly one of the last conversations I would have face-to-face with someone with a British accent. I was enjoying it.

I could hear another voice growing behind us. It was a deep voice. I didn’t look away from the old man though. He was telling me about his reason for flying. “I’m heading over to see some great-grandbabies. My granddaughter married an American lad. He’s great, but I miss seeing my little girl.”

“I’m sure she misses you too,” I said, shuffling his bag from my left to right hand.

The person that I heard just a moment ago passed us. All I could see of them was the black hoodie and jeans they were wearing. I heard him thank the man that escorted him to the door before disappearing. I wondered why he got an escort but this older gentleman didn’t.

“Thank you for helping,” he said, patting my hand where I had looped it through his arm to make sure he was steady walking down the slight slope. That brought my attention away from the guy. We were only a few steps from the door now.

An airline stewardess stepped out and I handed his bag to her, along with his ticket.

“Have fun visiting your family,” I said, smiling a goodbye to him. He insisted that I go first onto the plane.

I flew economy on the way over so I was not expecting the first class seating to be as fancy as it was. The lighting was dimmer, the color scheme black and tan. The seats were leather and in pairs, but separated by storage and an opaque, retractable window of sorts. Each seat also had its own flat screen TV. I knew I would stick out like a sore thumb in my messy bun, black shorts, and oversized blue hoodie.

“Your seat is right this way,” a member of the cabin crew said. I followed her to the other side and set my bags down. “Can I get you something to drink? Mimosa, champagne, or fizzy drink?”

I smiled, both at my now vast knowledge of what the British call certain things coming in handy and the fact that she just offered me champagne at seven-forty-five in the morning. “I’ll take a Coke.”

“I’ll be right back,” the woman said and promptly vanished through a curtain door.

I settled into my seat and looked at my phone. I sent Serena one last message to let her know I was safe in my seat and then put my phone on airplane mode.

The stewardess came back with my drink as the pilot came on, announcing take-off. I was already scrolling through the movie selections when the safety video popped up. I always enjoyed the videos; I’ve seen ones from China, Japan, and Philippines. This would add to the list.

I heard the engine roar to life and a slight jolt as the plane moved away from the gate. I continued looking for something to pass the time. I also had a book to read as well.

“Hey,” I heard a voice to my left. I didn’t take my eyes off the screen, unsure if the voice was directed toward me or not. “You were the one walking with that older gentleman, right?”

It was the same voice from the jetway. I looked over, wanting to put a face to the deep voice that was escorted on board. Deep, slow speaking. He had somehow retracted the window that separated our chairs and was now leaning over. No more than a foot and a half away from me.

“Holy crap.”

My first reaction escaped my lips before I could stop it. I knew my eyes were about to pop out of my head. He let out a short laugh at my reaction.

His hair was pulled back by a pair of sunglasses. No more hood. Green eyes. My eyes continued to travel down his face, my mind trying to convince me it wasn’t him. The mid growth beard and mustache. His smile revealed the world-known smile.

Harry Styles.