The First Visit

READ PART II HERE:

It was 2020–nearly a year after my trip to China and my first introduction to Andrea. We stayed in contact with each other long after the program ended and had gone our separate ways. We spoke every day and made plans to visit each other. In January, I finally bought my ticket. In February, I left for London again, this time alone. I would hop on a train from there and meet Andrea in Oxford, where she had just started her Master's program. I was to stay with her in the dorms for three weeks and then travel to her home in Norway together and spend a month there.

My friend Dominika had been in Italy for quite some time. We had planned on me going there to see her for a few days, but the news of COVID-19 cases in Rome was beginning to circulate, and Dom felt it would be safer for her to leave and come to me. This was before we knew this would be a global pandemic and not just a few blips that would be quickly nipped, so at the time, evacuating her to the U.K. seemed like a reasonable plan. It didn't take long to learn that the situation was dire, and we needed to change our plans.

But for a few days. It was pretty blissful.

We spent a great deal of time indoors. In the first few days, we bought tickets to attend a drag show, but other than that, we were very cautious. Something I neglected to mention in The Meeting was Andrea gave me a stick 'n' poke on my knee of a tortoise–a nod to one of my favorite stories I can write about later. Perhaps you have heard it, though, "turtles all the way down." Sound familiar? It's an origin story and depiction of infinite regress.

Anywho, Andrea had demonstrated a skill that I was willing to let her hone on my body. What are we but beautiful, blank canvases? She wanted to practice, and I wanted a portrait of Socrates on my shoulder so he would always have my back. It was the perfect trade.

It took about seven hours over several days. Throughout the process, people kept asking, "Why Socrates?" My cheeky answer was, "His charges were impiety and corrupting the youth." Andrea heard this joke one too many times and decided to ask me what the honest answer was.

"That is part of the real answer," I started, "but you're right; the whole story is more than that." I explained Socrates' reputation as "the gadfly" and the importance of the Socratic Method in my life, especially as a queer, trans person. Knowing how to question fallacious thinkers and their believers to realize their fallacies is incredibly useful. I told her how he faced his trial with the same irreverence and cheek he lived daily, even though his life was on the line. Finally, and most importantly, I described how he died. How he chose death over banishment, spending his final moments with his friends and declining their offer to help him escape. He drank the hemlock without quarrel or tears.

Nobody is perfect, least of all Socrates, but I will admit to thinking he was pretty badass. There's some good stuff there to use, so use it, I shall.

I only stayed in Oxford for two weeks, during which time the travel warning was issued and became increasingly urgent daily. The option for travelers was to return to their country of origin or prepare to shelter in place for an indeterminate amount of time.

I often wonder what would have happened had I been able to stay. We had considered it, even researching if I could enter Norway and stay with her and her family for the second half of the trip. Her thoughts were that we could leave for her home earlier than we planned and shelter in place there, but Norway had already closed its borders to all non-Norwegians. I couldn't afford to stay in the U.K. on my own, and there was no way the university would let me stay in the dorm. Andrea's RA was already bending the rules, letting me stay there more than three days in a row.

Thank goodness I bought a flex ticket. I paid the difference for a new flight home. I would leave at the end of the week.

We only had a few days left together, so we decided to make the most of them! We kept our date with the drag show, celebrating the beautiful queens and kings who came out to perform for us. We drank cheap beer, danced, sang, cheered, and ate shawarma at the restaurant next door.

It was an arguably perfect evening.

Dominika would leave for her family's home in Poland the following day. My flight home was a day or two after hers. Andrea and I focused on finishing my tattoo quickly and on when we could try a more extended visit again.

PART IV