Eight Nights at Atherford

Preface:

It wasn't the pleasantest of the journeys but it should have been. Considering I had spent every bit of the money I had saved since I was 10 on this trip, it should have been the pleasantest of my journeys. Considering I had deferred my admission in a top notch college that came with a full scholarship, to go on this soul searching trip, it should have been the pleasantest of journeys. But it wasn't. I leaned over, my forehead touching the glass of my widow seat; the persistent rain was beating against it. The sky outside had taken off its royal yellow dress for a flirty, blue evening gown. The dark greyness slowly invaded the cobalt blue.

I heard someone addressing my name in the most formal manner I have ever heard 'Ms. Vincent...' a tiny gap of silence and then again, 'Ms. Vincent...' I ignored the call and plunged deeper into my mind's musings. A few seconds later, I felt someone's hand on my shoulder, a gentle tap pulling me out of my reverie. Annoyed at the interruption of my internal monologue, I turned to look at the bright face of a wait staff. She held a glass of cold coffee and an apple pie I had ordered (and obviously forgotten) in a tray. She had a pretty face, fabulous hair and pair of pretty blue eyes. The only thing wrong with her was that manufactured smile that she was so expertly trained at flashing at all the passengers. Not that I blame her, it was her job. But as she left my order on the table and walked away from me, once more flashing that fake smile of hospitality, i couldn't help wondering how her real smile looked like. Did she have one? She must have had one but the question is does it still exist? I shrugged, pushing away the sad thought (of her lost smile) to the corners of my mind.

Relishing the taste of the great coffee that I was just served, I turned my attention once more toward the inner workings of my mind. It was my first trip outside of my country. Having never travelled this far alone, I was scared. I thought of that sinking feeling that overcame me as I had boarded my flight at the New Delhi airport. It had struck me like a lightning then that I was leaving everything behind, my home, my family, my past, in short everything that had defined me for the past 20 years. My heart was drenched with fear then, but I knew I had to do it. I told myself again and again that I needed to break away from everything if I wanted to rediscover myself. Was I not happy with who I am? Ofcourse, I am. That's not it. The past three years as a literature student was the best three years of my life. I felt like I was home when I realized my love and passion for the subject I was learning. But I refuse to settle, I realized that I cannot stagnate. I needed to move forward and give a shape and form to my passion. My mom wanted me to intern at her law firm and 'give it a shot'. She thought I had a great prospect as a lawyer. She had always envisioned me as the next torch bearer to carry forward her family legacy and her hopes came crashing down. Have you ever watched a neatly stacked house of cards crumbling down? I watched her hopes crumble like that when I put my foot down this summer and refused to consider the option of becoming a lawyer. My dad encouraged my dream of pursuing literature and supported me every step of the way when I sent a dozen applications to colleges in the U.S. His happiness knew no bounds when I got accepted in 8 out 12 colleges I had applied for. He couldn't understand why I would defer my admission and spend all of my savings on a writer's retreat program that offered no certification or nothing of academic value whatsoever. He tried to reason with me, I wouldn't budge. He recommended a list of writer's retreat programs, the popular ones with popular writers which were of course amazingly expensive. And when I was as stubborn as a mule, he gave up on me completely.

I am still fascinated by the idea of getting a graduate degree from a reputed institution. I still buy into the dream of holding a PhD degree someday and making my family proud. But more than anything, I want to be a writer. I have always known that I wanted to be a storyteller more than anything, sometimes this knowledge was at the conscious realm of mind, sometimes it lurked in the unconscious, manifesting itself in a million ways I engaged with the world. This summer, when I finished my undergraduate program, the desire was stronger than ever. I spent dozens of nights penning down my thoughts, most of the time looking outside my window with a longing for a sign or a subtle hint that would indicate the arrival of my muse. But there was no Urania or Lancelot's reflection on my mirror that inspired my creative fluids to spring like a fountain. That's when I decided I needed look for inspiration from within. Philip Sydney couldn't have been more correct when he wrote:

"Fool," said my Muse to me, "look in thy heart and write."

The train came to a halt, once more I was saved from drowning deeper into the mysterious, deep ocean of my thoughts. My carryon luggage was a brown, mid size, trolley bag that contained clothes and a backpack that had books, notebooks, writing instruments, medicines and other sundries. I stepped outside the train. The sight at Avalon train station was welcoming. It was 4 in the evening and I could tell from the dry platform that it had not been raining here. I looked up at the sky. The sky was getting darker and the smell of the fresh earth was inviting. Avalon was a small, friendly town with people exchanging kind greetings. However, my destination was still 2 hours away. I hired a taxi that was to drive me through the Avalon valley and take me to Atherford, a small hill settlement on the upper reaches of the Avalon valley. I stowed my bags into the luggage space, took my seat and put on my seat belt. A gentle drizzle began outside the car but I felt its effect in my mind as it washed away all my fears. And then with no speck of fear or doubt in my heart and my mind filled with expectations and dreams to uncover the mysteries of life (or should I say my mind?), I told myself "I, Aria Vincent, am officially ready to kick start this new journey".

Night 1

When the taxi crossed a bump in the road, I woke up with a start. I looked out the window and saw a refreshing sight of winding roads we had left behind. It was getting darker by the minute. A distinct smell from the surrounding woods filled my nostrils. I drank in the smell, closing my eyes to fill my entire being with the aura. The taxi pulled over in front of a large iron gate. The right side wall was displayed the inscription: Gilbert Residence. I thanked the driver as he helped me unload my luggage and waved him goodbye after I paid him. After taking a deep breath, I pushed open the gates with all my strength and entered the place where I was going to spend the next 8 days.

I slowly walked up a somewhat steep cobblestone pathway. I was able to hear a distant chatter and laughter. After walking half a mile, I beheld a beautiful, grey, gothic revival styled home. Made of limestone, it had steeply pitched roof, double hung windows and everything I loved about neo gothic architecture. The host, Michael Connor stepped out to welcome me. It looked like everyone else had arrived before me. Holding a glass of evening drinks, they all looked like they had already gotten accustomed to the new atmosphere.

'My journey was just fine. Thanks Mr. Connor', I awkwardly put down my luggage and looked around the beautiful home. My host allowed me to have a moment of silence admiring the interiors. I was standing in a large living room with simple yet functional Swedish furniture spread all around the room. There were sofas, chairs and tables and a teakwood lounger that was definitely not Swedish. My favourite one was a beige Swedish sofa by the fireplace. The stone walls on the either sides of the fireplace were converted into a book rack. There were at least a hundred books in there.

'Would you care for some Aperol, Aria?'

'Sure... Mr. Connor.' I took a glass of Aperol that the housekeeper offered.

'Oh call me Michael.' He smiled; I could see his grey eyes twinkling behind his glasses. Michael was a middle aged man with an average built. His thick, dark brown hair had streaks of grey.

I took a sip of the Aperol which was some kind of orange flavoured, mildly alcoholic drink and followed Michael as he walked towards a small group of people.

'This is Aria Vincent from India. She is a literature student and she is your fellow participant in this Writer's Retreat program.' He addressed to the group and I heard a lot of 'Hellos and His'.

I shook hands with everyone as they said their names which I was quickly trying to register in my mind. There was Ayana, a beautiful woman in her 20s. Her dark skin glistened like diamond and when she smiled; her pearl white teeth illuminated the whole room. She was from a native settlement village in the U.S. Then, there was Igor; he was a young boy in his teens. It looked like he bore a perpetual smile on his face. His thin, delicate frame and freckled face seemed to indicate his struggle with adolescence. I wondered what he was doing here by himself. Finally, there was a couple; James and Lydia. James was from Malta and Lydia was German. They had been in a relationship for 4 years. James owned a small IT company in Malta which he was able to manage from anywhere in the world. Lydia was a published poet who wanted to take time off to write her new book. James had signed up for the unofficial cooking class that the housekeeper offered to be with Lydia.

I was told that my room was at the first storey.

'Let me help you with your luggage, Ms. Vincent.' Ms. Skarsgard, the housekeeper asked in her beautiful Russian accent.

'It's alright Ms. Skarsgard, I am fine. And please call me Aria.' She smiled and I was captured in the innocence of her smile as I stepped into the stairs and bumped into someone.

'What the hell are you doing here?' I demanded, my insides tearing apart in anger.

'Fancy meeting you here, Aria. I thought you were supposed to have crossed the Atlantic by now.' He spoke with a mischievous smile that was so typical of him.

'I was. I deferred my admission. Back to my question. What the hell are you doing here?'

'Respect Aria. Just because I am not your professor anymore doesn't mean you couldn't be a little more polite. What do you think I am doing here? I am an English professor; this is a Writer's Retreat where people come to give words to their thought, take a wild guess.'

'This is not happening. Tell me... this... is... not... happening. How could you just barge into my private space like that? The whole point of this was to get away from everything.'

'I am sorry; did you say your private space? Last I checked, you did not own this Retreat.' He added fuel to the fire.

'Urgggh...'

'Aria, Ezra, is there a problem?' Michael asked from the other side of the room.

'Oh no! None at all Michael. Aria and I have known each other for a while. Just didn't expect to run into each other here.'

He put on a fake smile which I was forced to imitate.

'Oh! That must be a pleasant surprise for the two of you. You wouldn't mind showing Aria your room, would you? I had to accommodate you two in the same room. James and Lydia wanted the same room and the other two rooms are single occupancy ones which you both didn't want.' He explained, holding his glass stylishly.

'Sure. No problem, Michael.' Mr. Wilson led me to our room.

'This just keeps getting better!' I complained under my breath as I followed him.

As he opened the door, I saw a beautiful view of the other side of the valley through the windows. There was window seat with cushions and linens. Creepers from outside decorated the borders of the windows. I turned around to look at the sleeping arrangement. There were two queen size beds on the either sides of the door with a lot of space in between them. In the adjoining walls of both the beds, wooden wardrobes were fitted. The room had a fireplace on one corner, two writing tables with lamps and two arm chairs. The walls were painted in light brown and the tapestries and curtains were in deep, chocolate brown. A huge, antique, mantle clock adorned the wall above the fireplace.

'Uhhhh...'

My professor lifted my bags with ease and placed them next to where I was sitting on the bed. He sat kneeled on the floor and looked at me. It was a strange moment, one that I had never imagined to share with my professor.

'So, do you want to talk to me Aria? What are you angry about?'

' I dunno... okay? I am not mad at you. I think I am just mad at myself.'

'Well... that's very evident. The question is why?'

'It just seems stupid now. To think that travelling miles away would present me with a new perspective on life and make me wise. And I am mad at the fact that you are not at all mad at me. As much as you are intruding my personal space, I am doing the same. How come you are not mad at me?'

'Hmmm...' He smiled and then sat next to me.

'First of all, it's not stupid. You might not stumble upon a magical solution here but a refreshing change is always good. And I am not mad at you. Infact, I am happy that I don't have to be wholly disconnected with my past. I have someone who knows me a little. I am happy you are here and wish you felt the same.'

'But, I don't.' I looked up at the ceiling to avoid eye contact.

'Well, that's unfortunate. I will leave you to yourself, for now.' He got up and left the room. smile.

After unpacking, I decided to calm my mind with a beauty bath. The ensuite bathroom was lavishly furnished with a huge tub, bathing salts, bathing oils, candles, a wide selection of soaps and shampoo. There were two small closets for storing our personal items. I drew the shower curtain, filled the bath tub with water, poured in some lavender oil and relaxed. The candle light cast its shadows on the walls and ceilings. All that was missing was a glass of wine and a book. I wouldn't have minded spending an eternity in there.

My petite frame snugly fit into the grey winter gown that I had bought at the airport. I wrapped a red shawl around myself as it was getting colder. Stocking my handbag with a pair of mittens and a muffler cap (as I had the intention of heading to the local pub for a drink after dinner), I headed downstairs to engage with my fellow writers.

It was around 730 when I stepped down and met everyone at the dining room that was attached to the kitchen. We crowded around the dining table to take a look at the delicious dishes that Ayana had made for dinner. The meal system at this Writer's Retreat was quite different but was quite appealing to me. Breakfast was self catering. The ingredients were provided by the host and we were to prepare our own breakfast to suit our morning schedule. Lunch was prepared by Ms. Skarsgard which we were to have at our convenient times. Dinner was a communal meal and each evening one of us was to prepare dinner. Ms. Skarsgard offered her assistance and there were cookbooks to help those who were not sure about their recipes.

Ayana had prepared a native dish of some variety of wild rice and gravy to go with that. She had specially packed some ingredients for this purpose. A native winter drink made of berries was also served. I could feel the warmth spreading inside my body as I gulped down some of it. We took our seats and Ms. Skarsgard began to serve dinner.

'Oh no Ms. Skarsgard, that won't do. We can serve ourselves and you must sit down and have dinner with us,' I ordered, others pleaded and Ms. Skarsgard conceded.

Dinner was a quite affair as everyone was engrossed in the meal.

'So, first night is the official break-the-ice night and no writing duties unless you guys want to get to work right away.' Michael addressed to us as we settled comfortably in the living room. I was seated by the fire with Ayana.

'Oh, we would love to do some break-the-ice kinda activities,' Mr. Wilson said teasingly as his eyes drifted over everyone and laughter filled the room.

'Tell me something Aria; it must have been really difficult to concentrate on your classes with this hawte teaching you, how did you manage?' Ayana whispered.

'Ha ha... somehow I never had a crush on him unlike my classmates and they would agree with you. So, you like him?' I teased.

'Look at those hazel eyes, do you hear him talk? It's like champagne slipping through my throat like silk.'

'Wow...Ayana...should I put in a word for you? After all he is my roommate you know?'

'Nah...I will deal with it.' And she sounded pretty confident.

A fire was made outside the house and we all sat around it and started to talk about how and why we decided to become writers. The conversation gradually started to touch upon other subjects like our lives, likes, dislikes and everything else that didn't involve writing. I spoke very little and listened a lot. It was astounding how Mr. Wilson mingled with the crowd with such ease. I couldn't help feeling jealous. Then it hit me strongly how my expectations were already beginning to crumble. I wanted to write, I wanted to write in a place where I had to spend very little time with people around me and here was a man who had no trouble talking to all these strangers like he had known them all his life. It felt like I lacked something in me. I excused myself from the crowd went back inside the house.

Ms. Skarsgard was cleaning up the place which I assumed to be her routine before everyone went to bed. I looked around for my bag and found it lying on the sofa by the fireside.

'Ms. Skarsgard? Could you please direct me to the pub? I want to get a drink.'

'Oh, please wait here for sometime Aria. I will have the driver drop you there. He has to get me mushrooms for tomorrow's lunch from Clara.'

'Who is Clara?'

'She runs the pub and she is our grocery supplier too.'

'Oh...'

'And when you get there dear ask for Andy. He is the barman and he makes some wonderful drinks.'

'Thanks Ms. Skarsgard.'

The pub was a low roof, stone walled structure filled with dim, yellow light. Soothing music and the smell of lemon grass was inviting. It was a relief to be in a place that was not a sad excuse for a pub where people danced in a dark, smoky and an overcrowded dance floor with music blasting my ears. The dance floor was well separated from the seating area. Friendly conversations and heartfelt laughter filled the place. I approached the barmaid and took a seat across her. She seemed busy talking to one of her familiar customers as she refilled his beer mug.

'I am looking for Andy...' I said slowly and reluctantly as she smiled at me.

'That would be me' I heard a spontaneous answer from a cheerful voice and looked to my left.

'Wow... You are the barman? Andy?' I blurted.

'Erm... Yes... You don't seem very happy with that. Why?' He spoke as he worked with his cocktail shaker.

'Well... I am very happy believe me. It's just that when Ms. Skarsgard said look for Andy, the Barman, I expected someone like the Barman from Harry Potter and not a drop dead gorgeous looking guy.' I blushed and he laughed.

'I think it might have made a difference if Ms. Skarsgard had said Bartender instead of Barman.' I went on to embarrass myself further only it didn't feel like it as he seemed to enjoy my rant and wasn't laughing AT me.

'Here... This drink is on the house. I have never heard such a straightforward compliment from a woman before. They either play hard to get or try and come up with indirect pick up lines to get me in their beds which is totally fine with me.'

'Well... then it should be no surprise that I paid a direct compliment. I am merely admiring beauty without an ulterior motive.' The rum cocktail sent a shockwave through my body.

'Hmmmm... Maybe... I was brought up to believe that there is always an ulterior motive. So, you must be one of the writers.'

'Yes... I am Aria...' I extended my hand.

He shot a surprised look at me and shook it before disappearing to serve his customers.

'Andy...' I called him slightly raising my voice and he turned his attention towards me.

'Aria?'

'What kind of Barman are you? Ignoring your new customer? I need a drink. A strong one.'

'But I already made you a drink... on the house, no less and a pretty strong one, remember? He looked amused.

'I want another one.'

'Are you sure about that?'

'You think I can't handle my liquor?'

'Oh no... Was just making sure. Here you go. It's called Scary Mary.'

'Scary Mary?'

'Yeah... I got bored of the Bloody Mary.'

I sat there for what seemed like an hour and made him tell me stories about the glens and streams surrounding Atherford. Some of them were pretty scary stories. I listened keenly and talked only when I had a question. He looked at me expecting me to stop him abruptly and walk away anytime and when my appetite for conversation grew stronger, it surprised him more. It was the first time I had ever spent so much time listening to a stranger and it was a relief knowing that I wasn't expected to say or behave in any particular manner. The bar started to empty, finally leaving just me and Andy. He started to close up and I was enjoying my last glass of Scary Mary. The door opened and Mr. Wilson entered waving at me, I waved back with a fake smile.

'Is he the reason you have been gulping down all that strong liquor?' Andy asked in a quick whispher.

'Yes... Actually no... I am the reason... I am pathetic. He is just a good man.'

'Good man? Boy friend?'

'No.. Long story short. My college professor turned to a fellow writer which was a surprise.'

'Oh...'

'Yeah... Oh.'

'Hey Aria... It's quite late. Should I take you home?' Mr. Wilson asked politely as he and Andy exchanged smiles.

'Sure Mr. Wilson.' I faltered as I rose from my stool and Mr. Wilson held my elbow.

'Careful.' They both said in unison.

'Good night Andy. I will see you tomorrow.'

'I am not making you any drinks tomorrow Aria.'

'No... I want more stories.' And he looked surprised again.

'Looks like you made a friend.' Mr. Wilson spoke after we were out of the bar.

'He seems like a nice guy not to mention he is too hot. Don't you agree Ezra? Oops... Mr. Wilson.'

'No... Ezra is just fine. So, you have date with him tomorrow?' He sounded curious.

'I wish... I wish...'

'Wish granted.'

'What do you mean wish granted?'

'I mean you will have a date with him tomorrow?'

'Ezra?'

'Let's just get you home tonight safely. And I promise you will have a date with him tomorrow.'

'I think, you are just as drunk as I am.'

There was a loud thunder in the sky and everything faded into darkness.