Across the Pond
I remember when we first moved to England: I was five years old, and had never even seen an airplane before. It was winter – deep into December – and I remember being very, very confused. I didn't cry, as most children probably would have, but I was scared. I was scared because I was leaving everything I had ever known: my house, my friends, my school, everything.
My mother was English, and while I'm not sure as to why exactly we left the States, I think it was because my mother was homesick. But like I said, I'm not sure. My father had met her when he went as an exchange student to London, and they had been pen-pals, and eventually, high school sweethearts. What my parents have is true love.
When we got to London, my fear had melted into sleep, mostly because of the time change: that had baffled me. I remember it being dark out when my head was telling me that it should be sunny. It was very cold and the ground had been covered with snow. We'd ridden in a very nice black taxi cab, and I have memory of my father – James to my mother, Jimmy to his friends – carrying me in his arms into the house.
Once we were inside, there was a lot of hustle and bustle and chaos and I wasn't really sure if it was a good thing, but I was much too tired to care. I had been warming up with some hot chocolate on one of my aunt's plush couches when I was suddenly awake: a very old lady was standing at the top of the steps. She wasn't ugly old, not at all. In fact, she was a very gorgeous old. Her beautiful silvery-white hair was long and straight, and she didn't appear to be losing any of it. She was wrinkled, like most elderly folk, but not in that gross way that makes all old people appear to be exactly alike. Her wrinkles were small and undefined.
I gasped when she smiled at me and started walking down the stairs. I was snapped out of my amazement by a voice: "Grandmother Wendy, is everything alright? You shouldn't be up and about so late at night!" it was the stern voice of my Aunt Linda.
"I just thought I would come down to see my beautiful great-granddaughter. And here she is," the old lady sat beside me.
I had never felt so close to a stranger before, but for some reason, I felt safe when I leaned into her warmth. She didn't have an old-person smell, either; she smelled nice, like peppermint. Peppermint and…something else. I couldn't quite place my finger on it, though.
As the night wore on, my parents insisted I go to bed, and I was too tired to complain. Aunt Linda made to get up, but Grandmother Wendy – I refused to call her great-grandmother because she didn't look that old – objected and said that she would tuck me in. I trailed behind her noiselessly as she walked slowly up the stairs and showed me my bedroom.
It was very large and had pretty pink walls, and lots and lots of toys! A large dollhouse sat in the corner with all kinds of furniture and dolls; there were bunches of stuffed animals, a cute little china tea set with the pictures all in baby-blue. There were little toy trucks and cars, and a model of Big Ben and the Palace – the Palace came with a set of tin soldiers. But my favorite thing was small: a music box. It was made of cherry wood, and when I opened it up, two little figurines came out: one was a boy, dressed in green. The other was a fairy, and it played an absolutely strange, yet beautiful tune. All chiming bells and small chirps. I shut it and looked at Grandmother Wendy.
"Do you like it?"
I nodded slowly.
"That was my favorite when I was your age too. It still is." She smiled. I offered it to her, but she pushed my hand back. "No sweetheart, you keep it. And keep it safe."
When Grandmother had tucked me in, I said, "But Grandmother Wendy, I'm not sleepy!"
She turned to me and then to the clock and said, "Well, I suppose it's not too late for a story." She went to the old bookcase and pulled out a very old, leather-bound book. I don't remember what the story was about to this day, for I am too old now to remember it. Well, old in a manner of speaking, I suppose…. But what I do remember – though that is precious little – are the pirates, the Indians, the magic, and a boy. A boy who could fly….