I stood in the cool wind of Heathrow International Airport, standing between two suitcases of luggage, holding a messenger bag full of books and cigarretts, my favorite brand: Marlboro Red. I could only afford 1 pack before leaving Kansas City, which would be the end of me because of how much more expensive I was told there are in the UK. My short blond hair blew in the chilly English air, bustling around my eyes. I pulled absently at my plain t-shirt and skirt, that in hindsight was too short for this weather. Finally, my dad's VW pulled up in front of the place I was standing, surrounded by so many other travelers hustling and bustling to their destination. He got out and immediately popped the trunk. He was a tall man, with messy brown hair and plesant laugh lines around his blue eyes and clean shaven mouth. His dress was just as casual as mine with a warm purple plaid button up and blue jeans. As he took my luggage and packed it in he asked,
"Hey, kiddo, how's it going?" I simply raised my eyebrows in contempt and responded,
"It's going." before opening the passenger side door, opposite of the side I was accustomed to, and got in with my bag slung on my shoulder. My dad awkwardly mumbled,
"Well, I guess that's good..." before getting in himself. After getting the car started and on our way out of the airport he added with a chuckle, "It'll be about 2 and a half hours before we get to Bristol, so I hope we can communicate a little more." Was that a joke? Was he trying to joke around with me? I rolled my eyes, not caring if he saw. Rolling down the window a little bit I pulled out one of my cigarettes. When I cracked my lighter my father looked over in surprise.
"Whoa, whoa, when did you start smoking? Does your mom know about this?" There was a tint of anger in his voice. I could match that.
"When did you start caring about my life or Mom's?" That shut him up, though he was clearly very upset at my insolence. I reached out my hand confidently and turned on the radio nob, signifying my want to end the conversation. Dad seemed to submit, still quietly flustered though he was. I sat back, taking a long drag, realizing this would be one of my last American cigarettes, or at least my brand. I listened to the radio as the smoke floated lazily in front of me. Stupid talk radio and it wasn't even about politics. It was about people and their stupid romantic problems and what worthless reality show they watched like sheep. Without another word to my father I started flipping through the stations until the Arctic Monkeys' fast paced melodies started coming from the speakers. A situation similar to this continued all the way to the gray afternoon skies of Bristol. My dad clicked off Vampire Weekend, in a much calmer state than two hours ago.
"Do you want to get something to eat before we start unpacking, kiddo?" I flicked the butt of my most recently smoked cigarette out the window.
"Don't call me kiddo..." then I sighed in resignation, "and yeah, that would be good."
"Alright, we can go to this nice pub and restaurant I like, Hole in the Wall. You can even get a drink there since you're 20. Don't have to wait for your 21st here.
'I know, I planned on it.' I thought snarkily.
The Hole in the Wall was anything but. It was a rather big building with tables scattered outside and a sleek large inside dinning room. It didn't even look like there was a bar. We took our seats at a high-table, me putting my messenger bag on the back of my chair. A young woman came over to take our drink orders. My dad ordered Lager - a sign perhaps of how long he had lived away from the states. I ordered Heineken in the bottle. There was an awkward silence hanging in the air for the moments it took for us to receive our drinks. It seemed less strained we were were preoccupied with drinking, that is until my dad weakly tried to strike up a conversation,
"So...how has university been?" It was my summer vacation from my Junior year. I was a Journalism student with an ambitious streak.
"KU is fine, other than all the damned hills. Not too far from mom in KC." I answered blandly.
"I meant your courses and classmates, Naomi..." he trailed off.
"Fine." I said with an air of finality. With a frustrated sigh my father gave up for the moment. After ordering we ate in silence, to my relief, but on our trip back to the car my father felt the need to finally stick to his guns.
"Now, I know you don't particularly like me these days, and that this was your mother's idea, but I expect you to respect me while you live in my home and work in my shop. You need money, I'll pay you, but only if you act like a real employee. You don't have to be happy, but you do have to be respectful." He emphasized what he was saying by starting the car. It wasn't like he yelled at me, he didn't even seem that angry, but it was my turn to be stunned to silence. He was right, and I was just being stubborn and usual. At least it wasn't all bad, I was getting a free vacation away from the states, albeit a stupid dock town, and a pretty cool job, minus my dad being my boss.
We drove down narrow cobbled streets past lookalike homes and pubs that looked much more like their namesake than the place we just ate at. Finally we pulled up to a two story building that had a store on the first floor with a closed sign hanging in the window and what I knew to be a loft home on the second. The store proudly proclaimed itself 'The Needle and Groove' in bold stylized letters. The N looked like a needle cartridge on a turntable and both the Os looked like records.
If I was honest, the jet-lag was really starting to get to me. After parking, we pulled my luggage from the trunk and up the stairs at the back of the shop. I had never been here before, and all the lights in the shop were off. I could make out racks and crates of records and a few shelves of CDs, but not any of what was on the walls or around the front desk. I guessed I would find out tomorrow.
I fell into the bed in the guest bed room, not bothering to unpack, change, or even close my door. Tomorrow would be my first official day in Bristol working at a record shop.