England is a strange country. They drive on the right side of the road. They spell "plow" as "plough." No one says "cell phone" - it's a "mobile."
England is a beautiful country. Rolling meadows, high white cliffs. History. Literature. Accents.
It was with this mindset that I moved to London after receiving my college degree in biochemistry. Having spent a semester there on a study abroad program, I had fallen in love with the little of the country I had seen and decided to begin my own life there; it seemed as good a place as any. I had found a small research center in a hospital/college - excuse me, university - where I could do what I loved, genetics. I had dabbled in some of the aspects in this wide field - forensics, archeology, medicine - but had yet to truly find my niche. Here, I could do them all. As I had little experience I was given a job as a lab assistant. I did whatever was asked of me, a little bit of everything. Every day was a new adventure, a new discovery. Some new mystery was always waiting to be solved, and I reveled in it.
I had read about the infamous London fog; pea soup was an accurate description. On this particular morning it hung low over the city, causing chaos. Taxis blasted their horns and people, many of them with scarves wrapped around their noses and mouths, did their best to avoid collision with other early morning commuters. I pulled my hat down further over my ears and shrank back into my coat. I had grown up in a medium-sized American suburb and still had not adjusted to the sights and sounds the large city. I hopped onto the metro (the tube, they call it) and grabbed on to one of the metal poles for dear life. While I loved this smooth, fast, futuristic method of travel, I hated being jostled and shoved every which way. There was an advantage, however. It kept my mind from wandering...
It was with great relief that I finally reached my destination. I disembarked and made my way to the lab.
A rumble in my stomach told me it was lunch time. I sat up from my microscope and rubbed wearily at my eyes. I sighed, mentally chastising myself for the raccoon eyes I knew I had given myself from hours at this piece of equipment. I had been watching cells divide. For hours. One, then two, then four, then eight, then sixteen, then thirty-two...I found it mesmerizing. It had been a slow day, and as I had been given little to do, I had found an activity that would be out of everyone else's way.
I stretched, listening to the crackle of my stiff spine, and suddenly noticed someone sitting across from me. A man wearing a rather bemused and condescending smile. He was strangely pale and thin, it was almost eriee. I couldn't tell if his eyes were blue, gray, or somewhere in-between. He would have looked almost dead, had it not been for his hair. It was dark and wavy, almost curly. Long, but not too long. It suited him, I supposed.
I tried to regain what little dignity I had left, but he made me feel flustered all the same.
"Yes?" I asked, reaching for the glasses I sometimes wore and ending up adjusting nothing but air.
"Well," he replied, a twinkle in his eyes that I couldn't quite translate, "I just popped by to pick up a genetics sample that was supposed to be processed today, and was directed to you. If you're busy, I really could come back later." His voice practically dripped with that dry humor the Brits are so fond of.
"No, it's fine." I chose to ignore his attempt at wit (It was better that way, I had found. They leave you alone sooner.), instantly recalling the only task I had been assigned this morning. I walked over to the counter and retrieved the tray of gel from the apparatus. I returned and held it out to him. He took it, and I expected him to leave. In short, he didn't.
The arrogance emanating off him was starting to annoy me. "Is there something else you need?"
"Not at the moment."
"Well, then, I have plenty else I could be doing and really could be using this time..."
"No, you don't."
"What?"
"You're bored. Good day." And with that, he was gone.