Two: Jimmy
Ladies and gentlemen, we are now approaching Gate Twenty-Four at Heathrow Airport. It is currently 10:45 AM London time. The weather right now is overcast, thirteen degrees Centigrade with a slight wind from the southeast. Please stay in your seats until the aircraft has come to a complete stop, and do make sure you have all of your items with you when you vacate the area. Thank you for flying British Airways; we hope you've had a comfortable flight, and that you enjoy the rest of your stay.
He could hear the flight attendant's voice blare over the intercom in the place, but he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. He loved these few moments when he was waking up when he could still remember parts of his dreams. Usually he was quite good at piecing them together, but the more he reached for this one, the less he remembered.
"Jimmy," a soft female voice murmured in his ear. "Jimmy, wake up. We've landed." It was a different sort of voice than the even, saccharine tones of the flight attendant. This voice was younger, and had the slight lilt of flirty mischief that could only belong to one person: his girlfriend, Jessica. He sighed slightly, but made no motion to move. He heard her slight sigh of exasperation, just before there was a sharp stabbing pain in his left shoulder. He let out a shout; one hand flew to his shoulder, while the other reached to his side for his sword.
Except… he didn't have a sword.
Jimmy opened his eyes to see the cabin full of passengers lining up to leave the plane, most of whom were staring at him rather oddly. Jessica was sitting in her seat next to him, one hand still in the air from when she had prodded him only seconds before. He smiled nervously at the other passengers, before turning to glare at his girlfriend.
"What the hell was that for?" He muttered, rubbing his shoulder.
"Sor-ry," Jessica let out an annoyed sigh. "I poked you. Poked you, you wimp."
Jimmy rolled his eyes, standing up to take his place in the long line. He was greeted with the questioning stares of his best friend, Frankie. Frankie's girlfriend, Hannah, was there too, but she was absorbed in reapplying her makeup with a compact. She probably hadn't even heard him shout, he laughed inwardly. Hannah only looked up once Jessica joined the rabble of people slowly moving to the front.
Jimmy kept standing on his tiptoes, trying to see how much further they had to go. He wasn't what most would exactly call "tall", so the action involved a lot of hopping up and down on his part. Finally, Frankie, being a good head taller, put a firm hand on top of Jimmy's head.
"Calm down, Sparky," he chuckled. "We had the last row of seats on the plane; we're not getting out of here anytime soon." Jimmy swore under his breath, rubbing his shoulder again.
"It's your own fault," Jessica remarked. "You were the one who booked the tickets." He looked over at her, his face in an expression that stated that he was clearly not amused, before he ducked around the carryon belonging to the businessman in front of them. He commenced with elbowing his way to the front, pausing only momentarily to apologize to those he was passing.
Under normal circumstances, this would be seen as quite rude, but by this time they were fairly close to the front as it was. He started down the cramped little hallway leading to the gate. Feeling a sense of obligation, he waited there for the others.
While Frankie stopped next to him, Jessica and Hannah, noses in the air, kept walking. Finally the two young men had to run after their girlfriends to catch up.
"Jessica, wait, come on," he called after her.
"Why?" She sneered, turning around. "So you can shriek like a girl if I bump shoulders with you?"
"Are you really going to be that petty?"
"Are you really going to be a whiny little bitch for this whole trip?" She retorted, tossing her long brown hair over one shoulder. "This whole thing was your idea, if you don't remember. We were going to go stay with my Aunt Shay in Miami, but you decided you wanted to go to boring, cold old England for summer break!"
"Hey, I paid for the tickets, didn't I?"
"That's not the point!"
"If you had such a problem with this, you could have stayed in San Francisco!"
"This is what I'm talking about!" Jessica shrilled, throwing down her Louis Vuitton carryon bag like a small child about to have a tantrum. "You've been so… mean today, ever since we took off!" She crossed her arms, looking all the more like a fussy little girl. "Just because you turned nineteen before the rest of us, doesn't mean you can just treat us like… like… I don't know!" Her face scrunched into a pout. "This isn't the wild, fun graduation trip I wanted."
"Oh, honey," he sighed, moving to put his arms around her. "It's just the trip. I get anxious when I'm travelling. And I… pulled a muscle in my shoulder when I was packing, so I'm a little sensitive there right now." He was lying through his teeth, but he didn't know why. In truth, he had no idea why he was reacting so strongly to such little things. "Come on, baby," he whispered soothingly in her ear. "We're still going to Miami. We're only going to be here a few days. That's all."
The shadow of a smile played on Jessica's lips. "I guess this could be okay," she murmured. "I mean, we could do some killer shopping here, couldn't we?" Jimmy nodded, patting her back softly. Whatever you need to believe, he thought.
Jessica seemed pacified for the moment. "We'd better get to the hotel," she said as Frankie and Hannah joined them at the baggage carousel. "After all, it's—" She looked down at her watch. "— three o'clock in the morning back home." The other two nodded enthusiastically, though Jimmy didn't feel like checking into a hotel at the moment. Now that they were actually there, he wanted to get going as soon as possible.
He still wasn't sure what had spurred him to look at ticket prices to England that morning, nearly three weeks ago. He had gone to the travel website to confirm their plane tickets to Miami, when he found himself intrigued by a completely different section of the site. He had gone on to research tours and the history of different areas, until he found himself buying four tickets, nonstop San Francisco to London.
The others were staring at him. He couldn't figure out why, until he realized that he was the one who knew what hotel in which they were staying. Leading the way out of the airport, he gave the name of their hotel to the taxi driver as they piled in, all exhausted from the journey.
"What's with your hair?"
Jimmy, having just emerged from the bathroom in their hotel room, looked at Hannah questioningly.
"Your hair," she repeated. "It's… wavy."
One eyebrow raised, Jimmy raised a hand to feel the dyed-black bangs that hung just past his eyebrows. Sure enough, they had a definite wave to them, but it wasn't especially noticeable. Not breaking news, in his opinion, but the two girls sprawled on one of the two beds in the room seemed to find it fascinating.
"Jimmy," Jessica started. "Back home you don't…." she stood up, running a hand through his still-damp hair. "You do!" She squealed, finding whatever it was she was referring to to be an absolute riot.
"Do what?"
"You blow dry!" Hannah giggled. "I mean, I suspected it, but I always assumed you were too… I don't know, manly, to do anything like that."
"I don't!" He exclaimed, finding the very idea incredulous, but neither girl seemed to buy it. He sighed exasperatedly as he walked to the opposite side of the other bed, tightening the towel slung low around his hips in the process. Jessica let out a suggestive "rowr." He gave her a crooked smile in return, running the tip of his tongue over his upper lip.
"Great," Hannah groaned. "Now we're going to have to listen to you two go at it all night." Frankie was laughing from his perch on a chair on the other side of the room; Jimmy rolled his eyes at him.
"Like we'll get the chance," he replied, pulling a black T-shirt over his head. "We're just here for a nap, before we catch the train to Dover."
"Dover?" Hannah asked. "What's that?"
"It's the town we're staying in," he replied. "It's in Kent, the next county over."
"Kent?" Jessica looked confused. "I thought we'd get to go shopping in London."
"Sorry, babe, but this is the plan. We can't miss that train."
"Well…" the brunette appeared to be thinking very hard. "There'll be good shopping there, won't there?"
"I don't know, Jess," he shrugged. "Maybe."
Jessica's lower lip quivered, ever so slightly.
"But," he quickly went on, "the scenery's really romantic. I was hoping we could have some… alone time… together." As the girl's expression changed completely, Jimmy noted how good he was getting at making up excuses on the spot.
Finally, he felt some sort of peace.
The four young students had been able to take nice long naps, and had caught their train with time to spare. With things going so well, Jimmy had expected to relax once the trip was under way, but on the contrary, as the train neared Dover, he became all the more anxious. He drummed his fingers, an old nervous habit, with steadily greater intensity, until Frankie finally grabbed the other young man's hand and held it down for the rest of the ride.
But they had arrived in Dover that afternoon without any big mishaps; now Jimmy stood a few feet from the edge of the cliffs overlooking the Channel, gazing over the water, and for the first time all day, he let himself totally relax. Nothing mattered anymore; they had reached their destination, and now everything was fine.
A slender pair of arms slipped around his waist, pulling him abruptly away from his peaceful stupor. He clenched his teeth in momentary annoyance, before reaching to take her hands and pull her around to his front. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he held her against him. He had been right after all; this was pretty romantic.
"Where are Frankie and Hannah?" He asked.
"Back at the bed and breakfast," Jessica grinned, "having some 'grownup time.' We'd best not disturb them."
Jimmy let out a low laugh. "Frankie, you dog."
Jessica giggled absently, her grey eyes lost in the landscape before them. "God," she whispered. "You weren't kidding about the view." Jimmy nodded silently. They had been in the town for less than a day, and already he felt like he had come home. It wasn't déjà vu, but it was close. He couldn't remember ever having been this comfortable on a vacation.
The more he stared across the terrain, however, the more he had the feeling that something was wrong. The prickly, quasi-déjà vu feeling was back, only now it was like coming home, only to find a different house at your address. He let go of Jessica, and took a couple of steps back, looking around to try to figure out what it was that seemed different.
It's the water, he said to himself. He couldn't explain why, but he was getting an overwhelming feeling that the water shouldn't be there. The green hills were mean to roll on, not drop off suddenly and give way to chalky white precipice and steely blue water. He stepped forward, passing Jessica, until he was mere inches from the edge.
"I remember this place," he whispered, soft enough that his girlfriend couldn't hear him. "I remember it, but not like this." He stepped back again, and flattened himself to the ground, so that he could not see the cliffs and the Channel. If he kept his head to the ground at just the right angle, he could only see the green of the grass meeting the clear blue of the summer sky. Perfect, he thought.
"You okay, baby?" Once more, she broke his concentration. He took a deep, calming breath, before sitting up to look at her.
"Fine," he smiled. "Just felt like, you know, communing with the land."
Jessica laughed, bending down to come face to face with him as he sat on the ground. "You're starting to sound like your parents."
Jimmy grinned cheekily back. "What can I say? Flower child's in my blood."
"I'm gonna head back. That okay with you?"
"Fine with me," he replied, laying back on the soft grass as she turned to walk away. Something still didn't feel right. Pushing his head up slightly, he looked down at his body, dressed in old, worn-in jeans and a green and white baseball T-shirt, sprawled on the ground. All of the sudden his feet were killing him. He struggled into a seated position once more and began unlacing his black high tops. Once shoes and socks were on the ground next to him, he rubbed his feet a bit to ease out the tension, but by that time the pain was gone. He shrugged, standing up and brushing himself off without bothering to put his shoes back on.
The feeling of the soft grass against his feet was a bit strange. Growing up in a city like San Francisco, he had never really been able to take his shoes off outdoors; his parents were all for communing with nature and getting back to basics, but they knew the basic safety and hygiene behind shoes. He had expected the earth to be hard and rocky on the soles of his inexperienced feet, but in fact, the grass and soil were velvety soft beneath him. He marveled at this, sighing lightly at the comfort of the ground compared to the rough texture of his socks.
A yelp of surprise and pain behind him made him look back. Perhaps one hundred yards away, Jessica had fallen. Instinctively he ran to her, easily sweeping her into his arms.
"Oh dear," he commented. "Let me get you inside, my home's just on the other side of that hill."
"What?"
Jimmy froze. "What?" He asked, doing his best to pretend he hadn't noticed the utter absurdity of his words.
"Well, one," she remarked, staring at him with one eyebrow raised, "you've never picked me up before. Two, what's this 'home' crap?" He shrugged in answer to her question, still attempting to be nonchalant. "And three," she continued, "all I did was twist my ankle. No big deal. Although," Jessica smiled deviously, "that chivalrous act might score you some points later."
Jimmy dropped her to her feet abruptly. Under normal circumstances, he'd have smiled and made a couple of lewd comments, but he really wasn't in the mood to flirt with her right now. Her superficial attitude was starting to get to him, and at that moment, he wanted to escape it more than anything.
"Come on," she said, tugging on his sleeve slightly, "let's go back." He looked around a moment, not wanting to leave. This place felt too good to leave, but he knew he couldn't stay here forever; the sun was starting to set. Finally, he slumped his shoulders in defeat, and began following her back to the road.
"Wait," Jessica said, holding out a hand to stop him; she pointed down at his still-bare feet. "You forgot your shoes!"
He turned back around, looking at the little heap of sock and high-top that dotted the otherwise smooth plane of grass. Sighing reluctantly, he jogged back to them, stuffing them under his arm unceremoniously. Walking slowly back to Jessica, a lone tree near him caught his eye.
At first glance, it looked like any other birch tree, but something drew him to it. Jimmy ran a hand along the smooth bark; the silver-grey color was darker than most birch trees he had ever seen. The leaves were different too, longer than birch, and an odd combination of sterling and emerald. The tree was like nothing he had ever seen before, and yet words came to his mind.
"Mallorn," he whispered. "The Party Tree." Well, not the actual Party Tree, he thought, before he realized that he had no idea what his own mind was talking about. But he acknowledged that part of him recognized the tree, which led to the same questions he had been asking since he had arrived at the cliff earlier that afternoon. Why was this all so familiar?
"Jimmy, come on," Jessica called. He made a face at being interrupted yet again, but turned and sprinted to her all the same. As the two left the cliff behind, one thing became clear in his mind: he couldn't leave England yet. What's more, he didn't want to.
"What?"
Jimmy took a deep breath for what felt like the thousandth time in the three days they had been in Dover. "I said, I'm not going to Florida. I'm staying here."
Judging by the tantrum she was throwing, Jessica was not amused. "How can you do this to me?" She shrieked, so loudly that Jimmy's ears popped. "You drag me to this snore of a country, to this snore of a town, with the promise that we'll have a great time in Miami, and now you pull this crap?" Jimmy ducked as a hairbrush was thrown at him. "How dare you, James Webb? How dare you?"
By this time, Jimmy had no idea what she was talking about or why this was such a big deal, but there was no way he was budging on this. He couldn't leave now, not when he was so close, but Jessica couldn't understand that. All that was on her mind was the fact that her plans had been unexpectedly changed.
"Why, though?" In his dodging of flying objects, Jimmy hadn't noticed that Jessica was still whining. "Why aren't you coming with us anymore? Why do you want to stay in this craphole of a country?"
That set the young man off. It was one thing if she was going to insult him or his choice, or think it was a bit boring, but to insult the whole country in such a way was just arrogant.
"Why?" He said softly, but in a tone so menacing it shut the brunette up quickly. "You want to know why I'm staying here? Try this on for size, princess: I'm tired of you, and you know why that is? It's because you're a selfish little brat. It's because you're an empty-headed little bimbo. And, perhaps most of all, it's because you're a sheep, who mindlessly follows whatever's expected of you. I thought that was what I wanted out of life, to be one of the crowd, to be well–liked and accepted, but I've realized that I can express my own opinion in this world, and that's what I'm doing. I want to stay here, and that's what I'm going to do. Now, is that enough to shut you up, or do I have to use smaller words so you'll understand?"
Jessica was silent, glaring daggers at the young man. He himself was so riled-up that he was shaking. Frankie and Hannah, who had previously chosen to stay out of the fight, stepped in now.
"Uh, guys?" Frankie said, stepping in between the two. "We kinda have to pack. Whether or not Jimmy's staying, we're supposed to check out in fifteen minutes." Jimmy sighed, nodding, before turning to his own nearly packed bag.
"I'll see you guys to the airport," he muttered to Frankie, "but I was serious about what I said. I'm not leaving Britain, not yet anyway."
Jimmy didn't speak again for the rest of the trip back to London. He stared out the window the entire train ride, despite Frankie and Hannah's futile attempts to latch Jessica and him into conversation. Jessica was silent too, until they arrived at the gate (Jimmy, still having a ticket, was allowed past the security check).
"We're through," she growled at him before she stalked onto the plane. Hannah shrugged at him, though her eyes made it clear that she too was furious with Jimmy. He assumed that she had realized that everything he had said about Jessica was true about her too.
Frankie turned to say some final words to Jimmy as the flight attendant was checking his boarding pass.
"You're sure about this?" He asked, catching his best friend's eye. Jimmy looked down at his Birkenstocks (the only shoes he'd been able to stand wearing since the cliff that first afternoon), and nodded.
"I've never been more sure about anything in my life," he answered, completely sincere. "I'll call you whenever I end up getting back to San Fran."
Frankie caught Jimmy's chin in one hand, locking eyes with him for a few seconds before he turned to follow the girls onto the plane.
Hours later, Jimmy was walking down the streets of London. He had checked into a hotel and dropped off his bags, and now realized that he had nothing to do but wander. He was starting to get hungry; his body didn't feel it, but he could tell by the way that his mind was starting to wander. He kept thinking back to the fight with Jessica that morning; had he really meant everything he had said? He asked himself that question hundreds of times, and every time, the answer was yes. He knew that it had all been true, but he hadn't been aware he was feeling that strongly.
He was so lost in thought that he wasn't looking where he was going, and ran headlong into another young man, going the other direction on the sidewalk.
Jimmy's head snapped up, his mouth open to apologize, but to his surprise, no words came out. He'd have felt quite rude, if not for the fact that the other man was staring at him in the exact same fashion.
The other young man spoke first. "I'm terribly sorry," he said. "I was wrapped up in my book, and wasn't paying attention to where I was going."
Jimmy meant to insist that it was his fault for letting his mind wander, but no words of that kind would leave his mouth. The only thing his mind would focus on was the strange sense of familiarity he was getting from this apparent stranger. It was like the tree back in Dover had become a person. Suddenly, just like the tree back in Dover, words, a name, came out of his mouth.
"Sam," he whispered. He felt the words leave his lips, but the voice, the accent, didn't sound like his own.
The other man's eyes widened. "Mister Fr—" he began, but stopped mid-word. "Never mind," he muttered, running a hand through the short dirty-blond curls on his head. "It's impossible." Jimmy nodded slowly, doubting that he knew what the man was talking about.
"I'm Jimmy," he said, holding out a hand. "Jimmy Webb." The young man shook Jimmy's hand slowly; he seemed oddly reluctant to give his name.
"I'm… Sam," he said finally. "Sam Dickson." Sam's clear green eyes surveyed Jimmy carefully. "That was, er, a lucky guess. My name, I mean."
"Yeah," Jimmy said, nodding. "Lucky guess."
Both were silent for a few moments. "I'm sorry," Sam stated suddenly, "have we met before? You seem very familiar."
"I wanted to ask you the same question," Jimmy remarked. He was quite curious about this young man; something about him seemed to tell Jimmy that they were experiencing the same prickles of déjà vu. He wanted to know more, but suddenly his stomach was growling with hunger.
"I'm sorry if this is a bit forward," he said, "but I'm starving right now. Do you want to get something to eat?"
"That sounds lovely," Sam nodded, bending to pick up the book he had dropped when he and Jimmy had knocked heads.
Jimmy pulled a pocket guidebook to London out of the front pocket of his sweatshirt. It had been a gift from his parents for the trip, because it contained a list of all the best vegetarian restaurants in London.
"According to this," he said, "there's a good place a few blocks from here. That is, unless you know of somewhere."
"Oh, no," Sam responded, shaking his head. "I don't live around here. I just moved here from Edinburgh."
"Ah," Jimmy nodded. "Shall we then?"
Jimmy stared intensely at his food. They had arrived at the restaurant, a little Indian place, without problems, but once they had been seated and served their food, they found that there was an uneasy silence between them. Jimmy picked at his food, yearning to voice the questions that plagued his mind.
Sam, after having eaten a small amount of his chicken dish (Jimmy had assisted him in picking the mildest thing on the menu), had reopened his book, and had his nose buried in it at the table. Jimmy looked up from his tofu curry. The other man's eyes were watering from the spicy vapors coming from Jimmy's tofu, but he seemed engrossed by his book. Jimmy glanced at the title: Tolkien's World: Paintings of Middle-Earth. The name seemed familiar, but Jimmy couldn't place it. He had hoped food would clear his mind, but if anything, his thoughts were even more muddled than before.
"So," he said, a little louder than he had expected. "Er, what do you think of the food?"
"It's all right, I suppose," Sam replied, not looking up from his book. "I'm not much for foreign food."
Jimmy looked back down at his plate. His was nearly gone; this was some of his favorite food, and though he had never had chicken before (his parents had raised him vegetarian), he would think that it would have much more of a taste to it than tofu. He shrugged, again racking his brain for some way to make conversation.
Ten minutes later, the silence was starting to kill him. He drummed his fingers, the rhythmic noise steadily getting louder, but Sam continued to read his book as if nothing was happening.
"That's it," Jimmy blurted out, slamming a hand onto the table. Sam looked up, smiling pleasantly.
"I was waiting for the dam to burst," he remarked, setting his open book on the table. Jimmy made a face of frustrated defeat.
"Fine," he muttered. "I've got some questions."
"Okay, shoot."
"How?" Jimmy asked. "That's my first one. How do I know you? How do you know me? How did you agree to eat with someone who is, well, should be a complete stranger?" He took a deep breath, ready to go off on another string of questions. "Where, that's my next one. Where do you get off sitting there so calmly, when I'm so curious I'm nearly exploding under the pressure? Where do I know you from, since it's impossible for me to know you from nowhere? And where," he jabbed his finger at the painting on the open page of Sam's book, "do artists get this? I never looked like that!"
Sam's eyes lit up as Jimmy's mouth fell open in shock. "T-t-third question," he stammered. "W-what. What the hell am I talking about?"
"I knew it," Sam exclaimed, grinning like an idiot. "He said I'd know you when I saw you, but I wasn't totally sure it was you, until now!" Jimmy, though confused and a bit worried, was relieved that, for once, he didn't inexplicably understand what the blond man was talking about.
"I don't follow."
"Look!" Sam pointed back down at the painting. It was entitled "Galadriel's Mirror," by a man named Alan Lee. Below the picture, there was a short line of text.
"As guests in the Golden Wood, Sam and Frodo were allowed to look into Galadriel's mirror," Jimmy read aloud.
"See?" Sam said, a slight tone of excitement in his voice. "That's you, and that's me." He sat back, pushing the book toward Jimmy for closer inspection. "I know what you mean," he remarked. "It looks nothing like me either. We look too… I don't know, devious?"
"This is impossible," Jimmy said, shaking his head vigorously. "I'm a kid from California who just graduated high school. I've got a family, friends, a job! I can't be a…" He trailed off.
"He said you'd be skeptical, unbelieving," Sam said. "I was too, but that wore off right quick, once things started to fit together. You'll understand it all in time, I promise. He can explain it much better than I can."
"I'm sorry, 'he'?"
"Don't you remember?" Sam asked. Jimmy shook his head. "Oh, well, no matter. It'll come back to you in time, just like everything else."
"What 'everything else' are you referring to?"
"Everything," Sam replied. "The fact that you're here is enough. You knew me, knew who I was. I'm sure more has happened, things that you haven't told me about. You know your name now, don't you?"
"I told you my name when we met on the street," Jimmy said defensively. He knew what Sam was talking about, but refused to acknowledge it as real.
"That's not what I'm talking about," Sam smiled knowingly. He cleared his throat. "I feel a new introduction is in order," he went on, holding a hand out over the table. "I'm Sam. Samwise Gamgee. And you're—"
"Don't say it. Don't say it."
"—Frodo. Frodo Baggins."
