In truth, it was one of the first things I thought to do when getting here, go exploring into my past… but I had no idea where to start. My parents hadn’t been forthcoming with information about my history—if they knew anything at all.
“I’ll take a look… How ’bout you, Jackie?” I asked, trying to deflect the conversation away from me. “Why’d you decide to come here?”
She finished off the chips and crumpled up the bag, replacing it back in her backpack. “It’ll look good on my résumé!”
“That’s usually the reason,” Owen joked, turning back around.
The rest of the drive was filled with conversation until we all fell silent with exhaustion, each of us getting as comfortable as we could in ours chairs.
II.
It was already nightfall by the time we arrived in Lampeter, the streets shockingly barren even at the early evening hour, Autumn’s moon barely visible in the heavy mist that followed us into the Welsh valleys. We turned onto the main road, the bus using what little space was left. Shops, cafés, and pubs were set up like row houses, their stone and wooden façades dull against the night. The only signs of life were the bouts of grouped laughter streaming out from each pub we passed.
We pulled up to the university and filed out in front of a box-standard building, twice as tall as the bus behind us. There was a set of automatic, glass doors that opened into the foyer, and to their right, a wall of windows that let us see the multi-colored lights that softly strobed in and out against the gray weather.
“Right, everyone,” Owen called as we all stretched our legs and backs, hoping to bring some feeling back into them, “get your bags and follow me up to your rooms.”
We gathered our things as the driver pulled out one bag after another and fell in line behind Owen, him pointing out buildings along the way. “On your left are the lecture halls. Most of your classes will be in there. And up ahead is the library and registration building. You’ll go there for setting up finances and what-not. And on your right…” Owen grinned as our heads popped over a partitioned stone wall—mouths dropping open, “welcome to your new home.”
A gorgeous Tudor-style building greeted us, spotlights on the lawn making it hauntingly beautiful. It spanned at least half a mile across, turrets and crow-step gables jutting out of its top with precise symmetry and detail. White accented windows arched in between the stonework, bringing light to otherwise darkened rooms. At its center, an expanded archway grew into another turreted tower, open windows letting us glimpse an ornate set of stairs that led up to its peak where the university’s flag of white, black, and yellow flapped gently in the cool September air.
We made our way down the paved driveway and through the arch, our voices echoing off the white stuccoed walls and into an open air quadrangle with a fountain in its center.
“This is Old Building,” Owen gestured openly with a smile. “Designed by Charles Robert Cockerell in the early nineteenth century, it is the most scenic building on campus. And, if you stay here until graduation you’ll get to see many drunk people swim in this very fountain,” he added humorously.
“Do y’all really do that?” Claire asked, her Louis Vuitton suitcase parked at her side while her blue eyes sparkled at the vulgarity of it.
“It’s tradition!” Owen brought us around the fountain to a corner of the quad, eyeing me and Jackie. “You two are in this section. There are six rooms but we didn’t want to stick all of you in the same flat, that would defeat the purpose of experiencing the culture! The home students arrive at the end of the week, so you guys won’t be lonely for too long.” He handed us our keys, their skeleton structure feeling particularly archaic in my hand. “Meet us out here tomorrow morning at ten and I’ll take you all to orientation. Other than that, get settled in and don’t drink too much.”
I unlocked the door in front of us as Owen led the others across the way to their new homes. “You need help with anything?” I asked, trying to shove my own bulging suitcase through the skinny entryway.
“No, but it looks like you do.” Jackie pushed from the other end, my case popping in with the extra shove.
A set of wooden stairs led up to the next level, their treads worn deep from the people who had used them over the past years. The first door in the hall opened up into a small kitchen, just big enough for six people. Its yellow walls and 90s-era cookware would have made my dad nostalgic for his own glory days at university.
Exiting the kitchen, the short corridor was interspersed with rooms that would be completely occupied come Friday.
“202, this is me.” I pushed the second key on the ring into the lock and opened it. The room wasn’t grand, its high ceilings giving the space a wider feel. The years of having pushpins and blue tack stuck onto the beige painted drywalls made them looked aged, the paint cracking in places. The only furniture in the room was a single bed, its springs jumping back as I slung my bags onto it. A light brown wardrobe had nothing in it but wire hangers, and beside it, a small mirror and sink. A desk, that sat under the only window in the room, spanned its length, the top worn and stained. If it wasn’t so dark out, I imagined I could have seen the lush, countryside that surrounded us.
Jackie popped her head in, her things already forgotten in her room. “You hungry?”
I cracked a smile, dropping the rest of my belongings onto my bed. “Starving.”
Before we started orientation, Owen took us all on a proper tour of the campus and town. Compared to where I lived in California it was like walking through a medieval fairy-tale village. He called it a ‘small market town’ because of its prominent history with trading goods. Small was right. We walked from the town’s notice boards and back in ten minutes flat. As we went around, Jackie pointed at the many thrift and charity shops, her bargain-hunting skills already on full alert as we passed their display windows. I had brought so much with me I doubted I would ever need to buy anything else, but who could pass up a good bargain?
On campus, the two university buildings that sat under my window were jammed together, allowing easy access for both its students and lecturers. Compared to the modern building that greeted us, these were old, their post-modern brick layout and dark blue metal trim an odd contrast between the two.
On the other side of the river that cut through the campus was the student union, its white, black, and yellow detailing with added blue accents mimicked the university’s colors. Merged with it was the Old Bar, packed with sticky tables and beige-padded booths already filled with early arrivals eager to be with friends. To make things even easier, a club completed the rest of the building, Owen already warning us this would be our usual hangout in the quiet town. His exact words bounced off the blackened walls and sound systems: “You’ll mostly drink or join one of the many social societies!”
I was starting to see a trend here… Drinking, it seemed, was the main sport, and we had just entered the arena.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he continued, “there’s a ton to do around here, just… drinking is a part of the culture.”
I couldn’t really blame him. In such a small town, really, what else was there to do? But at least he came with a disclaimer. I wasn’t much of a drinker. An occasional beer or two would suffice, but shots…? After an underage party at one of the fraternities on UCSB and a friend having to hold my hair back for most of the night, I never wanted to touch the stuff again.
People were already inside the club, preparing for the night. A DJ box sat on the wall opposite us, booths and chairs making up for the rest of the space. The dance floor wasn’t big, its black, wooden floors melded into cheap laminate when getting closer to the other bar.
Finally, we looped back around, our last stop the library. The outside was covered in yellow popcorn stone, the automatic doors leading into a modern foyer. The information desk on the left was occupied with librarians and some students, the rest of the place deathly
quiet. We explored its levels each lined with shelved aisles, students and townspeople alike perusing the books. Everything was set up in line with the Dewey system, the lower level filled with religious texts. At the end of the expansive room lay the archivists quarter, where ancient manuscripts and delicate parchments were kept safe. As we entered, its archivist was sitting at his desk, enthralled in a volume the size of his palm.
His brown hair was peppered gray and sticking out in all directions. My first impression was that he was one of those absent-minded professors that had no conscience about how they looked—which was utterly true. His shirt was untucked on one side and his ring-horned glasses cracked on the other, giving symmetry to his disheveled presence—exactly what you would expect from a hermit librarian. His hands shook (whether from nervousness or arthritis, I didn’t know) when he took off his glasses.
“Hello everyone! I’m Dr. Paul Keller, keeper of the manuscripts down here—and a couple that aren’t.” He pointed a wink at me, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “These the new internationals, Owen?” he gave the man a firm handshake.
“They are. Raring and ready to learn.”
The office looked like any other: piled high with books, old and new, stacked on every possible shelf with a desk shoved into the corner. All of them looked older than me, their spines dark and faded from constant handling.
“Is this all you have?” Nick asked, picking up a small manuscript, its pages ruffling crisply against one another. My heart jumped as his ungloved hand met with fragile paper.
“No,” Paul corrected, carefully taking the book from his hands and setting it down gently, “we have a vast, temperature controlled storage room right underneath our feet, but sadly, I’ve misplaced the keycard…” He patted his pockets as if it would magically appear. “Feel free to have a look around. You don’t need gloves, but please do be careful.”
I walked around the limited number of shelves in the room, the spines of the old books in pristine condition for their age. Carefully, I took one from its spot and opened it. The pages were thin, but that wasn’t what caught my attention… Concentrating, I heard a soft whisper of something buzz around me, only to feel as someone came up behind me, my heart jumping out of my chest.
“Jade, hello… We’re going now,” Jackie poked at me.
“Oh,” I said out of breath, “coming.”
Back at Old Building, the rest of the day was filled with a bombardment of information about our stay in Lampeter. As international students, we arrived earlier than everyone else, giving us the chance to acclimate and recover from any culture shock. On our last day, our small group headed out in search of food, ready to start the academic year.
Walking into the town square, we found a small café that looked as though its neighboring buildings were squishing it into place. Its outside was covered in deep, slate painted wood with white trimming which lined the expansive window, letting us see into the quaint place. The bell above the door chimed as I opened it to enter. A leather couch and large dining table somehow squeezed themselves into the front corner, leaving its customers to contort their way into a seat. Rustic chairs and tables which were dotted around the room made for interesting obstacles, our group of five having to zigzag our way into the back to find a place to sit.
The kitchen wafted aromas of meat and cheese that enticed our taste buds to the point of salivation. Ravenously, I scoured the menu, its pages laden with mouth-watering descriptions, half of which I had no idea what they were. As the others went to order, I bounced back and forth until finally, my eyes landed on my chosen meal.
I barely fit between the register’s aisle, the cherry-varnished furniture creating a thin alley for me to squeeze by.
“I’ll have the cawl, please.”
The barista looked at me in confusion, my face reddening. Obviously I had just butchered the Welsh pronunciation and quickly reached for a menu off one of the other tables to point it out, the woman stifling a laugh as she corrected me. Apparently, it was pronounced as if saying cow and owl together, my tongue stumbling over the mesh of words.
Still pink-faced, I made it back to the table, everyone else already enjoying their teas and coffees. As their orders were filled, my stomach roared in anticipation, the only thing taking my mind off it was the endless small talk Claire and Nick went on about.
“And Rome… ugh, Rome… I cannot wait ta see it,” Claire sipped at her tea, the pearl necklace around her neck the fanciest thing in the place.
“I would recommend going now, or in the spring,” Nick offered in between bites of his croque-madame.
“How ’bout you, Jade?” Jackie asked, her burger cemented to her hands, making sure none of its fillings fell out. “You want to travel anywhere?”
I sipped at my tea, the sweet peppermint readying my tastebuds for food. “Scotland would be nice,” I answered, “but maybe venturing farther would be better…”
Her eyes lit up. “No, I would love to go to Scotland! The Highlands, whiskey, bagpipes!”
I laughed, the sound lighthearted in the small expanse of the room. “Alright, but we have to stay in a castle for a night.”
“Deal.”
We shook on it, as if binding each other to a contract, stitching us closer together.
Before my onset of hangry was unleashed unto the poor town, my meal showed up and I dug in with gusto. The steaming bowl contained beef stew with huge chunks of carrot, swede, onions, and leeks, accompanied by a baguette and a Brie-like cheese, which made every mouthful richer.
We finished our food and began what should have been a short walk back to our rooms when the heavens opened up. Mom and Dad had warned me that during their last trip to the UK the rain had been particularly torrential, hoping to scare me out of coming. Suffice to say, it didn’t work.
Back at the dorm, we shook off our soaked coats and I split off into my room, Jackie b-lining it for the kitchen.
“Do you want any toast?” her voice carried down the hall.
“How can you still be hungry?” I yelled back, bewildered at the fact she had just eaten not only a burger, but fries and coleslaw to-boot.
“Don’t judge!” she quipped.
You would never have pegged Jackie to be gluttonous. Compared to my slight build, she stood about two inches taller than me with a body any woman would kill for: curves in all the right places, face of a goddess, and legs that made even second-hand sneakers look good.
I chuckled and slouched into my typist chair, the wheels scraping against the wooden floor. Turning on my laptop I saw three unread emails, the last dated five minutes ago. I knew who they were from without even having to look.
I opened the first one:
Hello sweetie. Please call me. -Mom
I opened up the next, expecting the more forceful approach.
Jade. Call me. Now. -Mom.
And there it was. The last one was even worse.
Jade Elizabeth Morrison you call me in the next ten minutes or so help me I will have you sent to Owen’s office so he can WATCH you call me! -MOM
Resigned, I picked up my phone only to see five missed calls and quickly dialed her. Forty-five minutes later she had calmed down, especially after I explained that Lampeter was probably in some sort of dead zone and that Claire never shut up about the fact she could never get any service.
“Okay… I just… I want you to be safe,” she sounded deflated. She had always been overly cautious when it came to me, but what mother wasn’t with their child?
“I get it Mom, but seriously, I’m fine.” I picked at a small scab on my face, hoping that I didn’t just scar myself. “You can’t really expect me to call you every five minutes to give you an update.” I could hear her readying a defense for exactly that before I cut her off. “I promise to video-chat with you and Dad at least once a week. Take it or leave it.”
I
knew she was worried and that me leaving was hard on her, but she needed to understand that I needed to do this. I wanted to explore the world and find out about myself, stuff which I had started to do in my first two years at UCSB but had got lost somewhere along the way. The only reason I went there was so I could be close to them to save money by living at home. Now that home felt all too small.
“Alright. But you better remember to call us. If for one moment I suspect something’s wrong I’ll call the police.”
There was no use arguing with her when she pulled out her teacher voice. Though she was semi-retired now, that didn’t stop her from giving lectures.
“I guessed it would be something like that,” I laughed, thinking of all the times she had threatened me before, only to fall short. I couldn’t tell her how much I already missed them, the ease at having them around to look out for me and think of the things I never did…
“So…” she started tentatively. “Have you met them yet.”
I knew exactly who she was referring to: my mystery benefactors. Since Mom and Dad weren’t thrilled I was going abroad to study, the only thing that finally convinced them was the fact I was awarded a full scholarship. The funny thing was, I never applied for any.
“No. I even asked Owen about it and he said it was from an outside source. Nothing to do with the university itself…”
“Oh, good,” she sighed with relief.
Good?
“As long as you’re having fun.” It was her usual tone, trying to veer the discussion. “Well, I’ll say goodbye then.”
“Okay…” Something wasn’t right.
“We love you sweetheart. Call us whenever you need us,” and she hung up.
“Love you too.”
The following week all the home students started to arrive. Our hallway was now piled high with boxes and bags from the four others moving in, their parents helping to cart in their stuff and kiss them goodbye when it came time for them to leave. At least they didn’t have to travel far to visit their families…
To Those Who Never Knew (A Monksblood Bible Novel Book 1) Page 2
