Repeat After Me

    "IT'S A NICE PLACE, ISN'T IT,"
    "WHAT?"
    He shuffles a little closer along the seat until his lips are practically touching my left ear.  Attempting to overpower the music, he repeats again, "I SAID, IT'S A NICE PLACE," and now he's smiling to no one in particular and nodding along to the music. 
    Yes, it's a very nice place if you're still at uni and looking to drink yourself into oblivion until the horrific memory of that Maths exam is completely out of your head. Not a very nice place if you left work an hour ago, have to prepare for a presentation the next morning and were looking forward to a quiet dinner with perfectly charming second date guy, who right this second is doing some weird shoulder dance. 
    Attractive.

    "FANCY A DRINK?"
    "WHAT?"
    "FANCY ANOTHER DRINK?" he motions his hand to his mouth to mime a glass.
    "YES, I'D LOVE ONE, THANKS,"
    "SAME COCKTAIL?"
    "WHAT?"
    He starts pointing to my empty glass as he stands up, "DO YOU WANT THE SAME COCKTAIL?"
    "OH.  YES," I nod vigorously, hoping I won't have to repeat myself.  So he smiles at me and drifts through the crowd to the bar.  I say drifts - it's more a 'one step forward, two shoves back' route as he gets blocked by drunken dancers who are looking like losers but thinking they're cool.
    OK, I know I sound old, but I'm not old.  I'm just tired. 

I'm not too sure what to do with myself as I sit there on my own, so I do what we all seem to do these days when faced with an uncomfortable situation.  I take out my Blackberry and I start texting/tweeting/emailing - whatever I can to not look a loner.
    "ON YOUR OWN?" a guy in his late teens has plonked himself down next to me.  He's wearing a bright yellow flannel shirt and is sipping his Bulmers through a straw. 
    I instinctively grab hold of my Blackberry as if this guy is about to take it, which is silly because he's only a few years younger than me. 
    I smile at him and shake my head.  It's good to keep the conversation as brief as possible in these sorts of situations.  Guys in clubs are like stray cats - once you acknowledge them, they'll never leave you alone. 
    "I LOVE THIS SONG," he informs me as J-LO starts playing.  "COME AND DANCE," he stands up from the seat and takes my hand in his, pulling me up.
    "No, it's really fine," I tell him, trying to get my hand back, meanwhile keeping an eye out for my date.  Surely he should be back by now. 
    "Oh, come on.  I bet you're a great dancer," he says with a smile, "you NEED to dance,"
    I NEED to go home and sleep.
    This is like the final year of uni all over again.  I'm trying to be responsible, but other forces are saying otherwise.  So I stand up.
    And then immediately sit back down when I notice date coming my way again, cocktails in hand. 
    Yellow Flannel Guy looks over at the direction my eyes have flown towards, and then straight back at me.  "Oh," he mouths. "I'll catch you later, yeah,"
    "IT'S A REALLY NICE PLACE, ISN'T IT," date says again as soon as he sits down.
    Yes, you've mentioned that.  Twenty times.
    "HAVING FUN?"
    "WHAT?"
    "ARE YOU HAVING FUN?"
   My eyes dart over to Yellow Flannel Guy who's laughing along with Red Skinny Jeans Guy and Side Ponytail Girl.  And for some strange reason, I get a real longing to join them. 
    I'm on a date in a club and I'm sitting down.  Surely that's not right? 
    "I'M NOT REALLY ENJOYING MYSELF WITH YOU," I say, and immediately regret my words.
    "WHAT?"
    Thank goodness for that!
    "I'M HAVING A GREAT TIME,"
    He smiles.
    And I want to leave.
    Actually, no.  I don't want to leave.  I want to dance. 
    "SO HOW WAS WORK?"
    "WHAT?"
    "WORK.  HOW WAS IT?"
    "OH," I drink a little of my drink before I answer.  I feel my throat needs the replenishment.  "IT WAS TIRING. THERE'S A LOT TO DO BEFORE TOMORROW,"
    "SORRY?"
    Oh, for goodness sake!!!
    "TOO MUCH WORK. VERY TIRING," I unhappily repeat.  He says something back but I don't hear it, so I laugh for no reason.  Let's hope it was funny.
    My eyes are drifting longingly around the room.  Yes, these people look crazy drink-dancing (which I think should be make just as illegal as drink driving).  Yes, there's the occasional lonely guy trying to casually dance with every girl.  And yes, there are a few cougars parading the premises.  But all these people are having fun, and that's what I want to do. 
    But instead I'm still sitting.
    Sitting and not dancing.
    "ANOTHER DRINK?"  
    "I CAN'T HEAR YOU,"
    "ANOTHER DRINK?"
    "HUH?"
    "I SAID, WOULD YOU LIKE ANOTHER DRINK?" I finally understand, but I stop him just as he's about to stand up.
    "I'M GOING TO HEAD HOME.  I'M REALLY TIRED," I throw in a fake yawn just for added emphasis, apologise a million times and slip out of the club.  Because if you want to talk to your date you take them somewhere quiet, right?  You don't chaperone them to a busy club and expect a life changing conversation. 
    So I was right to leave, I've decided.
    End of.

Part One: Sky Blue

Ever since I can remember I've always switched on my iPod (CD player when I was younger), pressed the 'Random' button and told myself that whichever song comes on is relevant to my life at the moment.  Sometimes, this theory of mine never works out, e.g. when you're stressed out from university exams and First Date by Blink 182 pops up - the link there is very difficult to find, but other times it could not have been more right.  Scarily right, in fact.

I'm at the station platform waiting for a train to take me to Guildford.  It's a boiling day and I have a job interview, which means I'm wearing a very tight, high-waisted pencil skirt that was not meant for this unexpected but welcomed change to the British weather.  But I'm 20 minutes early so I find a bench in the shade and take out my iPod as I wait for the train.
    Earphones go in ears, and without thinking, I do what I always do - I click 'shuffle' when it presents me my entire music playlist.  And the song that starts bursting its melodic lyrics at me could not be more symbolic.
    Breaking Up by Rilo Kiley.
    My boyfriend and I are having problems.  Huge problems, that have only been made worse by the fact that he's chosen to ignore them, and for a while now, ending the relationship has been the main carnivorous thought that's been circling all others for a while.
    But the abruptness of such an appropriate song only makes me laugh.  Four hours later when I think back to that moment, it makes me laugh even more. My boyfriend and I have just broken up.

Anyway.
I digress because this story is not about him.

So I'm at the station platform, trying desperately to ignore the nervous butterflies that seem to be flying around with daggers in my stomach, when I see someone run up the steps to the platform, curse loudly thinking they've missed the train, and then attempt to kick air.
    I take my earphones out.  "Umm, the train hasn't arrived yet," I say cautiously.
    The guy swings round facing me with a puzzled look.  "It hasn't?" he asks.
    Oh.  He's American.  Or Irish.  One of the two.
    "It should get here in about 15 minutes," I smile and put my earphones back in.  He's pacing up and down the platform in front of me.  I sense he's nervous because he's walking so fast back and forth, he's practically becoming a blur.
    "Are you OK?" I ask.
    He turns towards me swiftly.  "Huh?  Oh.  Yes.  I'm fine.  Thanks though,"
    He's definitely American.
    My earphones go back in, but I'm interrupted.
    "Actually, would you mind if I sat down?"
    I look at the empty space of bench next to me, and I'm almost surprised that he'd even ask.  "Of course," I reply.
    I don't put my earphones back in.  With someone that you've exchanged words with sitting next to you it almost feels rude to block one of your senses.
    "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you when I ran here," he says.
    I have to laugh at his apology.  "You didn't startle me.  I didn't really know what was happening though,"
    "I'm meant to be meeting a friend in Guildford but I'm already half an hour late.  He's going to kill me.  I've never been good with public transport," he tells me.  I smile, and then ask a question that I wish I could take back.
    "Are you a tourist?"
    He looks at me with amused eyes.  They're a sky blue - exactly the same blue you'd see when you look up on a sunny day.
    A bit like today.
    "No.  I've lived here since I was 18.  Since I started university," he clarifies.
    And I feel like an idiot.
    "Sorry.  It's just because, you know, your accent,"  I look down at my hands like a scolded child.
    "Don't worry, I get that a lot.  Strangely, the longer I've lived here, the more people have asked if I'm visiting,"
    I look at him and smile.  "Sorry," I say again.
    "It's really OK," he beams a smile.  "I'm Alex,"
    "Ella,"
    "It's nice to meet you,"
    "You too,"
    And we both stare straight ahead at the giant billboard that seems to be ordering us to get a mortgage.
    "So where are you going to today?" he asks me.
    "To Guildford.  I have a job interview.  Well, actually, the job interview is tomorrow, but today I have to meet with the recruitment agency," I pull an annoyed look, "You know how irritating they can be,"
    He laughs, "A lot of people keep saying that.  I'm starting to feel lucky I've never dealt with them,"
    "Well, then you're very lucky," but I desperately want to ask him what he does for a living.  He's far too well dressed to be unemployed, but far too young to be self-employed.
    "What do you do?" I finally ask after a few seconds have escaped us.
    "I'm a doctor,"
    Oh.
    Well.
    Didn't expect that. 
    "Which sort?"
    "The general kind," he says with a smile.
    "A GP?" I ask nonchalantly.  I bet he gets girls swooning over him all the time when he mentions that.  I don't want him to think I'm one of them.
    "A GP," he confirms.
    For a couple more seconds we sit in silence.
    "Where?" I ask, again trying not to seem impressed.
    "At a hospital," his smile is now so wide, I almost smile back.
    "Yes, but which one?" I say impatiently.
    He laughs now.  A full, manly laugh that leaves me confused.  Surely what I asked was a normal question?
    "What's wrong?"
    In between laughter he says, "Were you about to lose your temper with me?"
    "No!" I quickly defend myself.
    "Oh, I think you were,"
    "I was not!!"
    "You know, you are allowed to be impressed that I'm a doctor.  People seem to go about it in one of two ways; either they're so in awe over it they let it show completely, or they do what you did, Ella.  They pretend they don't care,"
    "Well, I don't care.  It's not like I haven't met a doctor before.  My doctor's a doctor!"
    "Your doctor's a doctor?  Well, I'll be damned! There was me thinking I was the only one.  I always knew I should have listened to my parents and become a lawyer,"

Sky Blue

    "It's not like you can either be a doctor or a lawyer to be deemed successful, you know!" I reply.
    "That's not what I meant at all," the laughter has suddenly stopped because he's sensed that I'm rather annoyed.  "And what did you study at uni?"
    "Economics,"
    "Well, that's not much better.  That's pretty much on the same level.  Had you read a subject a little more interesting, I might have understood your anger towards my statement,"
    "I'm not angry," I say quietly.
    "Just annoyed?"
    "Just annoyed,"
    "Somehow, I get the feeling there are other things worrying you at the moment that are causing this.  Not just my pride towards my job title.  Although, as oddly satisfying as it would be to annoy a perfect stranger before 2pm, I don't think I'm the reason you're so tense,"
    I turn to him in surprise and smile.  It's like that moment when you're a small child and you fall over and graze your knee.  You don't want to cry, but you need to, and the moment someone comes towards you with a worried look asking what's happened, you can't control it.  Floods of tears escape.
    It's just like that.
    Except I don't cry.
    Instead I say, "I've wasted the last four months being with a guy who isn't worth being with.  He makes me mad.  He makes me upset, and yet, I seem to be too stubborn to get away from it,"
    He nods as he's listening to me and I can tell he's genuinely worried.
    "Why can't you walk away?" he asks.
    I take in a deep breath.  "Because nothing's stable," I begin, "Since I graduated from uni, nothing seems to have lasted past 2 months.  This time two months ago I had just left my job and was in the middle of a new relationship.  Two months before then I had just started a new job and had just met my now boyfriend.  Two months before that I was unemployed and with my long-term boyfriend from uni.  Two months before that I was still a student.  There's too much chaos.  Is it wrong to not want things to change just because you want to sort out other parts of your life first?"
    "That's not wrong at all," he says.  A gentle smile sweeps over his lips.  He pauses for a second, then begins again, "When my last girlfriend broke up with me, she said she couldn't sort out her career unless she was single.  I didn't understand it at the time, but now it makes perfect sense.  If there's something in your life that's distracting you from something that should be a priority, you need to cut them loose,"
    "Weren't you mad at her for breaking up with you over such a stupid reason?"
    He laughs again.  "I was at the time.  But if you think about it, at least she was honest with me,"
    "It's still a stupid reason," I say, but he only laughs.

The train pulls up at the station, so I rise from my seat.
    "Get up," I playfully nudge his leg with my foot, "you don't want to miss it.  Goodness knows what you'll kick this time,"
    "I'm not getting on it," he says, looking at the train as if he's finally figured something out.  "I lied to you earlier.  I wasn't going to Guildford to meet my friend.  My ex wanted to meet up so we could talk about getting back together, but you know what, I really don't want to," he laughs at his realisation.
    "Oh," I don't know what else to say.  "Are you sure?"
    "Positive,"
    "Umm, I hope I wasn't the reason to cause this?"
    He smiles at me as he stands up.  "Oh Ella, more than you know.  Good luck with your job interview,"
    "Thank you," I say as I get on the train, dazed from the situation.
    "Maybe I'll bump into you again sometime,"
    "Maybe,"
    The train doors click shut and I'm on my way, but the nerves of tomorrow's interview have alerted me of their presence again. 
    Right, you annoying butterflies, I say in my head.  It's just you and me now, so let's go get that bloody job!