Diseased Jottings From A Random Mind

Drunkard's Walk

The instructions that she had left for me made no sense. If you want to find me, go to the square where we first met. Then just walk. If you love me, you will be brought to me. The square where we had first met was Russell Square, one of the many small, green spaces in Bloomsbury. That was easy enough to find. All I had to do was come out of the Underground station and cross the road. Then I would be in that calm oasis. The rest of her instructions? I had no idea what they meant. Just walk? Where? What direction? And how would I be 'brought' to her? Did that mean somebody would be following me, waiting to show me the way?

I made my way to Russell Square and found an unoccupied bench by the water feature. It was a warm day, and a group of children were playing in the jets of water that shot up from the holes in the bricks. I opened my satchel and took her note out of my journal. Where to go from here? I looked up through the trees that bordered the square to the windows of the surrounding buildings, hoping to see some clue -some sign of what to do next. There was none.

Then just walk. Alright, I would just walk.

I decided to head for the British Museum. It was an obvious landmark, and it had been somewhere we enjoyed. We had spent many afternoons in the Great Court, looking down on the groups of tourists following their guides to the exhibitions.

"People can be fascinating," she had said in an unguarded moment.

"Aren't we people?" I asked.

She laughed and put her arms around me. "No. You are a person. That's different."

"So are you."

"Perhaps."

It felt like there was something more to her statement. Curiousity masquerading as concern got the better of me. "What do you mean by that?" But she ignored me.

I arrived at the back entrance to the Museum: the 'secret'entrance that most people had forgotten. It looked like the entry to any of the other buildings around, not like the way into a building containing the treasures of a nation. Would I find her inside?

Just walk.

No. If I went in here, then I wouldn't be 'just walking'. I remembered another conversation with her; one that we had had in a station newsagent.

"People spend too much time being other people," she said. She pointed at the fashion and lifestyle magazines, promising panacea after panacea. "Have you ever read one of those?"

I shook my head. "No. I can't think down to that level."

"If people would remember who they were and see their own flaws - not those other people tell them they have - then they would be happier."

"What about your flaws?" I asked her. "Do you know what they are?" But she ignored me.

I pulled a coin from my pocket and tossed it in the air. If it came up heads, I would turn left; tails, and I would turn right. Heads. I turned left. As I started walking, I felt a great calm descend on me. What I was doing felt right. I was 'just walking'. At the next intersection I took out the coin and tossed it again. Tails. I turned to the right and set off again.

Each time the city presented me with a choice, I let the coin decide. It took me through the London streets, leading me to places both familiar and unfamiliar. Sometimes the coin would tease me by leading me down a long boulevard, seemingly with some destination in mind. Then it would send me off down a random side street, leading me past Georgian terraces or glass-fronted office blocks. The city changed around me, showing me the different layers of its history. At each corner I found myself thinking about some aspect of my relationship with her, remembering conversations or reflecting on moments of intimacy. Then it brought me to her.

The sun was setting, turning the brick valleys of the streets into shadowed canyons. I could hear the sounds of distant traffic, but otherwise the street was quiet. As the sun sank below the rooftops, the streetlights flickered on. At the far end of street - a street that had seemed to have no other ways in and out -I caught sight of a small pavement café. I tossed the coin and followed its whims.

A uniformed waiter hailed me from the door of the café. "Sir? Your table is ready."

I stopped. "My table?"

The waiter bowed. "Indeed, sir. And your companion is waiting for you inside. If you will forgive me saying, she has been most patient. Please to follow me, sir."

"Lead on MacDuff," I said, and followed the waiter inside.