Life Is A Runway

by Split Scimitar

Jet-Puffed Marshmallow

When we reach my flat, I open the garage and park. Inside is a road-legal McLaren P1 GTR. Normally, this is a track car that is built for racing, but I got the conversion, because that’s simply too good an opportunity to pass up (since there’s little chance it could pass in the US).

After unpacking, I get directions to Drayton Manor and some area coffee shops along the way.

“Okay. You ready Rarity? Drayton Manor is the farthest away, so we’ll do that now.”

“Darling, you just flew across an ocean overnight. Don’t you feel tired?”

“No. I will be by later today though, so let’s cross my thing to do off the list.”

“Okay.” She hastily agrees.

Soon, we get onto the M40, bypassing the M1’s roadworks and traditionally horrific traffic to get to the permanent home of some original models of Thomas The Tank Engine. I know that the park is for little ones, so seeing Rarity and I there would definitely seem out of place, but if I play my cards right, I’ll be in Birmingham for less time than we spent actually driving up to Birmingham.

Setting a gentle 70 mph, the normal motorway speed limit, I admire the scenery of extra-urban London, and specifically, the road signs. Not quite the same as America, but they’re still nice in their own special way.

One hour passes, and somewhere between Bicester and Banbury, I get a slight craving for coffee. Rarity and I then decide to find a tea shop where we can relax and take a breath, now that we’re officially in England.

Eventually, we find a nearby Garden center, where we have some hot drinks despite the quickly warming temps outside. Rarity being your typical mid-Atlantic temperamental suggests said hot drinks, to which I agree.

I don’t want to ask her about her feelings yet, but I have a feeling that it’ll be a long trip. Even so, I do find it flattering that someone like Rarity does have a crush on me. She is very pretty, and in many ways we are very much alike. The most obvious match is that where she is all about fashion, I am all about airplanes. We both have very similar interests and share a lot of common bonds, as I do with everyone else in her herd, but what makes the relationship between Rarity and I special I would argue is our freely giving spirits. If fighting over the bill for a steak dinner was any indicator, coupled to the dynamic that Rarity and I have, being the mutual connection between her friends and I, then I guess there being a special connection shouldn’t be all that surprising.

As we sip our drinks and admire the beautiful summer day in store for us, I use the bathroom as the flight wasn’t too kind to me in that department, even with as much coffee as I’ve gone through thus far.

Soon, we continue the journey to Birmingham, where arriving off-peak from morning rush serves us nicely, except close to the city center, where it’s gonna be busy no matter the time of day. Parking is no issue except for our distance to ticketing, but I need the walk, to get some circulation, and because I have a headache. Probably some caffeine withdrawal I guess.

When we head in, I take my time, which Rarity seems to notice.

“Darling, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes Rarity. I’m sure.” Following that however are a couple of disgustingly wet coughs. Spitting in a planter reveals a sputum with copious amounts of white mucus.

Rarity, completely grossed out, keeps her distance. To that I say to myself, “be glad you’re over there. If I am or getting sick, it’s gonna be a long trip.”

When I catch up to her, she sprays her perfume in my area, saying, “Ugh. You need a mouth cleaning.”

“K cool. Thanks.” I respond with slight agitation.

“Are you sick?”

“No. Just stuffy from sitting in the plane for so long.”

“Uh huh. I’m no doctor, but you need to sleep.”

“Oh relax. I’ve done plenty of all-nighters before. The danger will be if I don’t sleep tonight.”

“If you say so…” She responds with a grain of salt.

When we reach Thomas Land, I smile with joy as I take in the mini Island of Sodor. The rides are of course perfect for toddlers and most youth below 10 years, so I head straight for the exhibit.

Even though the place is geared towards toddlers and young’uns, I take a beautiful trip down memory lane. This was my childhood. This series gave me so much, and while only a few of the engines are here, I knew that it was going to be much smaller than I thought, seeing as how they shot the show with model trains for crying out loud. Of course, I’m quite elated to know that at least one of the models is still operative, as when I walk in, Thomas is pulling two green express coaches. Annie and Clarabel unfortunately are nowhere to be found, but Edward is pulling the breakdown train.

Now, I make no efforts to hide my soft side, and here especially is no exception. Completely overcome with nostalgia and probably also from being exhausted, I shed more than a few tears of joy, not dissimilar to having a crying fit when meeting a favorite celebrity or idol. Call me a fool, but when you had the childhood I did, you can’t shed just one tear.

Rarity, seeing this, smiles from a distance, the occasional look back at her showing a “this is all you” look. This is my Pooh Corner as it were, more or less. I’ve been waiting quite a while to do this, so I guess it was worth the hype, though I may be enjoying it too much because I’m so tired, I have the emotional fortitude of a child who is in Thomas’ target demographic.

After about 25 minutes, I bid a silent but satisfactory farewell to the exhibit, opting for the car so we can get back to London before traffic.

“Thank you Rarity,” I say as I wipe tears from my eyes. “My childhood is now complete.”

“Oh darling, of course! I’m glad you found something that made you happy.” She says blushing.

“You want to get some more coffee or tea?”

“Let’s make a decision closer to London. You want to beat traffic, right?”

“I do, but I timed this departure so we can have a little room to play with.”

“Let’s just head that way and we’ll see.”

“Alrighty.” I say as we make our way out of the park.

Once on the motorway, I settle in and notice that I now have to make more conscious efforts to breathe. More than on the plane. My nose isn’t clogged, and I’m not getting, or at least I don’t feel like I’m getting sick. Nevertheless, I make a mental note to try and get some sleep tonight.

What a time for the coffee to kick in, now that I’m off the high from Thomas. Taking sharp, deep breaths as we pass Bicester, Rarity looks over at me as I shake my head to clear some mental fog.

“Max, do you need to pull off and rest?”

“No, no. We’re only an hour away. Stopping would be pointless.”

“I know you don’t like to admit it, but I seriously think you should go straight to sleep once we get home.”

“And miss the opportunity of a lifetime to show you around London? No way!”

“Last Night at The Proms isn’t for another two days. We don’t have to do everything today.”

“But there’s so much to see and do. Let’s map it out when we get home. Gives me a chance to actually stretch out in a house. Can’t venture on adventures if I’m taking a nap. Plus, I always handle directions.”

“Okay then, darling.”

Soon, we arrive home facing quite a few red lights in the city. After I have some water for a change and use the bathroom again, we map out our afternoon for the city. With Savile Row and the Royal palaces atop our list, we make our way out and into Londinium.

In the few blocks to Savile Row, I take deep breaths again to alleviate some chest pains, probably from breathing so shallowly otherwise. Despite this, I still manage to keep pace with an extremely excited Rarity.

Though Savile Row is known for bespoke men’s clothing, Rarity is in her heaven, especially when she sees the women’s clothing stores that now take residence in this fashion district. In a similar state of bliss as me at Drayton Manor, I role reverse and let her have her moment to take in being in the place that inspired her quite a lot as a dressmaker. We don’t spend quite as much time here as I would’ve expected, but maybe she draws inspiration from other sources besides the fashion district. Of course, we still have Paris to visit, so.

When we reach the palace, royal guards are standing guard, so Rarity takes a picture with one. Obligatorily, I act as the photographer, since this is all her. Taking in views of the Palace and the Abbey, I take plenty of pictures of Rarity for her as we make our way to Elizabeth Tower, home of Big Ben.

From here, we have a choice. Do we head to Buckingham Palace, which is longer, but allows for a scenic walk, or head for Trafalgar Square? The answer is staring me straight in the face.

“Come on!” Rarity says taking my hand excitedly. “Let’s go see if we can spot royalty!”

Chuckling, I try to keep up with her. Now, I’m not on any hills, but it really does feel like a pill. Why does the way ahead feel so steep?

At Buckingham Palace, I take Rarity’s picture with the castle in the background, trying oh so hard to get it just right. After a handful of photos, she decides to go for some glamour shots, looking pretty in some rather seductive poses, even for being in front of Buckingham Palace.

Before we make too much of a scene, we leave and walk up to Trafalgar Square, where we find a seat on the East Square fountain.

My breathing is accompanied by the sound of mucus clogging my airways, and coughing to clear them isn’t helping. In fact, it’s making it worse.

“Max dear, I think you’re getting sick. That doesn’t sound good.”

“That’s the thing. I’m not sickly. I’m not in a bad way. I’m just tired.”

“That’s the first step, darling.”

“I’ll be fine.”

After I recover some energy, we head for Piccadilly Circus. I’m here only to take a picture of the iconic advert boards, but Rarity does a bit of taking in the crowd.

“Oh, how I’ve longed to return.” She says as I suppress coughs.

Smiling at her in such a blissful state, I get my pictures and comb through them to find the best one. Eventually, we find our way to a gift shop, where I find a couple of good gag gifts for Rosalina and others. Rarity finds other little knickknacks and tchotchkes that her friends would appreciate, one for each of them.

“Save some money for France too.”

“Of course darling! I have allotted a few hundred for this vacation.”

“Holiday.”

“What?”

“You’re not on vacation. You’re on holiday.”

Completely unamused by my sardonic quip, Rarity only replies, “twat.”

“Thank you.”

A time check reveals plenty of time for attractions on the east side of the city. Tower of London and Tower Bridge along with The Globe Theatre and the Royal Observatory if time allows.

Since I need a good walk, I suggest we walk to Tower Bridge so we can walk along the Thames. Hastily agreeing, we trek on. We have things to see and places to go.

As I watch boaters, rowing clubs, and police patrols, I almost envy them for having something to sit on and take them places, but I promised myself a walk.

When we reach our approximate halfway point, I scratch an itch but find my skin indented, and swollen. Now it’s obvious that the trip over here didn’t come with a price.

“Great.” I whisper to myself.

---

When we reach Tower Bridge, keeping my eyes open is now a task. Rarity asks for pictures here and of London Bridge from Tower Bridge. Fighting every single urge not to fall asleep, I oblige Rarity with her pictures and a selfie over the Thames. My heart rate is going up, and my whole body is starting to tingle. Now sleep deprivation is starting to catch up.

By the time we decide to head back, Rarity has grown tired, so she hails a black cab and tells the driver, “Savile Row.”

As soon as I sit down and belt up, I ask if she has cash on her.

“No worries, mate. I take credit cards.” The driver responds.

“Alrighty.”

Rarity then takes her shoes off and rubs her feet, whispering little nothings like “curse me for bringing these” and “I probably should’ve brought something more comfortable.”

Too tired to pick up on anything else, I spend the whole ride back to the house fighting sleep. If I fall asleep now, my circadian will be thrown off big time.

When we get dropped off, I take care of the fare and head for a Nando’s, just for giggles and grins. Rarity opts for something a little less… messy, finding an Italian restaurant that does to-go.

When we return home, we sit down and enjoy our meal, though I fight the urge to start talking, because I don’t like being that guy.

Eventually, I finish my chicken, but since I got more food than she did, Rarity waits for me to finish before she asks me questions.

“Max,” she asks reaching her hand out.

I immediately retract, since my hands are messy, so I apologize but tell her to keep talking as I get up to wash them.

“I… when you first get your feelings for a woman, how do you cope?”

“Sometimes, I jump straight to what would happen if I was honest with her upfront. From there, I throttle it back and see how much time it takes for us to get comfortable enough to tell when the right time is. Almost all the time however, usually I act out and act as unattractive as possible to try and quash the feelings before they become invasive. Rosalina would be able to tell you what I mean. I had it real bad with her. Long story short, I work hard to try and dissuade any further efforts by telling myself that it’s just a crush. It’ll go away on its own.”

“What happens if there’s mutual interest?”

“I’ll want to talk about it almost immediately. Unless I’m more interested, then I’ll revert back to “it’s just a crush.”

“So you’ll never make the first move.”

“Not necessarily. If I think there’s even the slightest chance, I’ll ask, but only after a very long period of convincing myself there. Assumption of crush is my default.”

“Why would you ever do that to yourself?”

“Because it keeps me from going too crazy. It’s how I keep myself grounded.”

“No wonder you’re such a pessimist.”

“You’ve seen how quickly and easily carried away I can get. Keeps me from doing stupid things. Besides, why are you asking me this? That doesn’t seem like you.”

“I’m just curious, since you seem to be such a fan of romantic neutrality. I figure it’ll be worth it to get to know the man behind the controls, you know. You’re human too.”

“That sounds like a fancy roundabout way to say I’m asexual/aromantic.”

“Except that that isn’t the case for the latter.”

“In any case,” I shrug, “I’m happy to be the straight man, or rather, the neutral party. I hope you know that despite this role I’ve been given in the group, the fact that you all welcomed me with open arms means more than you would ever realize. Even though I’ve formed special connections with each of you in such a relatively short timespan, I’m glad you’re all there for me.”

“Well, how would you like to form a connection a little more… tangible?”

My face drops. “You don’t mean.”

“Come on, darling. Have I not made it obvious?”

“The invitation?”

She nods.

“The abnormal flirtatiousness?”

Another nod, followed by a raising of the eyebrow.

“The over-the-top mothering since we landed at Gatwick?”

To make this a trifecta, a third shy nod and other eyebrow now raise as she blushes.

I approach her from the kitchen and ask, “is this for real or…”

But I am rendered unable to speak as another mucus clog shows up in my breath. This close to coughing in her face, I fling myself back towards the kitchen sink, prepared to hock another loogie if necessary.

As I continue coughing, I break a sweat trying really hard to force a cough out, but it seems like my efforts are fruitless.

“Rar…” I attempt to, ahem, spit, out, but now the act of sending air through my lungs produces a frothy boil, as if I was trying to speak whilst being choked on my own phlegm.

“Ra… R…” I say gesturing for her to come over.

Reluctantly she does as I muster up some more energy to hock a loogie I can feel right at the back of my throat. As she slowly approaches me, I open the faucet tap and use the last of my exhausted diaphragm to spit. What hits the running water is disheartening. A slew of bloody sputum gets washed down the drain as I wipe sweat from my brow and take one last deep but really hoarse breath, just able to slur out,

“Rarity, catch me.”