I’ve never put much stock in the belief that there is only ‘one’ person out there for everyone. Some people have many great romantic loves, some never find it.
I have however, always believed in soulmates. Not necessarily romantic. But when you meet someone with who you connect on a cellular level. That feeling when your eyes meet and you realize you’ve known them your whole life - you just hadn’t met yet. This is a great love too.
One such person for me is my friend, who I will call ‘W’. He lives in Northern Ireland, and I met him when he came to Toronto to work with a mutual friend. From the start, I felt known by him, that we both wanted nothing more than to make the other happy. We’d go for drinks, or have long phone calls and never run out of things to say to each other.
After he went back home, we kept up our friendship over Facebook messenger, email and texts. We would talk about anything and everything, and remark that our long trail of back and forth would make a good book or film.
About five years ago, I went to London, England for my cousin’s wedding. I asked W if he would come meet me so we could spend a couple of days together. I hadn’t seen him at that point in a few years. I took the Tube to Heathrow airport to meet him, and when he walked out of the gate, it was like no time had passed.
We spent the first day sightseeing around London. He would make jokes, and do impressions of our mutual friends that would have me in stitches. I’d catch him looking at me fondly as I laughed or chattered non-stop in my joy of being with him in person. The best friend who had emerged from my phone and was walking alongside me.
If you’ve ever been to London, you may have seen the giant soft serve ice creams they seem to sell in all the touristy areas. You can get a plain vanilla, or one that comes with a Cadbury Flake bar stuffed in the middle.
I can’t eat ice cream, but I noticed a stand selling these cones in a park near Buckingham Palace where we had stopped to sit for a bit. I offered to buy him one, assuring him that I didn’t mind that I couldn’t have any, that he should enjoy it. I mentioned that I had loved the chocolate when I was a kid. He accepted the ice cream, but only if I took the chocolate bar.
The next day we went to Brighton, a beachy touristy town about an hour outside of London. We walked along the boardwalk, I played some of the arcade games, and bought W another ice cream. He once again insisted I take the chocolate. We went to a patio bar and had pints of beer, and I laughed even more than I had the day before.
The time seemed to speed by, and it was soon time to catch the train to Heathrow so he could fly home.
For some reason I had gotten it into my head that my niece and nephew would like some of the seashells that litter Brighton beach. I wanted to stop and collect some before we got on the train. W helped me scour the rocks for only the ‘best’ ones.
Once I was satisfied with my collection, we started the walk back to the train station. Only we hadn’t realized we’d basically crossed the town over the course of the day, and we were miles further away. We decided to get on a bus, which we hoped would be faster. But as the time ticked down, my anxiety started ratcheting up. His flight was was in less than an hour and a half. I started panicking that he might miss it.
When we arrived at the station, we’d missed the train we’d planned to take to Heathrow. But it seemed like another one coming in 15 minutes stopped at the airport too. We might be okay. But while it went past Heathrow, it didn’t actually stop there. My stomach clenched as the train glided past the airport and continued into central London.
It was official. He’d missed his flight.
My anxiety kicked into overdrive. I was staying with my aunt and didn’t have a way to reach her, and I’d convinced myself that she would be unhappy if I brought home a strange man to sleep on her couch. I’d booked a sightseeing day trip for the next day, and W was insisting that I not miss it. That I should go back to my aunt’s. That we would figure something out.
My cousin came to meet us for dinner, and scrolled her phone at the noodle restaurant until we found him a youth hostel that had a bed. At least he had a place to sleep.
W and I went for one last one drink, and I started crying, overwhelmed by having ruined the perfect days we had spent together. He hugged me and told me I was being silly, but I was sure our little idyllic mini trip had turned sour because of me.
As I waited to get a black cab back to my aunt’s, I was seized once more by guilt and shame. I was abandoning him in London after he had come to see me. I had screwed everything up with my foolish insistence on looking for seashells. Why did I need to go on the tour the next day? I started crying again, while he promised me that the two days had been the best adventure he’d had in ages. That he wasn’t upset. To please stop blaming myself.
The next day he messaged me that he had spent more time out in London after I left, ended up singing at a karaoke bar, getting in the wee hours in the morning before catching his flight home. He’d had a grand time. Stop worrying.
When I got back to Toronto, our text and message relationship continued much as it had before, but it was stronger now. More real. What could have been a disaster - what was a disaster really - had bonded us further. During some of my lonelier times I would remind myself that there was this amazing person, who although was across the Atlantic, I could talk to anytime.
Some time later W and I were reminiscing about our time in London and Brighton. I couldn’t even recall what happened to the shells. I must have given them to my niece and nephew, but I have no idea what they did with them. Something that had seemed so crucial then turned out to be meaningless, as so many of these things do.
It was our time together that we remembered. The search on the beach. How he devoted himself wholeheartedly to finding the ‘only the best’ shells because it was so important to me.
I said that we would have to go back, so I could rewrite the ending. Less frantic. This time I would spend that night in London and we’d both go to karaoke. That I needed to get him another ice cream.
That’s when he told me that he only took it so he could give me the chocolate inside. Both of us trying to make the other happy. This is a great love too.
Ruth, "W" is a true soulmate. This is a beautiful post. Be sure to travel and see him again.
Your writing style is amazing. I'm glad I found you on Twitter. :-)
Excellent read, I like your style. 😉