Chapter 5 -- The Right Path
I've always hated packing. Even though I made a detailed list and kept to it methodically, I always felt as if I were forgetting something important. It didn't help that this feeling usually proved to be justified.
But, if packing was the cost of the adventure before me, I was more than happy to pay up. Aglow with the memories of what transpired earlier, the fear and shame I felt before Amy came over was gone, replaced with an irrational optimism fueled by the endorphins surging through my brain. Sex was a hell of a drug, and an impending vacation with a beautiful, kind, generous, sexy woman was enough to make me forget about all of my problems.
Did I really even have problems at the moment? I was free from the terrible burden of my job. I was flying high on the best sex I've ever had, and I was about to go on an incredible adventure with a mysterious woman.
The nature of my relationship with Amy felt uncomfortably complicated, but that situation seemed out of my hands. She is the one who is deciding where this is going. I was content to let it play out.
I finished packing before too long, and right about then the wine started to hit me pretty hard. A voice somewhere in my head told me that I should tell someone in my life what was happening so nobody files a missing person report while I'm gone.
I didn't really have anyone to tell except my parents, but I didn't want to deal with their reaction to this craziness, soI decided email was the way to go.
I pulled out my phone and composed an email to my mom and dad which read:
Mom and Dad,
I've quit my job suddenly. I've been unhappy for a long time. I met a girl at a coffee shop last week, and she helped me realize that I need to find a way to enjoy my life as best I can. She is taking me to New Zealand for 2 weeks. We are leaving tomorrow. I do not want you to be worried about me. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I am on the right path.
Sincerely,
Greg
By the time I sent it, I was so tired I could barely make it to my bed. I fumbled to set an alarm for the morning, and crashed into a deep and vivid sleep.
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Chapter 6 -- Sir Greggory
I dreamed about Amy. I saw her dancing again, staring at me with deadly seriousness. At times, she was far away and I could barely see her. Other times, she was closer than my skin. At last, I settled right next to her. I could feel her close to me, that familiar warmth to which I had become addicted. When I looked into her eyes, I knew that emotionally she was on an entirely different planet. The realization made me cry, and as my tears fell, she began falling away too, her warmth disappearing from me, and she didn't stop falling until I could see her no more. I cried alone in that void, hungry for her touch to return.
That was how I woke up, alarm blaring and panicking in my still half-asleep mind that I had lost her. It took a few minutes to remember myself, and what was set to transpire today. None of it felt real, which made the confusion of the vivid dream all the more powerful.
I finally looked down at my phone and a jolt of anxiety shot through my body as I realized the alarm had been going off for quite a while. Amy was going to be here in 23 minutes. I raced into the shower and began an abbreviated morning routine. I skipped breakfast but managed to get all the rest done in time, finding myself lacing up my shoes just as a limo pulled up outside.
I guess this is what 'sending a car' means. I rushed to gather my suitcase and backpack, performed a final check in hopes of remembering that thing I must have forgotten, and opened my door just as the driver was about to knock.
The look on his face was shock, which was not appreciated. He was wearing a tuxedo, improbably shiny black shoes, and immaculate white gloves. When he recovered himself a few seconds later he greeted me, "Mister Greg, I presume?"
He had the lilt of an English butler, straight out of a movie. The way he said my name made it clear he was not accustomed to enunciating such common nomenclature. It was an effort to avoid laughing out loud at him.
"Yes," I mirrored his cadence with my best attempt at seriousness, "Though I daresay you will deem to call me 'Sir Greggory'"
His face was inscrutable, and I was certain my composure lacked his impressive polish.
"Quite..." was his response after a moment of silence between us. "May I take your bag, Sir?"
I supposed I'd given this man a hard enough time, so I passed him my suitcase and turned to lock the door. He waited with unobtrusive patience for me to head toward the car, and he walked a couple of paces behind me until we reached the limo. He seemed to appear at the back door before I could get there, opening it with his right hand and holding out his left hand patiently.
In the car, I could see Amy looking up at me intently, amusement lighting her eyes. I froze for an awkward moment, unable to work out the meaning behind the driver's extended left hand.
Finally, I heard Amy crack up laughing in the back of the car, and when she recovered enough to speak she told me, "He's waiting for your backpack, you idiot!"
I looked back at the man, face still incurable and form as still as a statue. I chuckled quietly to myself and removed my backpack, placing the strap in his outstretched hand, disappearing into the car as quickly as I could.
Amy was doubled over laughing at me at this point and I just sat next to her quietly, shaking my head. I heard the driver stow my luggage in the trunk and walk toward his seat. Amy finally looked up at me, now barely containing her laughter.
"I told him to call me 'Sir Greggory'." I told her flatly, suspecting it would precipitate a renewed peal of laughter.
I was right. She laughed even harder, so much so she began to struggle with breathing. She pulled herself together, pulling the tears back into her eyes to save her makeup, and looked back at me with a barely contained grin. I took pity on her expertly applied mascara and granted her several deep breaths of silence to compose herself. Her laugh was really adorable. It didn't matter if she was laughing at me.
"Chauffeurs are a rare breed." She began, answering my unvoiced question. "Most of us do not get the chance to become accustomed to their mysterious ways." She was half-mocking, half-sympathizing.
She chuckled again softly to herself. "Sir Greggory. That's pretty good." She sighed with deep contentment, and I began to survey the space we found ourselves in.
It was very odd to my eyes. Amy and I shared an overstuffed bench seat in the back. To her right was an odd sort of compact bar with some glasses and bottles rattling around. There was a large open floor in the middle with a mirrored bench toward the front. An interior window separated us from the driver, and the exterior windows were tinted to an extreme that made me think we could do pretty much anything back here and nobody would see a thing.
