Page 53 of The Bright Side of Brooding
But where I might have chuckled and simply cast off the object as something that only a modern art museum would call art with a roll of my eyes, Nick leaned close and told me the story behind it. It didn’t change my perspective that I wouldn’t want a urinal on the wall of my living room, but it pushed me to look deeper.
And what I’d been learning about Nick took hold as we wandered, sometimes close, sometimes each stuck in our own heads. At times, I could swear he was locked in a trance, maybe thinking of his family or his grandmother. The way he thought was a complete mystery to me. I’d never met anyone like him, and though that same sentiment had come and gone a dozen times in the course of our interactions, I felt it clearly today. Nothing about him came as expected. Where one might expect a rough, almost toxically masculine man based on his bulk, strength, and even vocation, what you discovered was someone…gentle. Introspective, thoughtful, analytical, and creative.
He intimidated me. Completely. I’d already recognized him as a formidable coach and professional, and that was outside his military job. The competition this weekend had shown me what a caring mentor and leader he could be. But now, hearing him talk about which pieces had made an impression on his grandmother, or things he’d researched and looked forward to seeing… it skewered me.
Pair the curiosity and general brain power with his propensity for hand-written confessions, and I was doomed. And that didn’t include the physical elements, which need not be mentioned since cataloging his assets would ultimately just drive me insane.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked as we crossed over the Thames on the Millennium footbridge, the museum at our backs.
My focus on the glinting silver metallic ropes swooping along just out of reach, I searched for something to say besidesI really like you but you’re overwhelming.I landed on, “Just digesting the day.”
He didn’t respond, but we kept walking, our pace leisurely but purposeful. Ahead of us loomed St. Paul’s rotunda, and the sight of it struck me. A laugh bubbled out just as we hit the end of the bridge.
“What?”
His gaze felt warm and sweet. The fluttering sensation in my chest heightened, and I would’ve kissed him if we weren’t surrounded by fellow walkers. “I’m just having one of thosethis is my lifemoments.”
He raised a brow.
“You know, those moments where you have that sense of awareness hit you. Like, I’m actually here, walking off the Millennium bridge, staring at St. Paul’s Cathedral where Princess Diana was married. I’m in London, and I kind of know my way around because I’ve been here before, and it’s just… crazy.”
I never would’ve dreamed of such a moment when I was a kid. I had no aspirations to get to London or anywhere butout.Well, out andfed. It still baffled me that none of my siblings had truly left home. They had no idea what they were missing.
“I haven’t traveled all that much, but I think I know what you mean. It’s surreal to be in places you grow up hearing and reading about.”
We marched up the steps side by side. At the top, we stopped, gazing up at the towering cathedral. I glanced at him, a twist deep in my chest. “It’s… wondrous.”
He hummed and squeezed my hand. “Yes. Exactly.”
What he couldn’t know, and what I couldn’t express, was the feeling of being there with him.Hewas wondrous. A person like I’d never known, and someone who I felt drawn to in a way that almost seemed dangerous. But today, after a mind full of beauty and a body striped with awareness of him, all I could think was being here, with him, was wondrous indeed.
