Red Room Where the Writers Are

Gertrude Stein once said: “America is my country, but Paris is my hometown.” I’ve lived in the Bay Area all my life, but I know how Gert feels. Although in my case, London is my hometown.

As many of you might know, I got the chance to spend the semester in London when I was twenty. I don’t think it really hit me I was going until I was on the plane. There were snafus with getting money to go, my plane was delayed, and I spent the night in a hotel in St. Louis, Missouri, but as we landed at Gatwick Airport, I thought I’m here. Now what the hell am I going to do?

I wanted to go home. Like, right away. I couldn’t sleep because of jet lag. All my flatmates seemed to be friends already (or at least, frenemies). In the meantime, I was doing everything wrong. I didn’t wash dishes right, someone commented on the fact I bought a lot of food. “You must have money!” she exclaimed. Well, no, I was broke, but I wasn’t going to go without my staples like Coke, chocolate, cereal, milk, peanut butter and jelly—the basics.  If I could go back now, I would tell the twenty-year-old me: “First off, it’s called Benadryl. It’s not just for allergies— it can help you sleep. Second, don’t apologize for getting chocolate.  Third, you’re never going to manage doing dishes manually. Volunteer to be the one to dry.”

With all this angst going on, I made myself walk every day around London. There were times the first week I got hopelessly lost. However, the second week I made myself slow down and retrace my steps. It also helped that I was finally able to sleep on a regular basis. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, when I was done with class at noon, I had lunch in the cafeteria with classmates, and then I made myself walk.

The first area I discovered was Leicester Square. There were movie theaters, a Tower Records, and bookstores. If you’re thinking this made me a happy clam, you are right. The thing I loved about London was that on every corner, there was a bookstore. I could go in and look around, and then come out three hours later thinking “Wow, when did the sun go down?”

On Tuesdays I went to the Burbage School, a primary school in the Hackney district. The children practiced reading to me and then asked me questions about America:

“You live in California, Miss Jennifer. Do you live near the movie stars?”

“In America, you have a new president.  Did you vote for him?”

“Is it true Miss Jennifer that it never rains in California?’

However, my favorite question was one from Lee.  I looked sad one day and he said “What’s the matter, Miss Jennifer?”

“I’m just homesick. I miss my mummy.”

He looked at me and said: “You have a mummy?”

The children helped me and my soul.

After volunteering, I would head back to Leicester Square. I’d buy a Coke for a pound at Chiquito’s, a Mexican place where I ate plenty of free food left over from the lunch buffet. I sit and read a book, feeling like I belonged.

The next neighborhood I tackled was Knightsbridge.  Now this was the la-di-da neighborhood because it had Harrods!  Harrods is the biggest department store in London.  My favorite room was the Fragrance Room, which was painted lavender and had a woman playing a harp in the corner.  I would walk all over the store just amazed. They had a bookstore on the fifth level along with a music and video store. The one thing that made me laugh was a Thigh-Master in a glass case, as if it was the Hope Diamond.

I saw a play or musical a week in London. The tickets were cheap and as long as I didn’t mind nosebleed seats, I could get a ticket.  I saw Kenneth Branagh do Hamlet (when I told someone in college about this, she yelled “You lucky bitch!” I wasn’t even offended) and Maggie Smith in The Importance of Being Ernest. There would be times I would be watching a play and think, “How did I get here?”

The thing about London I could do without was the rain. In California we get the rainy period, but usually there’s a break and we get sunshine for two or three days.  Often on the streets I would see broken umbrellas as I walked.  I wished for sun. Finally in March the sun started to peek its head and say “I’m here!”

There were times in London I would be lonely when I was in a roomful of people. The last weeks there were very hard, and it was my own doing.  One weekend when the girl I shared a room with left for Ireland, I read her letters from her boyfriend. I was trying to see if she said anything to him about me. I soon overheard two of the other girls talking about me, one of them saying “Do you think she’s read my stuff too?” I realized that somehow, she found out. I was so ashamed. Terribly ashamed. One of the girls stopped talking to me altogether. I had no excuse. I was dopey, young, and very insecure.

After a week of feeling terrible, I knew I didn’t want to do a big dramatic thing and tell her about what I did. Instead, I decided to stay out of the flat as much as possible except for sleeping. This worked. 

I walked more.  I ate more at Chiquito’s.  When school was done I spent days in bookstores, reading, reading, reading. I wrote everyday in notebooks, wondering if I was a Real Writer.  I started to realize there was a difference between being lonely and being alone. I didn’t mind being alone, because I could do what I wanted and not do touristy junk. Lonely, I decided, was much worse.

The day before I was set to go home, it was raining. I went to Leicester Square and stood in the middle of the street. I closed my eyes. I’m going to come back here, I decided. When I did, I was going to be surer of myself than I was at the moment.

I came back four years later. I had been through therapy and forgave myself for what I did.  As soon as I arrived in London, it was oh, I’m home!   I walked the streets I knew so well, and remembered.

I haven’t been back in twelve years. I’m hoping to go back for my 40th birthday in a couple of years, in time for the London Olympics. There’s so much I want to do: see my old apartment building, go to Leicester Square, Harrods. I’ll remember that twenty-year-old girl and be glad I’m not her anymore. Most of all, I’ll be glad that I’m lucky to have a hometown where I know I’ll never be lonely.