Location: Stirling, UK
Weather: blue rainy twilight
Trapped!
I took the bus to Stirling today. Needed a tartan scarf to warm me against the oncoming winter. Thought Stirling might have better prices. Arrived late. Spent too long searching for an open store, missed the last bus back to Aberfoyle (No!), sat down in a McDonalds, open laptop, found it was NOT the last bus, the next one’s in a few minutes (Yes!), go to the bus stop, the bus is 10 min late, then roars past me (What?), I run to the next stop, gesture frantically to the driver, she looks angry, refuses to open the door, and drives off. Trapped! And what can I blame, but my own folly?
Crackheads bounce around the glowing purple STIRLING sign across from the train station. No sense staying on these streets. Maybe I could book a hostel for the night— would I get back in time for work tomorrow?
Mione! The others! They might be able to help. I duck into the train station convenience store and fire off some texts. I pace, I wait. I chat with the cashier.
Outside the twilight deepens.
“Oops,” Mione replies. “George has gone into Stirling with Pippa. Get ahold of him and maybe he can bring you back. X.”
My heart leaps. “Excellent thank you!!!”
I call him. Pippa’s returning to Germany tomorrow, so George and Elsa went to town to see her off. I laugh at myself heartily— not for the first time, or the last. As much as my plight made me blush, if I’d stayed home that night, I would have missed my chance to. What luck! What jubilation! God is good! His blessings strike like thunderbolts— shocks of brightness, disguised by the ominous!
I set out into the drizzling dark of that Gothic town. My ride home secured, our rendezvous fixed— but with no time pressure to find it— I drank deeply of the nocturnal delights of Stirling.
…
An overripe-black sky grazed by serrated stone rooftops. Rain falls thick, cold, slick. The light of warm lamps and blue neon signs run down the cobbled streets and pool in the gutters. I trek up, up, up the hill, toward Stirling Castle.
Took a left of the Portcullis pub. Did I intend to take this left? Was this a wrong turn? I cannot say yes or no. In the stony shadow of the walls, just out of earshot of the pub’s laughing patrons, I can say that I looked up and saw a black iron fence. Past that fence, I saw a graveyard.
Gravestones. Gravestones. Grey, unmoving, rooted in the blue soil under the Stygian sky, the blue soil which rolls down the hill until the eye fails. Gravestones. Hundreds of them. Perhaps thousands. Each with a different cut shape, a unique tilt caused by so many years’ rain and shifting soil. Each with a name. Each etched with a human being’s name. A mortal who once loved, once lost, now departed. To where?
You do not understand the silence of the grave until you hear it in person.
I stop. It is as if time had ended. No sounds, not even my own pulse, my misting breaths. Nothing moves, nothing moves, and yet…
Do I spy a shape?
No exaggeration here. I strained my eyes. Do I spy some form, flitting from stone to stone? The night is thick… I cannot say yes or no. Something in me trembles. Is it fear? No. Not fear in the anxious sense. A healthy respect for the eternal.
I bow. “Good evening, sirs,” I whisper, “and ma’ams. Bless you.”
Then I heel-turn.
Not tempting Fate anymore today.
…
A ways further up, the hilltop. On the steps leading up to the castle I turn around and watch the lights of distant towns and highways sparkling along the horizon.
Down the hill, this way, that way, the rain pours, the light runs like the rain, and then I find it. Nooch. That’s the name of it.
Cozy little vegan place, open till late. A haunt of George and Elsa’s. I join my three friends in a cozy booth towards the back— and there is much rejoicing. The feeling returns to my fingers. Again I am thrilled by the delicious creativity going into vegan food. Bean burger, crisps, then a raspberry cheesecake. Delightfully tart.
It’s Pippa’s last night at the Roost; I leave on Monday; and Elsa in a week. We reminisce. Its amazing how many inside jokes you accumulate working beside each other for only a month. I got a jar of peanut butter for George since his birthday’s coming up. His favorite. He’s always had the most pleasant, peaceful smile— but you should’ve seen the look on his face when I fished it out.
A heartfelt goodbye to Pippa at the steps of her hostel. We pile into George’s car and trundle through the foggy dark back to the Roost. Get there a little past midnight.
Another day where my blunders make way for the glory of God. Another night where I, confronted by my mortality, make the best of it while I can.
Beautifully written! I need to remember that my blunders make way for the glory of God. Thank you.