On Convincing a Friend to NOT go to Scotland

When my friend comes over with a wild urge it is up to me to quell it.

Sometimes you need to help a friend out. Maybe they need to crash at ur place for a bit, maybe they just broke up in a relationship or perhaps they need a final member of a team or band. But sometimes your friends need help and they wont ask you for help. They may want something even though it may be bad for them. So when my friend Tomas came to me and told me he was going to quit his job and move to Scotland I knew he needed help. He may think he wants to go to Scotland but I know Scotland isn’t a good place for him. He doesn’t want to go to Scotland.

 

I answered my door to find Tomas at my doorstep with a beaming smile on his broad, red, mustached face. My apartment was just a block away from his and being the charismatic and social fellow he was it had become a ritual to walk to my house and never drive. If he was at his place he wouldnt call or text me. Instead he would transport himself by foot to my house and communicate with me face to face.

             So it was no surprise

 

My apartment was just a block away from my best friend Tomas’s and being the charismatic and social fellow he was it had become a ritual to walk to my house and never drive. If he was at his place he wouldn’t call or text me but instead, would transport himself by foot to my house and communicate with me face to face.

            So it was no surprise to see my five foot three ginger bestie grinning up at me on the morning of the seventh of December. I asked him if he had a tweet from the Forrest of Blackwell (The name of his street was ‘Blackwel’ and I addressed his house as ‘Forrest of Blackwell because I love Lord of the Rings and Tomas and I were called nerds in high school) or if I should put the kettle on because Tomas could be prone to spend hours just chitchatting.

            “Lemon tea today Govnah” he singsong in his alto voice striding past me. As a theater geek Tomas had had much exposure to the world of singing and voice change. I would know. I saw him through it in high school. I might have been an actor like Tomas, but I started writing and some people started to give me money because writing and then I just never seemed to stop.

            He made his ritualistic march to my living room, grabbed the pipe of my desk top vaporizer and proceeded to take long hits and puff away on my non smoke electric friend.

            I put the tea on the kettle and sat my self down in my writing chair. A plastic wiry thing that swiveled. It wasn’t the most comfy but it was what my body wanted. Some people don’t understand. Everyone else know exactly what I mean when I say that when I write I need to be in one very specific position for me thoughts to flow naturally. My writing chair also allowed me to face Tomas in comparison to sitting side by side and talking. He made an attempt at blowing a smoke ring when he repacked the bowl and handed it to me.

            “I’m going to Scotland mate!” He whispered to me in an excited cheap. He was shaking from excitement and it seemed like he could hardly stay on the couch for want to jump up and down with energy. I pondered what I had just heard and took a long hit while I tried to process what I was being told, or of if at all he was even serious.

            I looked him onceover and knew it was sure. Tomas was an excellent actor and many storys and movies these days need a mall pale skinned red head characters so he had much practice, but I knew when he was serious. I had known him for seventeen years and never in all my ears of knowing him had he been more serious than he was in that moment in my living room at the age of twenty-five.

            “What’s this about now chap?” I inquisited while I let the misty white smoke fog out from my nose.

            “It’s about me finding my roots! My vocation! My true calling! I’m answering the call that my home land beckons!” He said with his voice rising in peaking excitement. I wondered where I should start.

            “How has Scotland called to you Tommy?” I asked deciding to start wherever it was that he started.

             He looked at me in the eyes intent. “I dreamed of it.” The tea pot began to whistle.

            “Really?”

            “I’m sure I did.”

            “How sure?”

            “I don’t remember the dream exactly but when I woke up I just knew I needed to go to Scotland.”

            “That’s not too convincing” I said and he suddenly perked up.

            “Do you have any more nutela? Nutela toast and lemon tea sounds just a sundering right now.”

            “Ill pore the tea then” I replied. We moved on to the kitchen area. Backs turned to each other we set to our tasks. “Correct me if I’m wrong.” I continued. “But I believe that everything you know about that country is what you’ve learned from watching that one Mel Gibson movie.” I take a little time to open tea bags. I never rip them open by tearing off one end. I always try to open it like a bag of chips by pulling the top front and top back. It should be done that way.

            “That’s harsh.” He scolded me slicing the bread and loading it into the toaster oven. “But not true.”

            “Really?”

            “Quite.” He began playing the song ‘cups’ using the small plastic jar of nutella. Patting the jar and clapping in time to the beat he continued. You know what is unique to the Scottish?”

            “I would guess a mascot or some other symbol.”

            “Red hair and white skin.” He exclaimed proudly.

            I did not try to hide the incredulous look I turned to give him. “And what about the Irish then?” I probed.

            “Bugger that for a moment and focus. I think my Scottish roots are catching up to me. I think its calling me.” He was back to whispering as if raising his voice would break the magic.

            “Tommy ya basing this all off of a dream.” I searched through my junk drawer that I kept at the end of the kitchen and looked for the sharpie. “If its eleven thirty now and I assume that you woke up from a reasonable enough hour then you could only have had the mindset of going to Scotland for no more than five hours.” I found the sharpie and finished pouring the tea.

            “I know I need to go to Scotland.” He continued undeterred by logic.

            “Have you thought perhaps that Scotland is just… a metaphor?”

‘Ding!’ rang out the toaster.

 I handed him his come of tea then held mine in both hands to warm me. “I’m afraid your going to have to run that one through me one more time.” He said gratefully receiving the cup tea and taking the sip.

            “Perhaps you don’t need to quit your job as an actor and leave thousands of miles from your native land to go to Scotland. Mayhaps you just need to find a piece of Scotland here.” My tea was hot. I would wait to sip. Tomas would not. He took small sips that I knew burnt his toung.

            “But how will I know where my Scotland here is?”

“How do you know in your dream you didn’t rename my house Scotland?” I asked with a knowing smile and tapped the bottom of his cup. He tilted his head, looking for answers at a literally different angle. He raised his cup of tea to look at the bottom of it. ‘Scotland’ written in cursive stared back at him from the under side of the cup.

“Fancy that.” He said with a dab of surprise in his voice

“Never underestimate the power of a dream my dear Tomas.”

The End

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