It would sure be nice to be back home

 It would sure be nice to be back home

It had finally arrived. The day I was flying back to London having been away for some 262 days (and 68 gays). It felt simultaneously as though I had been away for an eternity and an instant. I was really ready to see family and friends again, a feeling that I hoped would be mutual. My flight wasn’t until the evening so I had most of the day to do stuff although I knew I would set off for the airport with more than enough time to spare. I had breakfast once more with Brian and Pavlo. They were headed off for a trip to China and were very excited about that. It had taken a bit of effort to arrange their visas and they planned on making the most of the time there. China was on my list of places to visit, but that would have to be another trip.

I wasn’t really in the mood for doing more touristy things so I decided I would completely empty my suitcase, get rid of anything that I didn’t need to take home and then make use of the space created by going and doing some shopping. I figured it was about time for another full wardrobe change, the previous one having been back in Portland in October. I was hoping the prices in Hong Kong would be a lot more reasonable than the prices back in London.

The shopping trip was proving fairly successful into the last store, Esprit. The rails of clothes were very close together, with not enough room to pass someone if they were coming in the opposite direction down the same aisle as you. I wandered a few of the aisles, picking up a couple of shirts and about a half dozen t-shirts to try. Armed with my prospective purchases I headed towards the changing room. As I got to the end of one aisle there was a woman coming down the one I needed to go up to get to the changing room. I stepped to one side allowing her to pass. As I set off I felt myself being pulled back and could hear a large metallic scraping sound. I had managed to get my bag strap caught round the end of the rail and was dragging it behind me. I could feel myself turning red as people turned to look at me.

Mother, stuck inside the Statue of Liberty

The incident reminded me of the time in New York on a family holiday with my sister and Mother. We had taken a trip over to the Statue of Liberty. It had only recently reopened fully and we had tickets to go inside the statue. Having climbed up to the crown and had some pictures taken we made our way back down the spiral staircase. My sister was in the lead, then Mother with me last. I stopped a couple of times to take some photos of the inside of the statue so a little gap had opened up between us. I heard the unmistakeable voice of Mother echoing up through the hollow metal interior of Lady Liberty, announcing to all that she was stuck. She had managed to get the back of her jumper caught on the handrail of the staircase. Having gone down a couple of steps she was unable to go any further. I made my way down the stairs to unstick her, first pausing to record the moment for posterity with a photo.  

Having untangled myself from my predicament and returned the clothing rail to its original position I continued on to the changing room. My face had just about returned to its normal colour. The shop assistant at the changing room entrance smiled broadly at me. I showed her the items I wished to try on in case there were a limit to the number you could take in in one go. She pointed to one of the t-shirts and said “This for lady. You no lady”. My face once again returned to a hue of deep red as I handed her the t-shirt back. In my defence, the only signs I had been able to read in the store had been the price labels and there was not a clear dividing line between menswear and womenswear. 

Purchases complete I made my way back to Brian and Pavlo’s. I packed my new purchases and soon I was all ready for my return home. I left a thank you card and a bottle of bubbly for my hosts and then headed out, remembering to drop their keys off with the porter. I got a cab to the station and then the train back to the airport. Once my luggage was checked in and I had cleared security I had plenty of time to have a wander round the shops. I picked up a very belated present for my friend Gail, who would be picking me up from Heathrow the following morning. I had set off on my travels a month before a rather large birthday of hers. I also picked up a couple of gifts for my sister and Mother. Part of the reason I was headed home for a couple of weeks was so that I could go see my granddad on his 92nd birthday. I picked up some of his favourite little cigars, one of the few presents we still bought him. I chuckled to myself at the advert on the package, which was warning that smoking could lead to erectile dysfunction. At nearly 92 I didn’t think he would be too bothered.

My attention in Duty Free wandered over to a cute guy in the gin section. Given I like both gin and cute guys I made my way in that direction. He looked up from his gin browsing and we made eye contact. It lingered for slightly longer that it would have done if he were a straight man so I smile. There was a hint of a smile before he looked back at the shelves. The was another moment of eye contact and smiling as he made his way to the till to pay for his shopping. I felt like I had been standing in the shop for a little while so I went and found a seat in towards the direction of my gate, but not that far from Duty Free that I wouldn’t be able to see him leave.

I decided if fate brought him in my direction I would do something that I had rarely done before – I would ask him if he wanted a drink. Fate did bring him my way but it also brought a woman with a clipboard doing some sort of survey. She said hello and then launched into a well-rehearsed monologue about the survey she was doing. I listened, waiting for her to pause for breath so I could interrupt and politely decline her invitation to answer a few questions. In the time it took me to get rid of the survey woman the cute gin guy had walked right by where I had been sat. I looked down the terminal building and could see him not that far ahead, walking away. I reckoned I could catch him up so I grabbed by bag and made off after him. I was nearly caught up with him when he turned off and into the entrance for one of the lounges. I took myself and my economy class ticket back to the gate to wait for my flight back to Heathrow.

“It would sure be nice to be back home” 
Lyrics from Home from the musical The Wiz