Regeneration X (18 page)

Getting off the phone, I was giddy, alongside with an uneasiness for being excited. Tomorrow the adventure would begin. My travel companions, Inez and Becks, wouldn’t be joining me until we boarded the plane; I actually hadn’t seen them in a couple of days. Of course, they had their own last-minute preparations to make.

After the minor pandemonium of getting to the airport, checking bags and boarding, we were all settled into our neighboring seats on the plane. I enjoy traveling, but
mostly
the joy part comes after I arrived wherever it was I was going. I like the first bit where I wake up relieved knowing I don’t have to work and I start looking forward to the departure hour, but after this, my anticipation peters out. I deplore being on an airplane for longer than three hours, so this flight was excruciating—six and a half hours, non-stop. (Even though, overall it’s much shorter than the same flight would have been few decades ago). The recirculated mix of native airplane smells, the fugitive presence of past and current passengers, and packaged-for-flight food is nauseating after a while, and sometimes even sooner than this if I dwelt on it. I usually choose one-layover flights for trips abroad (sometimes you get what you get).

After about the first hour, Inez and Becks were settled in sipping cocktails and each listening to an audiobook. I had started to listen to
Pride and Prejudice
, but hadn’t gotten past, “This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. …” I closed my eyes and tried to absorb some latent excitement, but all I could think about was Michael, our home, and the furry family members I left behind. I wished Michael and I had gotten past ourselves and communicated better before I left. His confession prior to his surgery answered why he wasn’t coming and why we needed time apart. However, by the time I actually left, I thought the sadness had grown into something else. … Tension. It was unsettling and painful. As the time for my departure closed in, we retreated to a quiet distance, mainly to avoid saying anything that didn’t really need to be heard by the other.

We also missed discussing any of the mundane details. At the beginning, I was concerned about these things, but later they seemed trivial when compared to what was happening to us. Now, where we stood was ambiguous as well. Again, I found myself ticking off the immaterial points since these questions were not as vague as the others were. Did he remember, or know, what bills needed paying and when, what accounts they (he) held, and the emergency contacts?

He would just have to figure it out. Instead of resuming my book, I started making a list. I didn’t want him to suffer through tedium for any reason. I assumed we would get in touch, if only to talk about management and keep up with family. I wasn’t sure of much.

What I really I wanted to know was exactly where we stood or, at the very least where he thought we stood. My mind wanted him there to listen, lean on, and understand; my heart didn’t know. I hope we both reached the same conclusion when the three months of separation was done. Either we were meant to be and we’d find our way back to one another or … please let there be no or anything else.

He dropped me off at the airport and we said our goodbyes. I could see the sadness and disappointment in his eyes, and I couldn’t help but shed tears myself. “Live, Charley, find what you’re looking for, but I hope you come back to me,” Michael said quietly at the last minute. I was shaken. He was never very romantic, but I felt like sobbing when I heard those words. I wanted to respond with a promise, only I couldn’t answer him with honesty if it also meant rebounding to the same life we led together.

I needed to know if we’d grown apart and were essentially living together as roommates. Maybe this was just what happened after being married, a long time. If so, then would it be enough going forward? Somewhere along the way we stopped expressing love for one another with gestures and words, and the infrequent moments of intimacy were stale. Instead, we did things for one another, which made the other’s life easier in some way. I thought this was normal, but did everything else have to be so blah?

I imagined relationships as described in terms of energy. When two people meet, all the energy flows between them with a little directed to the outside world, like currents. As time passes and the relationship becomes comfortable, the two people come closer together, essentially closing the distance between each other. Then the energy flows outward, as if generated from one source. This was how I liked to think Michael and I were, but if this was true, then why did I feel distanced from him?

I prayed three months apart would be enough to ignite our marriage once more, but not long enough to cause an irreparable rift.

・ ・ ・

Six hours and twenty-six minutes later, we drag ourselves off the plane, thinking of nothing in particular except getting our bags and finding a taxi. At least I wasn’t. Perhaps this incognizance was from sheer exhaustion, or the dazed after-flight feeling, but I felt out of body just then, and the awareness of myself and my reality didn’t dawn on me until a couple of days later.

On our first day, before dealing with any of the arrangements, we opted for a tour of our would-be home; although I’d not quite registered the
home
part, either. Boarding the school bus yellow, land-water vehicle named Virgilia, we embarked on the DUCW tour Nina recommended. Although it was a particularly cold and dreary day, this did not dampen the experience. For our introduction to this amazing city, we were fortunate to have heard some authentic bits of British humor and history, traversed the sites of London, and rode on the crusty waters of the Thames—all in one and half hours. I meant to ask why the Thames was pronounced “Temz,” but thought better of it; I didn’t particularly care to feel like a tourist (I know, a silly idea since we were on a tour, after all). Following this, we went back to Aunt Joy’s house to unpack and enjoy time in our five-lady household. Still, I was mindful, but not fully present.

The next day, January 3, 2026, as if was just another ordinary day on vacation, I walked through the quad, up the wide stone stairway, and through the arched and oaken doorway of the gothic-era building of administrative offices at the London School of Performing and Liberal Arts, College of Dramatic Studies. It might have been the British National Gallery I was entering. I was so used to navigating by steps—step one, step two—I failed to connect that this was
not
my normal and this was
not
a vacation. And in the past couple of days, I’d been thinking about Michael and conversely trying not to think about him. As I stood in the foyer, I was suddenly overcome by the realization I am here!

I was not fully aware of myself, either. It took something to click before I remembered: I’m 18, I’m going back to school, and now I’ve moved to England. It’s not every day you hear of people traveling back in their own timeline. And speaking on behalf of the voyager, each and every day is not automatically percipient of the fact. At this very moment, I wanted to cry. Michael! Why aren’t you here, I need you. Finding a background pillar, I leaned on the substitute, cold solidness and made attempts to compose myself for my appointment with Dr. Liane Burroughs, Freshman Advisor. “Breathe,” I instructed myself.

Dr. Burroughs was engrossed in something when I rapped lightly on her office door, which was already ajar. Upon first impression, she looked the part of a savvy librarian. Her ash blond hair was arranged in a messy bun with wisps and tendrils around her temples and cheeks, she sported dark chunky glasses that overshadowed green eyes, and wore minimal makeup. Dressed in a crisp white shirt tucked into an A-line taupe-colored skirt and black penny loafers (sans pennies), she rose to greet me.

After brief introductions and some small talk, my advisement began. “Miss Fenn, we begin by choosing your curriculum for the first year, or first two terms, each of which are 12 weeks in duration. You will take courses 1001 and 1002 in the first term and 1003 and 1004 in the second. All students are required to take course 1001 and 1002, and you must select either section A or B of course 1002.

“You can change the focus of course sets 1003 and 1004 after you have completed the two required courses. But, choosing 1003 and 1004 now is very important; these course fill up fast, and choosing the most likely at pre-term will reserve your place in the course,” Professor Burroughs summarized for me. She had obviously repeated this speech many times; her delivery was fluid and complete. However, I did not correct her salutation.

“Professor Burroughs, I’ve done a bit of research. I’m sure these foundation courses are critical to the rest of my studies in drama. Could you help me determine which are the most common or, in other words, would provide the most solid and traditional background for further study? While my goal is screen acting, I hope to be prepared for stage performance as well.”

“Both avenues are rigorous. Stage drama is more so since it includes musical and movement training. Of course, you could add individual courses to a screen acting curriculum later, but they are not required. Classical training usually begins with drama for the stage. Does this answer your question?”

“Yes, this was exactly what I wanted to know. Thank you.” I bowed my head into the pages of the course catalog, and after reviewing each course in the foundation sets, I chose the following from the booklet:

Performing Arts - Drama 1000 Series, 5 credits upon completion, 2 terms, 12 weeks each.

PA1001
:
Intro to Drama. Basic techniques for developing attention, sensory awareness, and depiction skills through improvisation.

PA1002A
:
Drama for the Stage. Closer analysis of the works of four different playwrights from different eras (further investigation can be chosen in course set 1003), with specific emphasis on understanding the play by breaking down the text, and allowing creativity and instinct to interpret secondary roles.

PA1003C-1
:
Elizabethan Language. Interpretation of texts and recitation. Study of the language to better understand usage and purpose relative to society and character background.

PA1003C-2
:
Personal Dramatic Interpretation. Application course.

PA1004C
:
Elizabethan Stage. Performance course.

Enrolled, I walked out of the building feeling decisive. Classes would commence Monday the 12th.

January 15, 2026

I miss Michael; his smiling, crinkly eyes, making everything safe in the world. I have Inez, Becks, Nina, and Aunt Joy, but their arms around me do not feel as comforting.

I wonder what he’s been doing these past two weeks in an empty house. I’m sure it doesn’t feel too different; he’s home. I imagine it’s as if I’m closed up in my office there, but not really.

I tried calling a couple of times, but hung up before he would have even had the chance to pick up. What’s wrong with me?

On one hand, I want to view this as a vacation, just so I know I will soon be with him again. On the other, I’ve waited so long and want to enjoy the fact that my life is once again mine to control and I’m making all the decisions. I don’t need anyone’s permission; my choices going forward don’t effect someone else’s life. The catch 22 about marriage is, while you can’t make big decisions for yourself alone, you always have someone directly involved who you can share the decision making with in the first place.

I suppose the best way to describe it would be, I feel like a child looking for paternal comfort, because honestly I haven’t thought about Michael romantically since I left. I’ve had no longings for his touch, not in that way. It’s only been a couple of weeks. Still, I wonder if this is normal. We lost our spark a long time ago and the distance hasn’t rekindled it yet. I still feel the same. It’s as if having something is better than having nothing, even though it makes me feel that as long as I have anything, I have no right to want something better—if this makes sense. I’m not on the hunt for anything at all, but it doesn’t mean I won’t ever be.

I still want and need his clear-headed advice, though. I only started classes three days ago, but this kind of thing—acting and socializing—doesn’t come naturally to me; it’s been too long. That statement alone frightens me since acting is what I’ve decided to take on.

Anyway, for now, I have to decide how I’m going to approach reality. It seems odd to tell people my life story and special circumstances before I’ve even made any friends. It is too private to get up in class during introductions with: “Hi. I’m Charley and I’m 55 years old from Seattle, Washington. I want to be an actress because my previous career as an editor was unfulfilling and I’d like some adventure. Oh, and I’ve been married for almost as long as most of you have been living.” Besides, one thing I do not want to do is explain myself.

Chapter Sixteen

What should we speak of

When we are old as you? when we shall hear

The rain and wind beat dark December, how,

In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse

The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing.

—William Shakespeare,
Cymbeline (3.3)

・
・
・

THE NEXT SEVERAL WEEKS WERE UNCERTAIN, AS is usually the beginning of a school term, but by now my courses have been going
relatively
well. You see, unless you’ve been performing since childhood it’s straining, but still gratifying, to inch past the biggest obstacle of all—yourself. Slowly, I’m learning to find the balance between self-awareness and -separation, create a believable voice that is not my own, and move naturally through imaginary scenes and scenery.

Part of me thought, how difficult could foundation courses be? A couple weeks in, it became: it must get easier from here on out—but this hasn’t happened yet. It’s too early to get discouraged, I know this, but the fantasies I have of living an adventurous, stimulating other life for work will take considerable time and effort. Already, I have to remind myself not to be flaky. My life is serious business and there is no chance of
re
-regeneration (say, if I were to acquire a regret so early in my redesigned Venn diagram of life).