And for the most part, our relationship is clearly represented in the following three photographs.
I am in the mood, however, to recall a specific story that happened to the two of us on one of our many adventures.
It was a crisp, autumn day in the city of Grantham, England, and many students attending Harlaxton College were traveling down to the train station to go off on many exciting trips around the European continent. Stacey and Riley had decided to rendezvous with their two good friends, and professional street walkers, Lauren and Meredith in Barcelona, Spain for the long weekend. Also accompanying them on this trip was the he-man-woman-hater, Nicholas Steen, who was traveling separate of the duo due to tardy trip planning and travel booking. It was minutes after all of their fellow classmates, including Nicholas, boarded the train heading to the airport, of which Stacey and Riley were not scheduled to travel on, that Riley posed an innocent question to Stacey.
"Did you double check to see if a train was for sure leaving here at 3? You know, so we get to the airport in time for check in."
"Well....I mean...There's always usually one at 3..." replied Stacey.
"Well...Stacey. It doesn't look that way right now does it?" Riley hastily responded.
"Oh, who cares, we'll just take the train at 5." Stacey retorted.
After spending an hour joking about bombs in the train station trash cans, and doing their best to plan out nights of drunken debauchery and anonymous sexual encounters, Stacey and Riley finally boarded the 5 o'clock, Stansted Airport bound train. When they finally realized the train was going to arrive at the station after the ticket counter closed, Stacey pulled aside the ticket taker and demanded, in a very calm and nonchalant manner,
"I'm going to need you to tell the driver to go faster."
You see, because in Stacey's head, the two of them were merely on a magical pony that was trotting along at a leisurely pace, rather than a locomotive heading full speed towards an airport.
"I'll.....um....do my best ma'am. But I believe the driver is going as fast as he can." The ticket taker replied, with a confused eyebrow raise stamped on his forehead.
"Alright, well I'm not joking." Stacey called after him as he walked away, at what seemed like a quicker pace than when he approached, as if this demand would psychically force the train to lift off its tracks, fly to the airport, grow arms and set the two delicately into their airline seats, hopefully with a cocktail in all four of their hands.
When they arrived to the airport, simply five minutes past the allotted ticket counter check-in time, and were told by the robotically pleasant Easyjet Airline employee that they would not be allowed to collect their tickets, Stacey promptly burst into tears, as they were asked to step aside so that the next customer in line could be helped. To all of this Riley simply remarked,
"Stacey, I don't want to make this awkward...but crying girls make me really uncomfortable."
Stacey paused for a moment, tears streaming down her face, looked Riley dead in the eye, and, without moving her gaze, proceeded to wail at a decibel loud enough for Barcelona to feel her pain.
The End
The preceding story was entirely factual. Here is the photo that was taken as all of our friends left the train station.
Its as if Stacey was blinded by the dream of Spanish men, as I already foresaw the imminent events to follow. And this is the poem I wrote about the entire situation:
Missed Plane to Spain: inspired by a true story (and Stacey Mead)
You left us.
bread in hand,
bags packed,
sweat drip-dropping down my forehead.
Take off and soar Mother Bird.
Two chicks left in your nest
that you never taught to fly.
Not I-
at least.
We sit in the rain,
dreaming of heading South,
for the Winter.
But you wouldn't wait.
Just two minutes late.
