Gaming: D&D Pt. 09

- "I have a feeling ..." she said. "I may be wrong, but I have a feeling that you want to ask me out again."

- "I do. Absolutely."

- "Ian ..." she said. "Could we ... go slow? Could you wait - maybe until you get back from London? I need some time ... to think."

It was mid-June. Simran was asking me to wait for six weeks or more.

- "I can wait, if that's what you want." I said.

- "Please." she said.

***

The trip to London was my first time on a plane. I tried to act like I'd done it all before, but I don't think I was fooling anyone. We went to a small hotel in London. That first night, Dr. Welsh took me to a classic English pub - it had all of the atmosphere I could have asked for.

He gave me a better idea of the work I would be doing. Basically, I would be looking through a stack of hundred-year old documents, searching for references to certain people, places, and a couple of key events. It was research, but I chose to see it as detective work.

The next morning, we took the subway - or the Underground, if you prefer - to Kew Gardens, near Richmond. The PRO (Public Record Office) is called the National Archives today.

Welsh showed his card, and we were taken to a reading room. He filled out a request sheet - loads and loads of numbers - and the attendant went down to the repository to get the documents he was asking for.

They came up on a trolley. And we were off. I was reading handwritten reports from the 1860s - some were originals, though most were later copies. Whenever I found one of the key names, or keywords, I noted the I.D. number of the document and the date, and then wrote a brief summary of the reference.

The idea was that Welsh would later read the ones that I flagged as 'interesting'. The more I knew about what he was doing, the better I would do, so he had told me quite a bit over a few pints in the pub.

If I did my job, I could save him tons of time. It might sound dull to you, but I actually enjoyed it. There were some fascinating details, and ... okay, I'll get to the point.

After a short break for some shitty cafeteria food, Dr. Welsh sat down with the notes I'd made. He had to check over the same documents I'd been reading, to make sure that I wasn't missing anything. He was also trying to figure if he could trust my summaries. If he couldn't, then he was going to have to waste time re-training me.

- "Your notes are succinct, Ian. But accurate. Well done." he said.

- "Anything of use?" I asked.

He held up a folder. "This one looks promising." Dr. Welsh had a page photocopied, so that he could re-read the material later on.

That was it. On my first day, I uncovered a grand total of one nugget of information that he could use. Maybe.

- "Don't be disappointed, Ian." he said, as we took the train back into London. "You've eliminated a stack of documents that I would have had to read through myself. That's a great help."

After the second day's work, Dr. Welsh read my notes on the train, on the way back. He pointed to one entry.

- "What was your impression of this one, Ian?" he asked.

- "My impression?"

- "Yes - what did you think, when you were reading this one?"

- "Well ..." I said. "It may sound stupid, but ... I got the feeling that he was lying."

- "Really?" said Dr. Welsh. "What makes you say that?"

- "The language he uses. It's classic CYA - cover your ass. He's suggesting - well, hinting, anyway - that he wasn't at fault, and that we should take a closer look at this guy and that guy."

Dr. Welsh smiled. "Thank you, Ian. Well done."

He took me to dinner after the third day's work. He seemed very pleased.

- "I'm not just satisfied with you work, Ian. I'm delighted." he said. "I'm so glad you came."

- "Me too."

I wish I could tell you that we found out who killed Kennedy, or discovered a cure for something. It wasn't like that. But for a guy who was trying to figure out the truth of why the British had invaded Abyssinia - Ethiopia, now - in 1868, anything we turned up was a possible clue. Was it a just war? An honourable mission, undertaken at staggering expense? Or just the usual power politics, with a complete disregard for the cost in lives and money?

That's just a long-winded of way of saying that I enjoyed the research, and that I was especially pleased when I turned up something that Dr. Welsh might be able to use.

The evenings were mine. I walked a lot - from the Tower of London, to St Paul's Cathedral, and to Westminster. I found a busy pub, where the talk was all soccer - Liverpool and Tottenham Hotspur. Then I found a quiet pub where I started writing a letter to Simran.

There's no comparison, nowadays. Email and texting - never mind tweeting - are just ... so quick. A few moments to type, or to flap your thumbs, and boom - it's sent.

I started three letters to Simran. The first two I tore up. I told her what I was doing, and that I missed her. It took me four handwritten pages to do that. I mailed it before I could change my mind. Chances were excellent that I would be home long before the letter arrived.

The PRO was closed on Sundays and Mondays. Dr. Welsh wanted to spend half of Sunday going over my notes, and the photocopies he'd made based on my work. But in my time off, I visited the Tower, and the British Museum - which rivals the Smithsonian.

I had time to think, too. I was pretty sure that I was over Diane. Yes, she had hurt me. But maybe I was better off this way. I had plenty of time to examine my feelings for Simran.

It wasn't just lust. Hell, I'd been holding back my feelings for her - for years. There I was, writing her a second letter, describing what I'd seen ... and I just knew. I wanted to see her. To spend time with her. To talk to her.

It may sound odd, but I wanted to know Simran as well as I knew her sister. Parvani and I had a friendship based on shared interests and common experience. It had taken years to build. Without the hours and hours we had spent together, walking to school, and playing D&D, we wouldn't have been so close.

D&D was like that famous comment on sports: it didn't build character - it revealed it. You couldn't share your dreams and fantasies through role playing without letting your friends see what kind of person you were. At least, that's what happened with our circle.

I learned almost as much about my sister through playing the game with her, as I had living in the same house for years.

You could argue that I would have learned a lot about Cherie if we been in the same bowling league. That may be true. But I believe that D&D revealed a great deal more.

That didn't mean that I wanted to play D&D with Simran - although I was intrigued by the thought of her playing Galadriel. What I really wanted was to have the hours to spend in her company, to learn what made her tick, what she liked, and what she didn't.

Of course, I wanted to kiss those lips, too. And hold her close. to feel that beautiful body pressed against mine. But I was just as entranced by the sound of her voice. I wanted to repeat our first date - many, many times.

Many of these thoughts found their way into the pages of the second letter I wrote to her. I didn't explicitly say that I wanted to kiss her - but I may have implied it.

***

Near the end of our second week of research, Dr. Welsh found that we were ahead of schedule. He gave me the afternoon off. I surprised him by asking for a Reader's card.

- "There are a few things I'd love to look at." I told him.

- "Use mine." he said.

I called up a few documents, and spent the afternoon reading. The subject was one that I'd covered in a paper for Dr Welsh's class. It might seem weird, to want to read more about a topic I already knew.

But to use a baseball analogy, it was the difference between reading the boxscore, and watching the film (the game had already been played, so I couldn't actually be there).

So, for example, let's say that my favourite player went 0-4 at the plate.

There are routine ground balls, and then there are well-hit balls that require the defence to make an outstanding play. There are pop-ups, and there are lazy fly balls. But there are also line drives, a rocket to the gap, which results in an out only because the outfielder made a spectacular diving catch.

The box score says that your hitter had zero success. But in a rematch against that same pitcher, would you bench your player? Not after he made solid contact, and hit the ball all over the diamond, you wouldn't.

Dr. Welsh was curious when he saw what I was reading. He wasn't a baseball fan, but when I explained the analogy, he got the point.

On our last day at the PRO, he only had about two hours work for me. Afterwards, I called up more documents on my own, and took notes. I also had about a dozen pages photocopied. I thought that the material might be useful to me, another time, but I also wanted to be able to show Simran - and my D&D group - what I'd been working with in London.

- "Are you free for dinner this evening?" asked Dr. Welsh. "There's a colleague - a friend of mine - that I'd like you to meet."

I had no plans. I accepted.

That was how I met Dr. Bennett-Smythe. She was in her 40s, I thought, with glasses and a severe hairstyle. But her eyes were alive with intelligence and good humour, and she was fascinating to listen to. It was the quality of her voice, as well as the things she talked about. That was exactly the same reason that I had found Dr. Welsh so interesting, the first time I was in his class.

They were obviously well-acquainted with each other - colleagues and kindred spirits and all that. I found myself wondering, though, if they had been even closer, at some point. Or even now?

Both professors included me in the conversation. In later years I met many academics. Most had no time for graduate students. They considered us a lower form of primates. For undergraduates, they had nothing but contempt. These assholes considered having to teach classes as a complete waste of their valuable time. The university would have been perfect, they felt, if only there were no students.

These two were different. In fact, they discussed teaching techniques, and how to make their subject areas more appealing. They frequently asked my opinion on a variety of topics. She encouraged me to call her Yvonne.

- "Professor Bennett-Smythe is such a mouthful." she said. "My students call me 'Dr. B.S.', for short. I can't help feeling that they're being mildly disrespectful." She and Dr. Welsh laughed - it was plainly an old joke.

They were plainly quite comfortable with each other. She called him 'Colin' - something I couldn't do. After all, he was going to be my thesis advisor next year.

I excused myself before the dessert and coffee, to leave them some time alone.

- "I appreciate the invitation." I said. "I enjoyed the dinner - very much."

- "It was a pleasure to meet you, Ian." said Yvonne. "I shall follow your career with interest."

The next day, I caught the train to Chester. I had a week on my own, and I knew exactly where I wanted to spend it.

Chester was the main Roman legionary base in Britain. It's full of classic Tudor and Victorian buildings. It's also the gateway to North Wales, which was where I was headed.

I had seen pictures of famous castles in books. Some of the most spectacular were concentrated in Northern Wales. I saw Caernarvon, Conwy, Criccieth and Harlech. I even made it to the Isle of Anglesey, to visit Beaumaris.

I took photos, knowing that they couldn't reproduce what I was experiencing. But maybe I could find a way to get them into our D&D campaign.

In the evenings I found a quiet restaurant, or a pub. And I wrote a third letter to Simran. I described the things I was seeing. On my last night in Wales, I sat in a fog - literally and figuratively.

All I could think about was that I would be flying home the day after tomorrow. And then I would see Simran. She had asked for time to think; I gave her over a month - she didn't know about the letters yet. I left her alone, and gave her space - even as I thought about her all the time.

I was eager, and yet terrified, simultaneously.

***

Coop met me at the airport, and drove me home, where Nate and Parvani were waiting with Cherie, my Dad and Jill. They all had the same question.

- "How did it go?"

I told a few stories, and described some of the sights I'd seen. My rolls of film would have to be developed, so I had no pictures to show them (times have changed, I guess).

Coop left first, and then Nate and Par. Parvani gave me a big hug.

- "She's home - alone." she whispered.

- "Should I call her, first?" I asked.

- "No." said Par.

It was a short walk. Twelve minutes. I knocked on the door, rather than ring the doorbell - I have no idea why I did that. Simran opened the door.

I just stared. She was wearing a simple grey dress that clung to her body like Saran Wrap. My God - she was stacked. I had to keep my eyes fixed above her collarbones, or forever lose my mind.

There she was. Simran seemed just a little bit nervous. Maybe I was affecting her composure, just a little. My own attempt at nonchalance melted like a soft ice cream cone.

- "Welcome home." she said. "Can I make you a cup of tea?"

- "Yes, please." I said.

I sat on the couch, while she put the kettle on.

- "How was your trip?" she asked.

- "I thought about you the whole time." I said. Smooth, Ian - real smooth.

Simran blushed. "I thought about you quite a bit, too." she said.

I knew better than to start anything serious. The kettle would whistle, and she would need a few minutes to make a pot of tea. I waited, and let her do just that.

She brought it all out, on a tray, and set it between us. There's a ritual, to serving tea - it may not be quite the equal of a Japanese Tea Ceremony, but it's still time-consuming, and somehow warming.

I stirred the milk and sugar into my cup, and watched as Simran filled her own. It took all of my patience to wait until she had finished. I breathed deeply, and counted to ten.

- "Simran - " I began.

- "Yes." she said.

- "Yes?"

- "Yes, Ian. I'll go out with you."

***

I waited almost a whole week. Then I took her to dinner at the Old Mill. The food was okay, but the ambience - and the view - were excellent. It was busy, though, and there were people seated fairly close by, so we didn't try to tackle the central issue between us. Instead, we talked about my trip, and what had been going on while I was gone.

We skipped dessert, and went for a walk on the path that circled the lake. Finally, we could talk more openly.

- "Why did you say yes?" I asked her. "What changed while I was away?"

- "I needed time, to think." said Simran. "I like you, Ian - you must know that. But I had to think about ... the complications."

- "Is it the age difference?" I asked.

Simran looked surprised. "No. It's only three years. Wait - do you think that's important?"

- "Well ... when I first met you - you were so much more mature."

- "Ian, my mother is six years older than my father." she said. "Age difference is the least of our problems."

I was relieved - for a split-second. Then I heard the rest of what she said.

- "We have problems?"

Simran tilted her head, to look at me almost sideways.

"Parvani?" I asked.

- "Ian." she said, with extra patience. "I've already told you that I thought - I hoped - that you and Parvani would end up together. You obviously liked her, and she was mad about you. But I've had time to see that she loves Nate. They're good for each other."

- "They certainly are." I agreed. "Wait - if that's not a problem ... what is?"

Simran sighed. "Ian - how long have you been interested in me? As ... as more than a friend, I mean."

I had to be truthful. "Since the day I met you."

She nodded. "I had that feeling. But you were Parvani's friend. And then I started dating Arjun. I felt ... strange, around you. I have more experience suppressing feelings for you, than I do thinking about you."

- "You knew? That I was crushing on you?"

- "You weren't very subtle, Ian." she said.

I thought that I had been circumspect.

- "No." she said. "But that wasn't what had me worried, while you were away."

- "Oh?"

- "I have to admit something - I'm not proud of it. I was jealous, Ian, when you started dating Diane."

- "What? You never even met her." I said.

- "Parvani described her to me. She was beautiful, wasn't she?"

- "Not like you." I said. The words just spilled from my mouth. They were true, though.

Simran smiled. "I had no right to be jealous." she said. "I was engaged to be married. All I could think of, though, was how you had said that you felt jealous when Coop asked my sister out - but not when Nate did."

- "Simran." I said. "I don't understand - where's the problem?"

She bowed her head. "I was afraid, Ian." she said, softly. "That you were still hurting from what happened with Diane. That you were ... on the rebound."

- "But ... " I was still confused. "You don't sound afraid now, Simran."

- "No." she said. "Your letter arrived yesterday."

- "Oh."

- "It was beautiful, Ian. Thank you."

- "You're welcome." I managed to say.

- "Will you allow me a small experiment, Ian?" she asked.

- "Of course." I answered. What else could I say?

- "Cinnamon Girl." she said, softly.

I'm sure that I blushed.

Simran sang.

I want to live with a Cinnamon Girl

I could be happy, the rest of my life,

With my Cinnamon Girl

My entire face was red. I had zero control over my body's reactions.

- "May I ask you something, Ian?" she said. "Am I your Cinnamon Girl?"

- "What?" that was the best I could do.

- "You had that song recorded on both sides of your tape." she said. "And I remembered how you blushed, when that song came on ... when you were with me."

I blushed again - I couldn't help it.

Simran sang again.

A dreamer of pictures, I run in the night
You see us together, chasing the moonlight,
My cinnamon girl.

I couldn't answer. My eyes were moist, with tears.

Simran kissed me.

*****