A New Friend

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"Hello," he says. "Are you a teacher?"

I smile, "Yeah, how'd you know?"

"You take the same train as us and get off at the same stop. We're all teachers!" he laughs, gesturing to the group of four seated on the train around him. They all laugh and greet me politely and invite me to join them.

I'd seen him on the train countless times before. He stood out to me because he has such a cute face. I remember in past debating whether or not I should strike up a conversation with him. I had decided not to, because although he was attractive, there something about him that didn't draw me in. So I left it.

Until now. He has talked to me.

We chat on the train all the way from St. Albans to Leagrave, and then we get off and walk in the same direction for 20 minutes out of my 30-minute walk to school. He smokes a stinky cigarette as we walk.

His name is Mehdi. A dark-haired, brown-eyed, French, 31-year-old primary school teacher who has lived in St. Albans for 5 years. He's amazingly smart, and I really enjoy talking to him.

"Hey, after school on Fridays, some of us teachers go to the pub down the road from our school, if you'd like to join us," I say.

He ponders the invitation. "Ok, sure. I have some things to do after school, so I can't go right away."

"That's fine," I tell him. "We're usually there for a few hours. You can text me to see if we're still there before you come."

And with that, we trade phone numbers.
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As I sit in the pub with my co-workers chatting away, I begin to feel anxious about Mehdi showing up. What will everyone think? About my relationship to him? About his unappealing qualities? Will they wonder why I invited him?

I keep checking my phone to see if he has texted yet. I try to act natural, but I'm not listening to the conversation. I'm trying to think of how I'll introduce him and how I'll later explain his presence.

Finally, he texts, and I text back to tell him that we're still at the pub and he should stop by.

So he does.

Everyone looks quite surprised to see a newcomer in our circle. "Everyone, this is my new friend, Mehdi, whom I met on the train this morning," I announce.

"Hello!" he smiles to the group of eight who are all grinning and looking back and forth from me to him. Just play it cool, I tell myself.

"Pull up a chair," I say, scooting my chair over so he can squeeze one in.

He positions his chair, saying, "I'm going to get a drink. Do you want anything?"

"Oh, no thanks," I smile, blushing at the intimate way he had leaned in to ask me that while everyone was watching.

As soon as he's gone to the bar, everyone leans in at the same time, whispering questions at me with stifled smiles and wide eyes.

I laugh and open my mouth to answer, but everyone suddenly looks up and leans back. I turn and see Mehdi has returned. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to be rude. Did anyone else want something from the bar?"

"Oh no, thanks!" they say, smiling innocently, willing him to go away so they could get some answers. He nods and turns back to the bar.

Again, then lean in. "Who is he?" Megan whispers with a scandalous grin.

They're all listening intently. "Just a friend," I emphasize.

"Oh sure, sure," says Tahoora sarcastically. "He's cute."

The girls all nod in agreement, which makes me laugh. "Yeah, I guess," I say. "But he's not really my type."

They roll their eyes and utter more "sure, whatever" comments.

When he rejoins the group with his glass of wine, the conversation switches to the hilarious story of how Megan's third period class caught members of the Senior Leadership Team (the administration) smoking in the parking lot. We're doubled over with laughter. Mehdi fits right in. He teaches at one of our feeder schools, so he knows a lot of the students we're talking about. He laughs with us, tells stories, and has a good time.

When we're leaving, he tells me, "I don't feel like going home yet. Would you like to join me for a drink in St. Albans?"

So we share a taxi to the station (and I cringe at what the girls must be saying now that Mehdi and I have left together), and we go to the Irish pub on Victoria Street that plays good music. We sit and drink for a while. Then a France vs. Wales rugby game comes on TV, and he gets all into it.

He explains the rules a bit, and I've decided that rugby men are ten times more manly than American football players. Rugby is just like American football, except they don't wear pads! They just slam into each other! Plus, they don't stop the game when someone gets tackled or when there's a huge dog pile on the field. The game continues, the clock keeps going, and the players just wrestle it out until the ball is somehow expelled from the pile. Then another player will chase it down, pick it up, and run it.

I'm getting bored. He doesn't seem to notice. This is the thing about men that both infuriates me and inspires my admiration: they do what they want to do. They're not going to change themselves for a woman. And yet women try to change themselves for men all the time, especially young women, myself included. Not anymore, I tell myself.

"I'm ready go," I tell him, smiling good-naturedly, over the noise of the bar. "You go ahead and stay. I don't want you to miss any of the game." (Truly, I didn't mind him staying to watch the game. It's just that I didn't want to watch it anymore.)

He looks surprised, then says, "Oh I'm sorry. Well, I'll go ahead with you!"

We have that polite little argument where I tell him he doesn't have to leave just because I am, but he says it's OK he wants to leave.

As we stroll into the quiet, cold night air, I say, "I'm hungry."

He laughs, "Everything is closed now. Except bars, but they won't be serving food at this time of night." (It's 10:00, by the way.)

"I know," I grumble.

"You're welcome to come to my place," he says. "I can cook something for you."

I pause, stunned. "Ummm," I think. "Well ok, but.....just...you know.....just as friends, right?"

"Oh yeah, yeah, of course!"

So we walk to Mehdi's apartment, which is literally a four-minute walk from my house. He won't let me help with anything, even though I offer. "You just sit and relax," he says as he confidently moves throughout his kitchen, cooking. He makes chicken and pasta and serves it with cheese and olives on the side. We talk about history and literature, music and geography, and the roots of words. I love it.

He walks me home at about one in the morning, gives me a hug and kiss on both cheeks (the European thing to do), and we promise to hang out again soon.

I'm happy to have a new friend. My only friend in St. Albans.

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Comments

[Victoria Westcott]

Great post!
I love it & you so know that I want to know WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?!! Does a romance develop? Have you figured out a way to stay in London? Maybe you and Mehdi can get married and then you can stay?! :-) So good to have a new friend anyway. Keep on writing, I love it. Victoria