Dear Oli,

Dear Oli

It ended with a kiss but started with a laugh. You were the first person I met when I stumbled into your flat at the heels of your roommate who I had come to visit. He never introduced us, disappearing off to find his girlfriend. Yet somehow we had began chatting about snow and the weather. You laughed at the names of my American friends, insisting that Brock was the most typical name for an American you had ever heard (Because Oliver is so original in England Mr. Twist). Your pale skin and ginger hair were the first thing I noticed about you, but to explain you completely, we have to focus on that laugh for a second. 

Some people laugh simply to be polite. Others laugh shyly or loudly, but you, you are a totally different story. When you laugh it takes over your whole body. In the week I was there I don’t think I saw a single half laugh from you. It was always a full commitment, with your head thrown back, gasping for air, thrilled that something made you so happy. It’s an infectious laugh to say the least. 

I didn’t get to learn that laugh for a few days after my arrival. That first night you disappeared off to bed. Then you were gone at work and didn’t come out for the birthday party as you were just dead tired from your day. You had  a life to live and it didn’t stop for the American stranger in your house. But you were friendly to a fault. You still are one of the kindest people I’ve met. Like a ginger teddy bear (the fittest teddy bear on the market), you are sweet. But you fell to the background as I got to know all the other lads that I was simply spending more time with. 

The background was where you were until the night before I was meant to head back to Ireland. I had only come for the weekend, and, as I had  a broken heart from your roommate, I didn’t feel all that welcome to stay with him. I had planned on seeing Wales before I left and taking a ferry back to Dublin where I would fly home a few days later. I was okay being on my own and was ready to pack up. I was telling the other roommates and lads about my plan when you came home from work. Sitting in that crowded front room of a tiny Preston flat, you walked in the door still in your gym clothes when I looked up and asked (our first conversation really), 

“Hey Oli do you want to go to Wales tomorrow?”

I had asked the others as a joke and had been rejected by all of them. Everyone had University or work or simply didn’t want to go to Wales with a girl they had just met. They had lives to live and couldn’t spend cold January days walking around a country known for sheep and oddly spelled words. 

But, to the surprise of everyone, you said yes. You had class in the morning (it was a monday after all and the semester had begun in both England and California), but promised we would catch the train to Wales when you got home. 

And that’s exactly what we did. Two strangers embarking towards the Welsh county side. We had looked at train times the night before and decided to go to Conway simply because there was a castle. We purchased our tickets and got on the train. 

…

What a day it turned out to be. In the two weeks I was across the atlantic, that one unplanned day trip turned out to be the best of them all. It was a two hour train ride that flew by with pictures and conversations about friends and family. You were exciting to talk to because you became excited about everything. There was no small detail that you didn’t care about. You wanted to know all about life 5,000 miles away and what I had imagined to be an awkward trip, soon became easy. 

It was in Wales where I ate my first meat pie, learned what mushy peas are (always always always order the mushy peas. They are a million times better than normal peas. And no, you can not mash the normal peas to make them the same. The mushy peas are really magic). It was there somewhere in Wales where I learned that Amy Winehouse did not write Valerie and got smashed at billiards. 

We were lost for longer than we were found, but that was okay. It was the first time I had traveled with someone who had no concern about the time or the activities. We simply did as we pleased. Which is exactly how we got lost and ended up playing a bit of football at the base of the castle we had spent an hour searching for.

You had this level of disorganization about your life that I was envious of. I was always a planner. I always knew where I was going and how I was getting there. Constantly checking the time and calculating my day. With you it was different. You were constantly losing things, checking all of your pockets frantically to find ticket stubs or your camera. Yet, you thrived at being disorganized and chaotic. You laughed everything off and took nothing seriously, which was new to overly planned me. You let me put my guard down. I no longer cared about missing trains or not knowing where I was. You taught me the beauty of being lost in the day, knowing it would all work out in the end. 

Somehow, after seeing our castle and the smallest house in Great Britain (who knew that was Conway’s claim to fame), we managed to make it back to England. I was exhausted from the day, but you never lost energy. You never lost excitement. You were trying to suck every second out of life. You made a trip to see sheep and a castle a perfect day. 

So Oli, in your quest to enjoy every last detail of life, welcome to the dinner party. You’ll have to make the tea as I have been doing it all wrong. But I have no doubt that your infectious laugh will ring around the tables as you hold on to every detail of all the characters from around the world. Please keep laughing and being excited about the little things. 

Xoxo,

L