Being the nerdy writer I am, I will be writing about my travels with the good Ms. Abby. This page will contain snippets and sections of said book, for your entertainment and informational purposes.
These are my hopes, dreams, expectations, wishes and musings about England.
I hope you enjoy.
Catie O

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I started writing this two months early. Maybe I was just overeager, or maybe it was just the excitement. Either way, even before the plane took off, I had produced pages and pages of musings about everything from the weather to how much (or how little) I would like the food. In England.

“In England”, to me, had always been separated from the previous sentence. Not as an afterthought, but to carefully imply the two capitals, to signify its massive importance. “In England”. It was an improper sentence that was said just a little too slowly, with a little too much emphasis—because we could. Every rant and every frustrating situation from the stressful summer became bookended with the phrase “It’s okay, we’re going to England”. And so it was.

Somehow, that phrase made it okay. It pacified us, gave us something to hope for, and reassured us that in a few short weeks, things would be different. That magical, six-worded phrase, coined in jest over some small drama, became a mantra that we repeated endlessly on the long summer nights between the end of school and September 16th, 2008.  From boy troubles to family problems, that phrase reminded us that everything was going to be okay. Because we were going to England.

We were going to England, and damned if everyone wasn’t going to know about it.

 The story begins 2 years ago, backstage at The Threepenny Opera. The scene was laid thus: me, a replacement for a minor role, brought in three weeks before opening, terrified of screwing up, terrified to say the wrong thing, chunky, frizzy hair and glasses-bedecked, and, worst of all, a freshman. In the other corner was Abby: the lead, who knew everyone, was generally liked by all, was a tiny, gorgeous Irish redhead, and was, in fact, a freshman.

 

I was terrified to speak to her.

 

Somehow, we started talking. The details have been lost to time immemorial, but somehow, we struck up a conversation. It was a short conversation, lasting perhaps only 10 minutes. But somehow (and this is the part everyone remembers), after that first ten minutes, we found ourselves running into the costume shop and declaring “Guess what? We’re going to live together!”.  

 

It seems that fate had, for the first time in a very long time, worked out in my favor. After a disastrous first attempt at a roommate, I found myself living alone while Abby found herself with a roommate who went to bed every night around 8, after a rousing viewing of Little House on the Prairie. Not detestable by any means, but not exactly compatible with 11pm rehearsals and cast parties until—well, more on that later. So it was quickly and spontaneously decided. Abby would come to live with me. From that moment on, I knew my life was going to be drastically different.