That One Night in Glasgow

by Iain Gabriel (Canada)

I didn't expect to find United Kingdom

We sat around a table at the underground bar on that dreary August night in Glasgow, Scotland. I imagine to a bystander, we looked like a group of old friends. In a way we were…and yet when we woke up that day, none of us were aware of the others' existence. I motioned for everyone’s attention. Despite the dimness of the light, I could see into the whites of their eyes. Five sets of eyes, with five different origins: The United States, Canada, France, New Zealand, and Scotland. Unlikely as it was, all six of us were solo-travelers, and it was the only night any of us were to spend in the City. There was an already tacit understanding of what I was about to say, and yet I just simply couldn’t let it go unsaid. I mean I physically couldn’t. With an unexpected sense of melancholy and morbid conviction, I said: “I just want to acknowledge that this will be the only night we will ever all spend together. Let’s enjoy this.” Earlier that day, I checked into my hostel. I’m Canadian, but of Scottish descent. Being 22 at the time, I viewed this trip as a quintessential rite of passage; a returning home to a place I never knew. That wasn’t the experience I got. What I got was an unexpected cloak of beckoning loneliness. It fit all too well. In this spirit, I went to explore the City. Some big event - adorned with Scottish Tartan Cloth - was taking place in the streets, but I couldn’t enjoy it. There were historical architecture and statues, but I couldn’t appreciate it. I felt irretrievably alone. Stephen King wrote: “Alone. Yes, that’s the keyword, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn’t hold a candle to it, and hell is only a poor synonym.” Smashing through my self-pitying musings like an unexpected knock at the door, came the pleasant noise of live music. With renewed curiosity, I intrepidly went to investigate the source. I made my way into a nearby pub, where a large group of people was in the midst of a joyous celebration. The concept of, “being a fly on the wall,” wasn’t foreign to me, but I now understand it viscerally. For those few fleeting moments, I got to bask in the merriment of those people. I was acutely aware that the only role I would ever play in their lives would be as a silent observer…on that one night in Glasgow. Later that night - still feeling lonely, and without expectation - I entered the hostel bar. It was empty besides one table. Refusing to allow my emotions to win any longer, I went to introduce myself. Included among them were five sets of eyes from five different countries. An underground bar with live music and an open-mic was recommended. Our newly-formed international brigade marched out into that dreary August night. Have you ever stood inside a moment where you instinctively knew that it would become a meaningful memory? In that bar was one such moment for me. We were fully enraptured in each other's presence. An undeniable collective energy began to illuminate that dimly lit bar. The wholesome and social lubricating effect of alcohol now in full swing; we listened to each other’s stories. A vague fog now surrounds my memory of those details. What’s important though, is that we were enjoying each other's company…and that’s enough for me. More travelers from the hostel joined us. Some of our group took the stage and performed, while the rest of us sang, laughed, and danced; forming a real-life embodiment of, “drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die.”. Late in the night, a performer with scraggly hair, a beard, and an angelic voice serenaded us with what served as a hauntingly beautiful theme song for a band of souls soon to part: “You can go your own way. Go your own way.” - Fleetwood Mac The lyrics teasing us; hinting at another life in which we would have more time. And so we clung to it. Letting none be wasted. I want to live my life like that night. Like that one night in Glasgow.