The Americans

My other half arrived on Friday evening for the weekend. That’s what I love about you. What?? I said. I can knock on the door with two strangers and you just let them in, without question.

Of course. I thought. Probably one of the top reasons why we get on so well, being similar in that way. What’s the saying? People are only strangers until they become your friends? Something like that.

So. The strangers. Other half found the woman and man lost outside. They’re from Florida. Now they’re standing in a damp dark cold bit of North Wales and I can’t help immediately wonder why they’re here.. and not in sunny Florida! Anyway, they’re looking for an Air BnB that they’ve booked. Apparently on this street.

They’re both of similarly round short figures. He’s got a shaved head and tells me he ships antiques as he strokes my refurbished nest of tables. She wears a faux fur jacket and has bobbed hair with red streaks. It transpires the other half has rescued them from a cross woman who’s door they had knocked on in error. What do you want? She scowled. You’ve got the wrong house. She shuts the door.

They stood there perplexed.

So… where’s this house? I ask. The house they think it is… isn’t it… clearly. I connect them to the Wi-Fi so they can try and find more info but the address is wrong so we dig a bit further. Can I see the house? There a picture of a lovely looking grey Victorian 5 storey home and I’m pretty sure I might know where it is. It’s raining by now so I get my jacket and put the torch on my phone and off I go with the two Americans strolling up the road. I walk fast and they struggle to keep up with me so I slow a little. Convinced I’ve found the house I use the heavy brass door knock but the house is in darkness. No reply.

The Americans are tired and now also damp. Not put off my mission I knock on next door and eventually a guy peeks out from the back looking at us with suspicion. I explain the predicament and although at first he’s clearly not sure about us I think he has recognised me vaguely so he says he will ring the owners. Americans start to hopefully smile and I leave the woman waiting and walk back home with the guy beside me as he gets their car and their luggage.

I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time here, I say. It’s a fab town. We will, he says and tells me he’s watched a lot of documentaries about the town. Also my descendants were Evans he says. So I have a Welsh line. Oh.. I say. My previous surname was Evans.

He stops in his tracks and looks at me incredulously.

Evans??!

He bellows and laughs out loud.

Geee.

Evans?

He laughs from the depths of his stomach and it’s apparent he thinks we’re practically related….. he see’s me as a distant relative even.

A friend.

And I guess in a small way.. by opening the door to these strangers.. we are just that.

It doesn’t take much to change someone’s day.

Happy Sunday xxx

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