Butterstone, Scotland


After the revelry of Boston I needed to be out of my depth again. I’d had too much fun, partied too hard and was in danger of becoming bothersome with my manically cheery attitude. America had been a whirl of new faces, most instantly forgotten and replaced by the next in a way that left me feeling quite shallow. True, I was more popular that ever before, but the sudden recognition by my peer group was in danger of going to my head and forcing me to change into something different. I’d become arrogant with the attention of so many and Simon would have cut me down to size. What I needed to do was step outside my comfort zone and try something that scared me a little bit, experience things that showed me I still had need to grow and develop.

The chance to try something was waiting for me the minute I got off the plane in Aberdeen the day after orientation, though I’d been planning it far longer than that. Months before I’d been bored and out of work, ringing anyone I could think of to ask if they needed paid help, a volunteer even, and finding that no, they didn’t. Eventually I was saved from the monotony and offered a week of employment after orientation. I’d be working at a school for learning difficulties in Scotland that I’d once attended, a tiny Hogwarts perched on a hill, the odd tower springing from its limestone walls. The kids there struggled with learning disabilities as I once did, their stories at once both tragic and thought provoking. Protected from the outside world, I’d be entering an environment that was at once innocent and frightening, a society no bigger than fifty people.

The newly appointed headmaster was an old friend of mine and had got me the job. Once a teacher there, he’d been one of my most powerful mentors and propelled me through my first few years of boarding school. It was Andrew who had introduced me to the wonders of the English language and the powers of creative thought, who had taught me the meaning of antidisestablishmentarianism, simply “because it sounded good.” A few brief phone conversations and my employment was finalized. Id be working as a “care assistant” at a rural summer camp the school held for a week in a long green valley north of Perth. I was thrilled at the chance to pay back an institution that had been my home for four years and glad to be working with Andrew again. Overall though, I felt nervy to walk through the limestone and paneled wood of a school as a member of staff rather than a student.

So, weeks later I arrived in Butterstone with my eyes full of sleep and backpack leaking hiking boots. I hadn’t really gone back there in my six years since leaving and memories cascaded back to smother me. I felt like the ten year old who had first entered through the blue door, taking baby steps with my head lowered. I remembered running up the dingy stairs to my dorm in the old servants quarter, the dead flies on the window and the sense of happiness that seemed to override the smell of socks and B.O. For me it was a time of innocence, I was protected from the world and didn’t have to worry about a thing.

Andrew met me at the door and we saw how much we’d both changed, a boy who’d become a man and a teacher who’s once short hair now fell graying to his shoulders and who’s beard made him look like some ancient prophet. I didn’t see it then but I laugh now at the thought of my mentor being a man who could pass himself off as Jesus. Soon after our initial reintroduction he was off, running away on some errand while I was heaping my camping equipment into the back of a truck to be taken to the camp a hours ride away. At this time I still didn’t know exactly where I was going.