The Four Step Program - by Sarah Waarvik

As Samantha Scott sat on the 747 to Edinburgh, Scotland she recalled the last four years she spent with Lexton McKay. She thought of his face, his chestnut brown locks accompanied by his beautiful brown eyes, his toothy grin, and that lone freckle on the left side of his chin. But what she didn’t think about was his dishonesty, his infidelity, or his brutal mind games. No, Samantha Scott didn’t think of all these less than satisfactory qualities, she thought of how much she loved him and the diamond ring placed upon her dainty left hand.

“Sam, are you awake?” questioned Erica while stretching her arms above her head, yawning. Erica O’Donnell was a hair dresser from Chicago and Sam’s best friend since grade school. She was around 6 feet tall and had vibrant red hair. She was as thin as a reed, drank like one of the guys, and ate like a 300 pound man.

“Yeah,” replied Samantha, “I couldn’t sleep.”

Erica was digging in her purse, hoping to find the mate to the Reese’s she ate earlier. “Are you hungry? I’m starved. You’d think they’d feed us more than a package of peanuts,” she raised her voice, "what do they think we are, French?”

Sam couldn’t help but let out a mused chuckle. Erica was always digging in that purse of hers trying to find the stash of food she hidden the day before. “No, I had a little something in Paris.”

“Ah ha! I found it,” shouted Erica triumphantly, waving the melted peanutbuttery chocolate morsel in front of Sam’s face. “Do you want half? It’s my last one.”

“No,” said Sam gazing out the window and watching the sea of fluffy white clouds pass by. She let her blonde head rest against the plexi-glass window and closed her green eyes. Lexton flashed through her mind for the thousandth time. The image of him driving away in his black and white tuxedo still haunted her thoughts. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. She remembered the look of relief that was splashed upon his perfectly structured face when he told her he couldn’t go through with it, that there was someone else and had been for awhile.

“Oh, Sam,” said Erica sympathetically while softly rubbing her back. “Everything will be all right. Forget that ass hole. Just have some fun, let loose, and screw the first Scottish man you meet.”

. . . . . .

Samantha and Lexton started dating the end of their junior year at Penn State. They both studied at a coffee shop near campus every Sunday. Neither of them could remember who made the first move or how it even came about, but what they did know was they couldn’t have been happier those last grueling months at college. At the end of their senior year Samantha knew she couldn’t leave Lexton, so she followed him to Cornell University so he could finish his law degree. He worked as an intern at the Doranzio Law Firm. The first year and a half was bliss. They cooked together, did their laundry together and even cleaned together. They were becoming the domestic couple, the kind you only read about in books or watch in movies. However, the good times always fade to an end and the honeymooner stage eventually wears off. One year later, Samantha was left brokenhearted at the altar, watching the only man she had ever loved drive away in a black porch. He didn’t manage to look back to see her tears make an ebony river of mascara and liner or watch her knees and hands hit the cold pavement, etching deep cuts into her pale white palms. However, he did manage to kiss the leggy brunette in the passenger seat.

. . . . . .

Samantha and Erica arrived in Edinburgh in the late afternoon, after what was clearly a rough 22 hours by the looks of their haggard bodies. They called a cab and had a quick ten minute ride to the Royal Hotel. Samantha checked in, while Erica checked out a few men and before they knew it they were in the comfort of their so-called home for the next 4 days of vacation.

“Well, Sammy, should we eat, drink, or eat while we drink?” Erica asked while unpacking her over stuffed canary yellow suitcase. Erica was the type of person who packed for five nights when she was only going to be gone for two. In this case, she packed for 4 weeks of travel, instead of the two weeks they were vacationing.

During high school the two drank the better half of their weekend nights. They lived in the small town of Grand Rapids, Minnesota. They often complained of nothing to do, but were often off causing mischief and mayhem, but “all in good fun” as they’d like to call it. They pulled every trick in the book. Sam would tell her parents she was staying at Erica’s and Erica would tell her mom she was staying at Sam’s. Many nights they crawled, stumbled, and laughed their way to Erica’s tree house in her back yard that was fully equipped with blankets, pillows, and a space heater. Erica and Sam had lived next door to each other since the 1st grade when Erica and her mom moved to Grand Rapids from California. They were friends from the beginning. Their days consisted of Barbie’s, playing dress-up, and running away from the neighborhood boys.

“We can probably find somewhere we can drink a beer and eat dinner on the Royal Mile,” said Sam, folding her skinny jeans and placing them in the drawer.

“So how do we get to the Royal Mile anyway?” Erica was staring at a map of Edinburg turning it left, and then right and upside-down. “Oh, screw the damn map. We can pub hop our way to the food and drinks.”

Sam laughed. “Ric, we’re on the Royal Mile, hence the name of our hotel, The Royal Hotel,” said Sam emphasizing on the Royal.

“Oh, fuck off, I’m only a hairdresser, I never acquired problem solving skills.” Erica was always one to tell people to fuck off or to go fuck themselves. “Sorry I didn’t go to an Ivy League school like you did, Ms. Smartie Pants,” she said holding her vowel sounds. Erica went to a local community college for a semester, but decided the school work was too hard to do and the parties were too easy to attend.

“Oh, shut up. It wasn’t an Ivy League school,” Sam chuckled and jokingly swatted Erica with the shirt she was unpacking.

Erica stretched her arms above her head, raising her shirt just enough, revealing her perfectly chiseled stomach. “I need to shower before we go, you should too. You look like shit.”

. . . . . .

The dark cobblestone streets of Edinburg were packed with flocks of people strolling in and out of the pubs. The light summer wind rushed over the faces of passersby leaving the touch of its coolness still present on their skin. The illuminated buildings were almost life-like, waving back and forth in the cool breeze. This night won’t make a difference just as the single nights before had no dramatic change, but put them all together and watch the evolution of history like a flipbook. Speed it up through the rough patches or slow it down, stopping on a page, lingering in its memory then turning to the next scene.

“Holy shit, how many Scotsman’s Pubs can there be? I think that’s the fifth one,” said Erica as she swiped a chunk of her red hair out of her eyes and put it behind her freckled ear.

“Well, it must be a sign,” Sam laughed, “let’s go in.” Sam grabbed Erica’s hand and yanked Erica towards her in the direction of the pub.

“Whoa, whoa, wait!” Erica froze in her tracks. “Samantha Joe Scott, what’s that on your hand?” she shrieked. “You’re still wearing that piece of garbage?” She grabbed Sam’s finger in amazement. “After what that little shit show did to you. Give me the ring right now. You are not wearing that pathetic excuse of a diamond for a man you’re not even engaged to.”

Sam knew that Erica was never too keen on the likes of Lexton. Sure Erica said he was cute, but she says that about most men. Erica and Lexton first met when he was an hour late from picking her up at the airport. Erica was livid and told Sam all about it. She also mentioned he had a slight wandering eye when they were walking through the terminal. Sam never thought twice about this minor detail considering the extent Erica likes to exaggerate. Erica also complained to Sam about the manner that Lexton ordered her around and the harshness of his voice when he did so, but Sam said that was just their relationship and that’s just how his voice sounded. Lexton worked late Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. Erica asked if Sam thought that was strange, considering he was only an intern, but Sam said he was just making a name for himself. Sam reassured Erica he was genuinely nice and good to her, but the last straw was their engagement. Sam called Erica, screaming into the receiver, telling her how he popped the long awaited question, which wasn’t terribly romantic, but nonetheless Sam said she loved him and wanted to be with him. Erica made a point to tell Sam that Lexton McKay was a low down creep and in return Sam made her maid of honor.

. . . . . .

“This was supposed to be our trip, as in Lexton and mine, not yours and mine.” Sam’s green eyes were beginning to glisten over with thick sloppy tears. Lexton always said she was too emotional and over dramatic.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you want me to go call him, go pick him up at the airport and take him to the hotel? Oh, wait he’s probably fucking his girlfriend. You know, the one he cheated on you with. Hell, it could be a reunion. Wouldn’t that be the cherry on top to such a great trip?” stated Erica while doing an excessive amount of meaningless hand gestures. Erica always had the knack for being bitchy, but this was excessive even for her.

“Fine, you win. Take the damn thing.” Sam inched the ring off of her left hand and sat down on the cement curb. She held it up in clear view of Erica and dropped it in her purse. “There, ya happy?” Sam asked with the same attitude she showed whenever Erica called her out on reality. Sure, she knew her brown eyed ex- fiancé was indeed fucking his new mistress, the one he cheated on her with, and had been for the better half of their fourteen month engagement. He was probably never going to come to his senses and realize that she, Sam, was the one for him, but there was always that small chance.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Consider this step number two of forgetting Lexton McKay.” Erica plopped down on the curb next to Sam.

“What? Am I in a twelve step program now?”

“Yeah, the home-made version, but consider it more of a four step program.” Erica put her lanky arm around Sam’s waist and gave her a tight squeeze. Sam leaned her head against Erica’s bony arm.

“Thanks, Ric” said Sam while exhaling a huge breath, laughing a little, and wiping the tears from her cheeks, “I needed that.”

. . . . . .

Old Scottish folklore filled the streets of Edinburgh, winding its way through the cobblestone walkways from the Scotsmen Pub. The bellows of Bonnie Banks o’ Loch Lomond filled the air with horrible drunken jargon followed by calders spilt on the floor, staining the bleached hardwood with splotches of dark brown.

“What’s the name of this beer!” shouted Erica over the band disrupting her terrible singing abilities to a song she didn’t know the words to. “It’s the greatest beer I’ve ever had!” The music stopped.

“Aye, ‘tis a Calders,” said the man to her left. He was about 5’8’’ with flaming red hair just like her. Freckles were splattered all over his face and arms leaving very few speckled white spots visible. “Yer must be Americans.”

“How’d ya know?” Sam laughed giving him a slight slap on the back. “I love these songs.”

“Yer haven’t even ‘eard de good ones,” he said then taking a drink of his rich dark beer, winking at the two.

A taller man spotted Liam across the pub and came over to the corner where he was standing, weaving through a sea of drunkenness.

“Dermot Mullally, how ya gettin’ on?” Liam asked.

“Wait, you guys don’t sound Scottish,” said Sam furrowing her brow and pointing lightly at the both of them.

“That's cos we're not, we're from Oirland. We’re ‘ere for a Stag Party,” Liam said while waving the rest of the party over to them.

The other six members of the party slowly made their way over to Dermot, Liam, Sam, and Erica one by one. There was only one who broke six foot and all but three had red hair. They introduced themselves to Sam and Erica. They were all from Cork and only four of them had ever left the country. Two of them sported the name Dahey and the other five had Irish names the two girls could hardly pronounce.

“So, who’s the lucky guy?” asked Sam while playing with her gold necklace Lexton gave her on their one year anniversary, moving the gold plate side to side on its chain.

“Dis lad,” Dermot said while placing his hand on Liam’s shoulder, “but more unlucky than jammy if yer ask me.” He gave a quick chuckle.

“What’s her name?’ asked Erica butting her way into the conversation.

“Fiona, she’s gran’,” slurred Liam, “Not as gran’ as yer though.” He not so casually put his arm around Erica pressing his head into her shoulder nudging her like a cat.

“Ah,” Erica managed to let out, “aren’t you getting married?” She wiggled out of his firm grasp.

“Not for two months,” said Liam trying to be serious and hide his toothy grin. “If yer change yer name ter fiona jist for de night technically 'tis not cheatin'.

“Ah, leave de girl alone,” laughed Dermot. “Jist ignore ‘im, he’s trollied.” He turned his head and peered into Sam’s bright green eyes. “Samantha dear, do yer care to dance?”

“Ah, no, sorry. I’m not much of a dancer,” Sam said awkwardly, making more eye contact with the floor then at Dermot.

“Sam, consider this step number three. Go have some fun,” said Erica, pushing Sam towards the band and snatching her beer from her weak grasp. Dermot grabbed her hand and laced his fingers with hers. He placed his other hand on the small of her back.

“Ye ready love?” Dermot asked with a smile.

Dermot’s six foot frame swiftly moved around the dance floor followed by Sam. They weaved through the mounds of people with ease. He twirled, dipped, and swayed her. She was smiling and laughing for the first time since she could remember. She was actually enjoying herself, although Dermot Mullally wasn’t making it all that difficult.

Meanwhile, Erica was trying to fend off Liam. She was standing next to the counter with the rest of the stag party. They laughed, exchanged jokes, and gave a go at each other’s accents.

“Cum on, jist change yer name ter Fiona.” Liam nudged Erica with his elbow.

She laughed, “You are not going to give up on this are you? Sorry Liam. Friends don’t let friends screw short men. It’s in the rule book.” Erica raised her half empty glass to cheer.

“Ah, but love, we're de seem height layin' down.” He raised his glass in return with a cheeky smile.

Erica busted out laughing, “Well, ya got me, Liam. But you’re still not calling me Fiona. That’s my grandma’s cats name, it will forever be tainted.”

“Erica!” Sam yelled throwing her arms up and running towards her. “I forgot how much I loved dancing! Will you dance with me? Wait, hold that thought. I need another beer.

The ten of them sang, drank, and laughed until it hurt to breathe. The Scotsman was clearing out, leaving empty chairs, and the band was packing and putting away their equipment. Everyone was calling it a successful night in Edinburgh, going to bed, and waiting for another evening of drinking to present itself.

“Well Sammy, should we call it a night?” Erica asked while downing the rest of her calders.

“Yeah, I’m gettin’ tired. And we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow,” said Sam while rubbing her eyes attempting to wipe the sleep from them.

“Well lads,” said Erica while standing up, “it was wonderful meeting all of you, especially you, Liam.” Erica winked at him and waved her arm to bid them farewell. “Take it easy.”

“Samantha, may Oi talk ter yer over 'ere?” Dermot gestured her over to a couple of chairs.

“Yeah,” Samantha said looking at Erica and giving her an excited face, making her eyes big and opening her mouth, flashing a toothy beam. Dermot grabbed her hand and walked her over to the chairs.

Sam and Erica left a few minutes later and walked in silence, gathering their thoughts from their unexpected night. The cool, dark sky was illuminated by the lamp posts every couple of feet. The drunks were leaving the pubs stumbling their way back to their cozy beds. Sam linked arms Erica and laid her head on her bony arm for the thousandth time.

“It’s great to see you smile again, Sam,” said Erica softly tilting her own head onto Sam’s.

“He asked me to dinner tomorrow night, and I said I would go,” Sam said through a definite smile.

. . . . . .

“Erica, wake up.” Sam was pulling the covers off of the king size bed, allowing the cool air to strike Erica’s warm, limp body.

“A few more minutes,” mumbled Erica snatching the stark white sheet back and rolling over onto her side, “what time is it?”

“It’s 10:30. I let you sleep an extra thirty minutes, now hurry it up. We need to get to the castle before the line gets too big.” She turned on the shower and threw a beige towel onto Erica’s snarly red head. She ducked her head out of the bathroom door. “I mean it Ric. I’m going to go get us a couple of lattes and by the time I get back your pretty little ass better be showered and dressed.” Sam knew Erica’s sleeping tendencies. She often slept until one o’clock on her days off and didn’t shower until at least five o’clock, if at all. In high school, when Sam would spend the night at Erica’s she’d wake up around nine, go home, get ready, and wait for her to roll out of bed.

“Fine,” said Erica raising her head a few inches off her pillow and removing the towel Sam threw at her.

Sam left for the coffee shop and Erica slowly rolled out of bed. She looked in the mirror, “well don’t you look good.” She gave her hair a quick brush through, and jumped into the shower. She shaved, washed, shampooed, and finally rinsed off. She quickly dried her pale skin, slipped into some clothes, and started applying her make-up.

“Erica, you better be almost ready,” Sam said while unlocking their door. She poked her head into the bathroom, “well don’t you clean up nice. Here’s your double, sixteen ounce, French vanilla cappuccino.” Erica grabbed her coffee and put the finishing touches on her asymmetrical bob.

“Thanks, Sam. You’re a lifesaver.” Erica took a huge drink of her coffee. “Holy shit, this is the worst coffee I’ve ever had. It tastes almost burnt and it smells like,” she took a deep breath in, “like livestock.”

“My thoughts exactly,” said Sam while looking for Erica’s scarf and coat. “I assumed it was just the coffee shop I went to, but I hit up two more on my way back and they all tasted the same, like burnt livestock.”

“Have you seen my coat?’ asked Erica, looking frantically in her suitcase.

“Yeah, I have it right here.” Sam handed Erica her jacket and scarf while opening the door, motioning for them to leave.

“Okay, okay, I’m ready. Don’t get your titties in a wringer,” said Erica. She put her coat and scarf on and shut the wooden door behind them. “So, tell me. Where are you and Dermot going on your date tonight?”

“It’s not even a date.” Sam was blushing.

“Ah, Samantha Dear, it is TOO a date. Don’t even act like it’s not.” Erica wrapped her arms around Sam’s shoulders forcing her to bend down, putting her in a head lock. “Repeat after me, I’m going on a date with a sexy Irishmen. Say it!”

“No! Erica, let go! This was only funny when we were ten,” Sam pleaded.

“Say it or I’m not letting go. Do it.” Erica was laughing.

“Fine, I’m going on a date with a sexy Irishmen.” Now Sam was laughing. “Damn you, you always win that stupid game.” She fixed her hair and applied some more lipstick.

“That’s because I have three older brothers.” Erica linked arms with Sam. “You’re going to have a great time tonight.”

. . . . . .

The stone castle sits upon a staggered ridge, guarding the city of Edinburgh. Watching, listening, and waiting for the slightest movement, sound, and even excitement to come about. She has hundreds of years of dancing, booze and illness weaved into her floors and sketched into her rocky sides. She’s been there for years, as she’ll be there for much more, bringing beauty to all those who appreciate her choppy and decomposing structure.

The girls paid 12£ for their passes and made their way up the steep incline to the castle gates. Once they got to the top, they explored the cannons, the dining area, and tried their luck again with the coffee, which they both agreed was awful. They hiked to the very top of the castle that looked out over all of Edinburgh.

“This is so beautiful,” Erica said, attempting to tame her windblown hair, “it would be better if it wasn’t so damn cold.”

“Let’s take a picture!” exclaimed Sam, pulling out her Sony camera.

“No, my hair looks like shit. It’s lost all of its body,” said Erica trying to fluff her limp hair.

“Oh, who cares? Here, let’s have him take it.” Sam pointed to a tall, slender man who was a few feet in front them with his back turned in their direction. “Excuse me,” Sam tapped on his left shoulder. He turned around and faced the bright green eyes he had faced the night before. “Dermot?”

“Samantha, how ya getting’ on?” he asked, smiling and showing off his white teeth.

Sam and Erica never ended up getting a photograph by themselves. Instead, they took a picture with the stag party, with them in the middle and Liam not too far from Erica. The girls asked why they wanted to see the castle, since they live in Ireland and have definitely seen some before, but they said this was the most beautiful castle in all of the United Kingdom. After touring the castle, they ended up eating together at the Mitre and sharing a few pitchers of Guinness. They laughed, ate, and drank, before they knew it, it was four o’ clock.

I’M NOT FINISHED. I STILL NEED THE DATE WITH DERMOT :) BUT IT’S ON ITS WAY. I JUST WANT TO KNOW HOW YOU GUYS THINK THE VACATION IS COMING ALONG.