Tell us about a situation where you’d hoped against all hope, where the odds were completely stacked against you, yet you triumphed. Be sure to describe your situation in full detail. Tell us all about your triumph in all its glory.
Any glorious triumph I’ve had is when remaining silent when I felt like firing back, offering a gesture of peace when it would have been easier to retaliate, and observing my work rather than brag about it. Glorious triumphs are best experienced in silence and private where no one can see how you really feel.
Here is the conclusion to yesterday’s short story. It is in many ways a glorious triumph. I hope you enjoy its conclusion.
To London For Love (Part 2)
Wendy sat across the table of small London pub with the tour guide from the Tower of London, Preston Cromwell.
“I hope this is to your liking,” Preston said. “I feel quite uncomfortable in plush places, it takes me off my game.”
Wendy smiled. “And your game is?”
“Being natural,” Preston smiled. “But you, my lady, I suspect could be natural in any crowd.”
“Not really,” Wendy said. “Being away from home you sort of take on an ultra ego. Someone you’d like to be but can’t.”
“I believer you could be anything you want,” Preston said.
“Flattery is something I sense immediately,” Wendy said and before Preston interpreted. “And you are honest. And I thank you for that.”
“I, too, would not speak in such a way if you were not a stranger in this land,” Preston said. “I am by nature shy beyond comprehension. I became a guide ten years ago on the advice of my therapists who recommended to pursue employment that would force me to be outgoing.” He smiled. “And here I am on a date. You don’t mind if I call it date do you?”
“Not at all,” Wendy said. “That’s what I’m calling it and that’s what all my friends are calling it. They wrote in their journals I was having a date with a handsome English prince.”
“Well,” Preston said. “They were one for three; I’m English.”
“I’m uncertain of your pedigree,” Wendy said. “But for certainty they got two right.”
Preston’s smile relaxed. “And flattery does not become you either. I accept that. No one ever called me handsome except my dear mum.” His smile returned. “And she had a vested interest.”
“How did you acquire the boldness to ask me for dinner?” Wendy said.
“It seems that word of your vast knowledge was spreading amongst the Beefeaters and guides,” Preston said. “It was all a matter of time before one of the single blocks or less scrupulous married cads ask you out. If you’d gone to the dungeon Marty Wellington would have asked you, a widower, not bright and has false teeth, speaks with a lisp. I wasn’t about to let you have an evening with that.”
They ordered a meal and each told of their home and a little about their lives.
After the meal at the pub they strolled in the a park near the pub.
“I have a question,” Wendy said.
“Certainly,” Preston said.
“Is this a beginning or an end?” Wendy said.
Preston’s throat tightened. Wendy’s heart slowed. She felt her face warm.
“I’m sorry,” Wendy said. “How inappropriate. We just met.”
“That’s all right, my dear,” Preston said. “I’m English and we have responses for everything and I have none.”
They walked a few more paces. “I’ve never been to America. I should go.”
Wendy rapped her arm around his and they continued to walk.
“You know something, my dear?” Preston said. “I think you have been on my arm for a long, long time it’s not till now I noticed.”