The preparation for India 2008 - Blog Post

This afternoon I refused a visit to the sea. I, a great seeker of all things sea-like declined this momentous meeting just a day before a lunar eclipse. Surely the sea hears the lunar call just as clearly, if not more so, than I. The sea is a servant to nature, majestic in its quality, fearsome even, whereas I, also a product of nature, fight blindly against natural law. 

Instead, I laid on my bed and read about a Messiah called Jesus and learnt about what he preached. He called to people and said, ‘Love thy neighbour’. He only preached this message of love to the masses. Love, love and love again… he said to turn thy cheek so people may slap further and by that example people will learn. He said love takes lifetimes to learn but this knowledge should not deter even the most hardened of people for all of us with sin carry the grace of God within us. Do I have this too? Do I also have the grace of God? I am a sinner. Inside of me I am unclean. There is lust, judgement, greed, deceit and anger within me, still alive and present though they try to give themselves other names. I am not trying to preach a lesson in Christianity for I abhor all sentiments of religion but this message, this simple message of love, is it not worthy of remembrance? Not beautiful enough to follow? Is there any other message greater than this? And what of Buddha, is his message also not of love? And Mohammed? Really, I am beginning to understand that all enlightened beings say the same thing… and time and again we ignore it in favour of these earthly illusions we cling to.

And I cling with the utmost fierceness… to my family, to my friends, to certain possessions, to my own words and most of all, to the voice inside of me. People keep asking me what I am running away from but why can’t I be running to something? When my surroundings are not conducive for me to sit and understand the ultimate nature of this universe, isn’t it natural to find a place where it is allowed?

Am I confusing myself with all this double talk? Then let me speak plainly. I seek… I want to find the purity within me. I want to understand the Kingdom of God. Enlightenment. Peace. Yet I do not want to exclude humanity as a result. I am not made for a hermit-like existence though its very essence is natural to me. I cringe at the thought of being separate to the world around me as I want to understand the world I live in. I want to love those who are apparently opposite to me though I know essentially they are a part of me. Yet I find myself naturally inclined to seek solitude, as if it were an old friend and find it easy to separate myself from human activities though it is my wish to be a part of them.

A couple of weeks ago, from the sheer claustrophobia of these four walls I live in, I jumped on my bike and cycled randomly, with no plan. It started raining. The rain touched my head, hit my helmet and splashed onto my white fingers. Water slithered down my back and my whole body was washed. My tears joined nature’s bath, my misery and misunderstanding mingled with a gift from the heavens. Why was I sad? Well, at that moment I felt desperately alone. I had left my family and closest friends, their lives existing on another continent, and my contradictory impulses left me feeling like a failure. I felt like my trip to Australia was the biggest failure of all… I thought of the people I knew and wondered if any were actual friends. I thought of the things I had done and wondered if any of it had been worthwhile. I thought of the places I had seen and if that meant anything at all. I thought what an apparent waste of time this year has been. I got off my bike and sat by the river and contemplated the wasteland that is my life. What had I done that had been of any consequence? Tears kept falling.

Settling in a different country is extremely difficult. I don’t care what anyone says… it is a culmination of mourning, confusion, stress, disappointment, exhaustion, hope, excitement and the promise of new beginnings. 

Anyway, that evening as I sat by the river I heard a voice inside of me. She told me that there are things happening that are beyond my current perspective. She said that there is no failure… only the redundant skeletal bones of expectation which is so skewered with misunderstanding they are rendered useless anyway. When there is no retrospective insight then there is no question of understanding success or failure, I should only have faith that the highest good is working for me. She said that everything that comes my way should only serve to strengthen my resolve that I am on my path, that I shall also know what it means to love, to be pure and to have understanding. I should stop fighting my destiny that is unfolding and just follow. She laughed at me. She laughed heartily and said that there were people who thought highly of me. There were people who had benefited from meeting me. And she said, more importantly, that my heart had been touched by the people I had met and the places I had seen. Surely a touched heart is more worthwhile than a hardened heart. A sensitive heart is beautiful.

So my destiny will lead me back to India. I have been railing against it for so long yet I do not understand why since this country heals my very soul. When I was there last its magic reached into my very core and turned me inside out. I faced demons and conquered them there. It restored my equilibrium and I changed irrevocably. I grew up. Now, I am ready to accept that she is calling me because she is ready to teach again. I only hope I am ready to receive such instruction because I am not the most apt pupil and sometimes it’s very difficult for me to learn. She makes it so simple in nature and theory yet I find it nearly impossible to practice.

So anyway, after reading about Jesus my inner voice told me to go to the church on Church Road. Though I am not Catholic I decided long ago that all places of worship are for everyone and so I usually visit its cool stone and look upon the horrific image of crucifixion. Sometimes I sing in there because the acoustics are amazing and no one is around to listen but mostly I pray. Tonight I was too late and so I sat on the steps and looked at the sky, the moon was so close to full and my emotions were still. I knelt on the steps and bowed in total gratitude to this world I am a part of.

Acceptance has flooded me. I now realise I have to prepare. I am leaving soon and if I am not ready for that then I am a fool. It is time for me to get ready for the next stage on my journey. The preparations will start now.  

The Last Night - Short Story

 ‘So what is a Saturn return?’

Oh, why such metaphysical subjects on a hazy warm soft air on your skin Friday night in December..?

  ‘Don’t sit there in silence looking all cosmic,’ he said. I looked at this man in front of me. He wasn’t wearing his glasses that night, his warm brown eyes shone and his scent lingered, flirting with the breeze in a casual manner.

  ‘Oh, it means that every 26 to 27 years your life gets a review – a spring clean – similar to out with the old and in with the new. So if something in your life doesn’t work it goes and if it does then it stays.’

Actually, that isn’t what I said but my memory fails me at this moment. I am sure I rambled something similar. This is what I should have said. The answer delivers it’s meaning succinctly, it’s not a conversation killer and can easily lead onto a more interesting topic. Maybe if I had asked some context setting questions or added a little more modeling and drilling the English Language Tutors would have stood up and given a round of applause but I believe my repartee may have only been a ‘to standard’ that night. I didn’t do enough preparation beforehand, didn’t do my homework. I didn’t write down what I was going to say in advance.

We moved on and spoke to different people. Yet as time passed our group got smaller and we looked at each other.

  ‘You’re not leaving are you?’

For three months I have sat at this very same computer, restricted by deadlines and routine for the promise of a greater freedom. This was supposed to be a night of celebration, of joy, of dancing until dawn… yet one by one people were drifting to the comfort of their own lives, to the responsibilities and chores of tomorrow, to the bodies already keeping half of their bed warm.

  ‘No, I am not going.’

Relief coursed through me and before we knew it we were leaving the place alone. Suddenly intoxicated with the new arrangement, the night presented many possibilities and we headed to a small bar filled with a young crowd already dancing to the groove of a drunken Friday evening. We stood in the corner with drinks in our hands, happy to share the contents of our thoughts and lives for the other to see. My interest was peaked and I was fascinated by this Australian in front of me. We freestyled from subject to subject according to the DJ’s whim and I felt the ancient rhythmic dance of seduction intermittently tuning up the instruments, trying out a few practice beats, playing with the idea of starting a tune.

We left the bar and moved onto China Town and despite the need to dance I wanted to know more so we went upstairs and carried on talking as if we were the most interesting people in the world. And right then he was, I wanted to know more and there was nowhere else I wanted to be. I dredged up subjects that I hadn’t dusted off and looked at for some time and even surprised myself. I guess it’s only in the presence of another when we see who we have become.      

We go downstairs to dance but it’s awkward and the music is sharp and at angles, it didn’t feel comfortable and the people surrounding us were careless. This place lost its magic and we moved on. The streets of Melbourne seemed in no hurry to slumber. People gathered lazily on corners and we fell in and out of their reverie alternately talking and searching for the next attraction.

The Speigel Tent beckoned, a traveling tent intended for dancing, music and the arts. He saw some of his friends. Momentarily paralysed by indecision he wavered. Yet we sat with them and I talked to a boy he didn’t know the name of. They told us about the swing dance party we had missed but soon Michael Jackson’s ‘Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough’ comes on and I had to move. This song… this song makes me….oh… I have to… Even at home when it comes on random I cannot sit. I cannot allow the moment to pass without my body paying a tribute.  I told him we had to dance. He didn’t hesitate, he followed.  

If I am alone or with my friends I will dance as if electricity is coursing through my body, as if the music takes hold of my limbs and rearranges them according to the moment. Yet in front of a boy I like, suddenly I am self-consciousness and dancing becomes more than movement. It becomes a language and these are words I am unused to discussing.

  ‘Teach me how to salsa’

So, he took hold of my body and pulled me close, my hands touched his shoulders and my head momentarily rested on his shoulders. It felt safe, it felt solid and he felt real. I felt as delicate as a flower’s bloom, only able to present beauty for a short time before nature took back what was hers.

  ‘This is not salsa’ he said and he twirled me around.

In the Speigel Tent the music and dancers were unashamedly upbeat and lighthearted. Girls were acting out the lyrics to the songs, their confidence fizzled and dresses ruffled, we laughed at their antics. I had a moment of ‘I am in Australia. This is Australia. I am dancing with a boy in Australia. And I am in the Speigel Tent, it’s real, here and now’. But before I knew it the last song came on and the tables and chairs were taken away. We said goodbye to his friends and wandered on into the night.

Neither of us wanted to go. He would intermittently put his hand on my back and I could feel rivulets of sweat tracing my skin. The heat encouraged us to take advantage of the hours that lay ahead of us and he took me to an all-night bar. The music was good and before we knew it we were back on the dance floor, the room was packed, the current was strong and I was involuntarily pulled in. We were close. So I pulled back.

  ‘Let’s get some water.’

I stood near the bar and he stood behind me. He put his arms around my waist and we stood motionless. No words yet at that moment our bodies were in deep conversation. He nudged me to the bar, people were packed tightly together eager to get what they wanted. Whilst waiting for someone, anyone, to come and get my order, lucid thoughts emerged and I realized this could turn into something. I pulled away and we went outside.

I could have walked that night, it helps me to think, I could have asked him more questions and I could have stayed awake until the day had begun. But life started to encroach and he wasn’t keen. We got into a taxi and we passed by my bridge of voices.

  ‘Call me’ and then I kissed him on the cheek. And he did. Five minutes later…

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Catch You Later - (Long) Short Story

She called him from the airport.

  ‘I’ve got to go… my spring rolls are getting cold.’

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Your spring rolls,’ she whispered down the phone.

  ‘I’ll see you when you get back.’

  ‘Will you be in Melbourne when I get back?’

  ‘Yeah I will,’ he said.

  ‘Definitely?’ she almost giggled down the line, alternately embarrassed at asking the question yet simultaneously requiring a little assurance.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve got no plans. I will be around.’

  ‘See you then.’

  ‘Catch you later.’

She cut off the connection and stared hard at the phone. The call had been unsatisfying and she sat there listening to the beat of her heart and the alarm bells it produced. ‘Don’t fall for him, baby,’ she said to herself. ‘This one is not a keeper.’ Inside she knew it. In fact, she had spent the better part of her ten day meditation course practicing how to stop this friendship yet before she could he had already left the city. Now the insidious nature of desire had her in its grip. It wasn’t him she wanted. In fact, he was pretty much the opposite of her ideal, but she wanted to know that there was someone in the world who thought of her, who wanted her and who made her feel beautiful. That thought was an addiction and craving momentarily took over her senses.

The flight delay and lack of interesting reading material forced her to reflect on her last eight months in Australia. She mulled over each individual she met, each experience she had gained and each place she had explored. Her connection to Melbourne strengthened with each day despite her alien status and lack of a stable social base. She enjoyed every inch of the city and was compelled to explore its heart. Time and again she was amazed by its diversity and beauty.

When she’d finished with that she started to think about herself. Lately she had noticed that a woman had broken out of this mold she called her body and an inner confidence had started to shine. A glow had started to settle within her and she fed it regularly. People were beginning to notice and would comment. She had also lost a little weight yet maintained her curves and a few admiring glances from passing males increased the fire within her.

‘Me and you…’ her sister had said, ‘we’re stocky… slim but compact.’ She thought of her sister, her more beautiful twin, and then about her own body. Excitement at the prospect of seeing her sister and disappointment because she had to leave Melbourne joined hands and

surfed down her veins. She felt the sensations in her body. After sitting for ten days concentrating on them it had become second nature to be aware of them. ‘What a waste’ she thought. ‘I am ripe yet there is no one around here to taste me.’

She looked around at all the men. Most were sitting next to a woman or if alone they had their MP3s plugged into their ears or a book blocking her vision. As she had no one to look at she returned to the recent phone call, to him and the inevitable events that would unfold when she returned. She knew she would soon be having sex, that her body would finally be satiated. This longing to feel a man in her arms, inside of her, would be fulfilled. Simultaneously, her sensitive body filled with heat, keen to experience the carnal pleasure which had been denied to it for so long, revealing vitality and incomprehensible needs of its own.

Yet, for her mind, she mused, she enjoyed the separation. The pleasure was in the denial… The knowledge that it could be easily available turned her off. This waiting was an important part of the process. This distance, this space between him and her manufactured a longing more easily than the sight of his naked body… The need to be teased, the need to long, to explore, had to be there. She realised if she were to have the opportunity for sex right now her mouth would still say no. Her mind ruled and it still needed to yearn until the intensity was overwhelming, until the senses were overloaded and her body was begging for it. Her body was fine with direct expression but the mind wanted cat and mouse, was turned on by the eternal chase.

She got her notebook out and jotted down the following, ‘That’s how it has to be for me. I want to be lost in the situation to the point where I don’t know myself anymore. The only thing that should exist is the sensation, the urge, the primeval instinct to buckle and sweat, to cry and shout, to bite and pinch, to find the animal in me once again.‘

She fought the rising claustrophobic sensation as she entered the cabin and greeted the flight staff with a cursory smile. She was directed to her seat. The plane was a hive of activity and people around her were trying to push their bags in the overhead lockers, blocking the aisle. She waited for everyone in front of her to sort themselves out and then carelessly she threw her bag in the nearest locker and sat at a window seat. She sat back and waited for the activity to die down, trying to be aware that she was leaving Melbourne now. She tried to make herself understand she wouldn’t see her favourite skyline, sleep in her own bed, be with her friends or see him for at least three and a half weeks. Tears threatened to form at the side of her eyelids but she fought the urge to give into her emotional self. She closed her eyes and waited for the feeling to pass. The feeling transformed into exhaustion and finally, blissfully, she fell asleep.

She was woken up by a flight attendant as they placed a tray of vegan food in front of her. Mechanically she set about eating despite the fact it was 2.30am for her. Her body was stiff and gross painful sensations hunched her back and curved her spine. Her hair was beginning to produce oil and her lips started to dry. The effects of reused air started to take its toll and she wanted to stretch her legs. Her thoughts were muddied by this in-between stage. She wasn’t in Australia anymore, she knew that, but she couldn’t truly understand that she was going back to Jersey. Her thoughts dallied and confused images of Melbourne and Jersey distorted and merged.

She tried to distract herself with the entertainment available yet her eyes drooped heavily and her mind dreamed of the country she desperately wanted to call home. She couldn’t understand why she felt such an affinity with a country she had no previous connection with. Over ten years ago she had walked the same streets with a boy she thought she was in love with and although the boy didn’t remain her memories of those streets were ingrained in her. The years after that trip left a burning fantasy of her walking down a wintry Swanston Street in a flowing skirt and knee high boots and this thought impelled her to return. She had done much more than that now, she knew the whole city much more intimately though she knew she still had a long way to go.

Like a Santa’s whisker seedpod she had floated from one place and person to the next. Momentarily landing and then flying away again. She was searching for a place to rest and take root though the journey had taken longer than she expected. She fell in love with every place she landed in and would take time to explore it and allow her heart to melt. Yet Australia was different, there was no need to fall in love, it was as if a soul connection preceded the meeting, destined to reunite. From the first week of her arrival her limbs returned Melbourne’s caresses and understood its unique search to find its own identity, enjoyed the space and freedom it allowed her.  

They stopped in Hong Kong and she stretched her legs. In transit, she met a small family. They were Australians going to Edinburgh to experience Hogmanay. They spoke about their roots lying in Scotland. They wanted to return there and understand a little more about themselves and meet members of their family. Their little boy was playing with his badge and she turned towards him.

  ‘What is that on your t-shirt?’ she said, pointing to the picture.

  ‘It’s a kangaroo’ he informed her.

  ‘Oh it’s so pretty!’ she said. ‘What colour is your favourite kangaroo?’

The boy thought for a minute.

  ‘I like blue kangaroos the best.’

She met the eyes of his parents and giggled for a moment then she turned to him and said, ‘I like the green ones because they’re the best at hiding.’

  ‘I haven’t seen a green kangaroo.’

  ‘That’s because you have to look real close.’

She left the family unit and missed their company instantly, the feeling of warmth, love and simple pleasurable sensations they produced within her. She sat alone and wondered if this was to be her destiny forever, a lonely soul looking at other happy families.

She thought of him again, she didn’t know why except the chemical reaction of desire and absence had transformed him into a man that she might want. His obvious deficiencies were amended to suit her needs and their moments together were weighted with a retrospective air. She knew what she was doing was dangerous yet it produced such light sensual sensations inside of her...

She closed her eyes and a montage was produced. She could see them talking under a tree in a park, both of them barefoot although he was unused to it. She saw them kissing beside the Yarra River, the city lights reflecting the water, her legs wrapped around his body. She saw them lying on the sand next to the sea talking about themselves, about who they were right then and what they wanted from this life that had been given to them. She could see herself showing him her new MP3 player and him listening to those voices from her island that held her identity steady, which formed the basis from which she springs. She could see him sit up on his bed and try to give her his coolest gaze which sent her into hysterics… and felt their longing that temporarily banished his ticklishness as they rubbed closer and closer. She could see him lying on her pure crisp clean white bed linen and talking to her after he had spent a little time reading her closest thoughts about a girl who used to grace this planet and a story about their accidental first meeting that really shouldn’t have happened. She could also remember the feeling of her drunkenness as the serotonin from kissing overloaded her being, she asked him to be strong for her as she left his car, asking him to wait a little longer. Her clothes were a little damper than they were before they met that night.

She felt different. Her body was more graceful, her face looked prettier and each movement felt sexy. Touching surfaces had a new meaning and a meeting of stranger’s eyes held more depth. She plunged into this new array of feelings with abandon yet she knew she couldn’t stay there for too long. This wasn’t love she felt, nor was it lust, yet the experiences she had produced a new dimension to the world around her. She had been here before, knew its shimmering impermanent quality and immersed herself as much as she could. As he wasn’t in Melbourne much, the city was the grateful recipient of her gentleness, they cooed like love birds sitting in a tree on a sunny day.

When he was around, they both liked the flirting, they both enjoyed the slow journey, the uncovering of layers, and they both lingered before the big step. They talked about the big step a lot yet neither of them really wanted to reach there. Previously she wanted to lead an ecclesiastical life full of purity and wisdom, her celibacy the foundation of this important movement within her. He just didn’t want real life to step into this interaction between them, preferring his women to be Goddesses he couldn’t reach, unattainable because of their perfection, preferring their country of residence to be on the other side of the world.

So they touched, tickled and kissed, they talked and played, they teased and challenged each other to the game of foreplay until one of them had to go home. Despite no commitment between them, the non-attachment, they both imagined what the end result would be like. For her, with practice like this, she couldn’t help but think the big step would blow her mind. For him, despite never having seen her naked, he imagined a model waiting to be undressed, a porn star waiting to unleash her skills and an angel to accept him as he was.   

She remembered how he often ended his text messages with ‘Catch you later…’ Now, those words were synonymous with him. She marvelled at the expression, she loved the way they were said, they way they rolled and how their meaning was conveyed. Now the ‘later’ was given huge significance, as if the story weren’t over… to be continued.

Her memory was sharp, getting clearer by the day and she could recreate any moment that had happened to her or any word that was said. She wondered if this would be the un-doing of her soul, the weight of so many memories, as she could never seek relief in oblivion. Meditation was her only salvation yet even this could be overruled by her mind, she was still a slave to it and could find no release.

Sitting back on the plane, she produced each moment they had spent together as if it were on a screen. Yet her creative resources made everything better than it actually was because in reality she had nothing to work from. She wasn’t in a relationship with him, there wasn’t a great deal of chemistry between them and he had no intentions of sharing the majority of his life with her. However, she could recreate a scene and make it into a fairy tale with the suggestion of voice and a momentous pause here and there. She could recreate a look or amend a word to suit her imaginative needs, her mind was doing its favourite work, lying to itself, and her body was rejoicing.  

After Heathrow she took a bus to Gatwick, found the connection to Jersey and again, waited for her flight to be called. Her mind gathered moss and her brain was ready to shut down yet she forced herself to stay awake so she would get to her gate on time. She bought a hot chocolate to steady her mind and ease her depression. The reintroduction of the English accent had sparked a melancholy within her. This return to England, if only for a few hours, caused her misery. Where Australia only served to boil and bubble a delicious happiness, England was its polar opposite, ready to let her sink in slimy despair. She couldn’t get on the plane to Jersey fast enough and was eager to smell its sea salt breeze.

She was proud of her island heritage, that for the first eighteen years of her life she was never further than three miles from the Channel. She relished its shores, winding narrow roads and idiosyncratic ways though she always understood that her blood was not a part of its land or people. She was more connected to the sea around it than the pink granite of the land. Her huge respect and deep devotion to water always encouraged her to seek the sea out. No matter which country she lived in, she would dovetail to the nearest beach or river, pay her respects and send her love back to her island. For despite the manmade divisions and schizophrenic character, the water was still one body and could carry a person home if it had to.

She used to sit on the sand often and just listen to the waves, imagining herself seeking wisdom and serenity in its language. Yet often she sat there listening to the words in her head, the insurmountable amount that continually talked to her, reminded her, informed her of who she was supposed to be.

  ‘I don’t want a girlfriend,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t want a boyfriend,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t want to find a girlfriend. I can’t have love in my life right now.’ He said again, reiterating the point.

She knew what he was saying because deep down she felt the same. It was impossible for her to maintain a relationship with another person at this stage of her life. She was about to embark on a trip to India and live in an ashram for two years, basically to work as a teacher and live like a nun. She was to work on her spiritual Sadhana. Sadhana definitely meant no boyfriends.

She arrived in Jersey, the air biting her skin and salt whipping her hair. She collected her bags and walked through the gate, hoping her sister and brother would take her into their arms. She looked around and saw no one she recognised so she wheeled her trolley to the side, sat on her bag and sunk into a doze only momentarily opening her eyes in case she was mistaken. She didn’t know how much time she sat there except when she opened her eyes again, her brother was standing in front of her.

  ‘How long have you been there?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know. You’re late.’

  ‘No, we’re not late. You’re early,’ he came towards her and gave her a hug.

She stood back to look at him. He was so good-looking, he oozed confidence yet still maintained his vulnerability. ‘Love must agree with him’ she thought. ‘He looks amazing’.

Soon after her oldest sister arrived, she pulled away to give her a hug, gently though in case she crushed her, and they all made their way to the car, down the hill and into their other sister’s house.

Her other sister had a wedding that night so she spent the night in her new house with her cat. She explored the new house, recognised her sister’s stuff and marvelled at the new acquisitions. The next morning, when her sister arrived, they launched into conversation and both expressed surprise and wonder at the developments in the other. She was home, her body knew it, now it would just take her mind some time to come back down to earth.

As she moved between family and friends, she was surprised by the developments with a boy from her past. Emailed events had developed recently whilst she was in Australia and they had arranged to meet each other once she was over. After a couple of days she got the courage to call him and soon enough arranged to see him that same day. He sounded different on the phone, very professional, and he was happy to meet up with her. Due to other events and relationships it had been five years since they last saw one another so they were eager to see how the other had changed.

  ‘Hey, how are you? You look really well,’ She could see he meant it too. She felt flattered by his attentions and reciprocated the compliment. He also looked amazingly well. He hadn’t changed much, he was a little older than her so there were a few lines on his face and a smattering of grey hair but he still had his cheeky smile and sense of humour.

He collected her in his car and drove to Noirmont Point. They drove slowly and began their conversation as if there had never been a stop point. They explored familiar territory, shared friends, history and places then they spoke about the years intervening. The last time she heard about him he was involved in a very serious relationship but they broke up and he had been single for the last two years. He opened the car door for her and they walked for a while until they sat on a bench on top of a cliff overlooking a picture perfect scene of bays and the bluest sea. They discussed what was most important to them; love, life and everything in between.

He still made her laugh yet it seemed time had helped him develop a serious, softer side. The chemistry between them was immediate. It always had been. Yet they both knew the foolishness of acting on it since she was leaving so soon. There was always a respectful distance between them yet their conversation was intimate, revealing and brutally honest for such is the joy of a friendship that is distilled over time. Pleasantries and small talk could immediately be abandoned. He told her of the lessons he had learnt, the experiences he had gained and his hopes for the future. She did the same but still she questioned him, wished to learn from him, for both their experiences were similar.

  ‘Would you ever live over here again?’ he asked.

  ‘There isn’t much of a call for ESL teachers here,’ she said.

  ‘But still…’

  ‘Maybe I would come back here… if I had a house on St Ouen’s beach or... if other external circumstances happened.’

  ‘Like a man?’

  ‘Yeah, that could be something to look into,’ she looked away from him. She tried to maintain an innocent look upon her face yet she could feel her cheeks burning. She said nothing further but looked out onto the sand dunes, wondering if she would feel this love for her home island if she lived here all the time. Somehow she doubted it.

One night she showed her friend her computer and their friend’s pages on Facebook when he saw she was online and wrote to her again. He asked her if she still had time to see him and they arranged to meet up for a quick drink the next day.

She sat on the large couches beside the bay windows in the pub and fell into a reverie. She dreamed about Melbourne, its heat and the people she was missing there. She thought of her adopted dog and how she was doing. She couldn’t believe how quickly time had flown and that she would be back so soon. She looked up and he was staring at her, smiling, she jumped. She got up to buy him a drink. He was on a blackcurrant and soda, he apologised because he hardly drank anymore. After a while, he insisted that he drove her to her sister’s house for she had a family dinner that night.

He opened the car door for her and she sat in his car, by this time they were laughing and flirting outrageously with one another. She had to direct him to her old house but she found it difficult in the dark, for some reason the street lighting was sparse. Soon they found the housing estate and he drove in.

  ‘You have brought me home before,’ she said.

  ‘Have I?’

  ‘Yeah, many times.’

  ‘Well, by this time I always had other things on my mind, like, will she give it up this time?’

She laughed, ‘I only seem to recall you trying it on with my friends.’

  ‘That was only to impress you,’ he said.

  ‘Hmm, you might want to revise your methods,’ she said, laughing.

  ‘It was only ever for you.’

They laughed together and he stopped the car. It came to the end of their time together so she unbuckled her seat belt and gave him a big hug. His arm was stuck but she wouldn’t let go until he had both arms wrapped around her. When the moment left, she said goodbye. She wondered when she would see him again.

  ‘So, how did it go?’ her sister asked.

She just stood there smiling. She was feeling warm inside, ‘It was great. He ticks all the right boxes.’ 

  ‘Oh, I would be happy if you got with him. He would treat you right. He wouldn’t mess you around,’ her sister said.

That night she got an email from the boy in Australia. He told her that he wouldn’t be in Melbourne when she got back after all as he was going on a camping trip. He asked if they could meet that Monday, citing her jetlag as a reason to be away.

On the last night she settled her head on her cat’s belly and allowed his purr to vibrate. She lay on her sister’s bed with layers draped around her body and wondered about what the month had brought. She had not been disappointed, she settled within her familial bonds as soon as her enforced independence left her. It was a welcome step back to let others take care of her. She relished being with people who knew her culture, her history and accepted her as she was. She caught up with conversations that were left half finished and shook off the sand ever apparent on the bottom of her converse trainers. She did all that she had come to do but now it was time to go to her real home.

When she got back to Australia she called her sister and her sister said there had been tears all day because she had left.

  ‘It’s like I have lost a limb,’ her sister said.

She smiled at this but understood her words because she felt the same. Again she wondered why she was cursed with this illness, this need to move on. The post-holiday blues settled on her bones and she missed the closeness of her family and friends. Despite the physical distance between them, their connection was extremely strong and she mourned them like a lone survivor. 

She enjoyed the weekend of recovery and silently thanked him for going camping that weekend. She had felt bad that he didn’t want to see her immediately but now embraced exhaustion and depression. On the Sunday afternoon, she rose from her bed and felt ready to see Melbourne again, to reconnect to the city. She jumped on her bike and cycled down to St Kilda. She turned right and went all the way to the harbour. When she came home she felt better, more at ease, but still she felt uncomfortable about her imminent meeting with him.

They had arranged to meet on the Monday. He was fifteen minutes late. She met him in Federation Square on her bike but she was keen to leave the crowds. Again she hankered for the beach and they cycled according to her whim. As they cycled he told her about his New Year’s dinner and how he tried to pull all the girls. She sat on her bike, listened and wondered why he was telling her. She really couldn’t care less if he had kissed anyone else but he didn’t need to tell her about it.

  ‘There aren’t many people who come back to Australia after having gone home for Christmas,’ he said.  

She was puzzled by his lack of understanding, how he still didn’t get that she wanted to make a life for herself in this city. Like thousands of others, including his ancestors, she had decided that Australia was home. This was it for her. Except for a few obligations she needed to take care of before she committed to a relationship with the immigration department, she knew that she would use all her present visa and return to Melbourne when she was ready to settle.

It got cold so they started to cycle to the city again but got lost along the way. As the evening wore on it became apparent that his memory wasn’t clear as he started to ask her questions she already given him answers to.  

  ‘Don’t you remember anything I say to you?’

  ‘It’s just the way I am. I hardly remember what anyone says to me.’

She couldn’t believe it. She was stunned by this admission.

  ‘That’s just rude. People spend time with you, they invest time into you and you can’t be bothered to remember any of it,’ she said.

She asked him questions about herself and he couldn’t remember the answers. She asked more and still his response was luke-warm. She was still feeling emotional from her recent trip and wanted to cry. She realised the futility of having shared with him, was disappointed at the waste their previous times were. This was a false superficial friendship, not destined for longevity or satisfaction.

  ‘I need a hot chocolate,’ she said. It had no cream but it soothed her and was an anaesthetic to her jangled home-sick disappointed nerves.

As they sat at the table, with the busker playing close by, the truth dawned on her though she wanted to refuse her acknowledgement. She swallowed the rest of her drink and felt their whole time together slip from her fingers. She knew this wasn’t going anywhere, it was obvious. He had made it clear. She started to bite.

  ‘You’re not into me,’ she said.

  ‘I am into you,’ he replied.

  ‘No, you’re not. It’s okay.’

And it really was okay. She didn’t mind because the energy she had invested was not in him, not in their meeting of body or mind. It was in herself. He never allowed her to touch him in any way he did not wish to be touched. She could see that now. Yet she had permitted tunnels to open within her. She knew that through him, through their meeting, she had uncovered a little more of herself though this did not stop her from following a previous pattern of action and reaction, her cutting remarks aimed to hurt.

Later she kissed him to try and salvage a little sweetness from such a sour conversation. She knew she could rely on those actions to counteract the signs. He responded and they stood in front of each other, finally finding a place to work from. 

  ‘This is my first kiss of the year,’ he said. ‘Is it yours?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she replied. She suddenly thought of the boy in Jersey.

  ‘Am I your first kiss in Australia?’ he asked. He had already asked this question before.

  ‘Yes, you are.’ She replied but thought in her head… you won’t be my last.

She asked him if he had remembered how she kissed or what she smelt like whilst she was away, he replied in the negative. However, now she was there he remembered her hips.

  ‘If another man ever tried to hold your hips I would lose you.’

She thought, when he didn’t have her, couldn’t even remember her, what was there to lose?  

She didn’t think she would see him again that week as he had made it pointedly clear he was such a busy person. So on Thursday evening she arranged to go out with another boy after she had been to yoga. She still didn’t have a mobile phone so she had arranged it by email that day and her plans were set.

She went to yoga and when she returned she found a note on the table addressed to her. It was from him. He had come to her house but missed her. He wanted to see her. She called him from her house phone and he explained that his friend had hooked up with someone and was available that night. She joked she was his second choice, which she was, but still felt pleased he’d made the effort to come to her house. He had redeemed himself a little but still she had already arranged to go out with someone else.

  ‘It’s a shame because I think you would like what I am wearing,’ she said. She felt pretty in a tight top her sister had given her. She felt good.

She called him as soon as she got back from her date, it was just before midnight yet she wanted to hear his voice, the loveliest Australian accent. Once she heard him speak desire shot through her in waves, delicious sensations overtook her and they teased each other with the thought of seeing each other that night.

  ‘Well, I could cycle but you live forever away,’ she said. ‘And you have a car.’

  ‘I do have a car’

  ‘It would be lovely to sleep with you tonight.’ They carried on talking, alternately teasing and second guessing the other.

Then she asked him, ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m in the car on the way to your house.’

Oh shit, she thought, I need to get ready. She hadn’t really believed he would do that.

  ‘I’m putting the phone down now. I’ll see you when you get here.’ She put the phone down and then panicked. It was obvious why he was coming over. Tonight was it, the night, yet she looked at herself in the mirror and could see her body wasn’t ready. She was bloated from over-eating and the onset of her period. She hadn’t had time to make sure she was at her finest. The best she could hope to do in these circumstances was wash and smell good.

He knocked at the bathroom door and she quickly finished her absolutions. Once she came out he was sitting at her dining room table so she went over, took his hand and pulled him into her room.

  ‘You smell nice’

  ‘Thank you’

  ‘You use that shampoo I used to use, what’s the name?’

  ‘I don’t know’

  ‘It’s the expensive one’

  ‘Well, yeah, it’s not that cheap,’ she replied. It wasn’t an expensive one either…

  ‘You look like you are going to school,’ he said.

  ‘Going to school?’ she asked. ‘In this?’ she couldn’t believe he had said that.

They kissed and there was a little urgency foretold in their movements. He was there, she knew what he had come for, yet the act could not happen in her house. The walls were paper thin and although she sincerely loved her housemates, sharing the sounds of her sexual self may stretch their friendship a little too far.

When they arrived at his house, she asked him to play the piano for her. She lay on the bed and he sat at the keyboard, comfortable wearing nothing but his underwear. She listened to his song intently with her eyes closed, she felt privileged to receive this private performance. His fingers graced the keyboard and the sound was… awesome. ‘Awesome’ was his word but she couldn’t think of another word to capture the quality of his playing. She felt like she was listening to a record except the touch of the keys could be heard as he kept the volume level down. He played her two songs, they were both about love and although he swore he didn’t write them for anyone, it revealed a sensitivity in him that endeared him to her.

Afterwards, she sat on his lap and played him a tune she learnt when she was young, something she was forced to learn many years ago, possibly the only thing she remembered.

  ‘You can play,’ he said.

  ‘No, I can’t… just this song.’

They started kissing but she broke off and said to him ‘Actually, I am feeling a bit scared about this.’

He didn’t respond except for a brush off, ‘There’s no need to be scared.’ Her feelings were dismissed.

The sensitivity he had revealed in his song completely disappeared as soon as they moved to the bed. She did not want to undress in front of him, it felt like she was on parade.

  ‘Your body is funny,’ he said. She stood there, self-conscious about the skin that enclosed her, hardly feeling desirable. Up until that point she was just beginning to feel relaxed but now he had made her feel so damn uncomfortable, she would have felt better naked locked inside a refrigerated lorry.

  ‘What does that mean?’ she asked.

He said nothing further.

She really was in two minds and felt uneasy with the act that was to follow. She sat on the bed and he pulled her towards him. He kissed her and before she knew it they were kissing and touching each other as if they were being filmed on TV, yet she felt no passion, no pull or need to open up to the boy in her arms. The damage was already done. Her mind wondered and she randomly started to say things or laugh. She was distracted by the thoughts in her head and she would alternate between those and what she was supposed to do. Actually, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do to him, her mind went blank, she fumbled.

She asked him to put his head on her belly. She knew it sounded like a strange request but the act of a man’s head, feeling it rest on her torso, created powerful feelings within her. 

She said, ‘Don’t do anything, just lie there’ because all she wanted to do was find stillness, the sacredness of such an act together. To her, the belly from which all life springs should be honoured and considered divine in such a situation. He put his head there briefly and came up again.

  ‘No, I don’t feel anything,’ he said. Again she found them in a juxtaposition. She was not secure around him, she wanted to find a middle ground for them to work from yet it was impossible for her to articulate what she wanted. What could she say? That she wanted the ultimate, the union? It was increasingly obvious there was no bonding there, nothing to work with except lips, nipples, vagina and penis. She was a fool and she knew it. She had taken a wrong turning and thought there was no going back.

It was late at night, both of them were tired and she knew he was a boy who wanted it fast and furious with little room for slowness, for ripeness, for the feminine, for respecting the other half. She allowed it and now she was left stranded in no-man’s land. Sooner rather than later he settled down for the night yet she was wide awake and would have to wait the night out.

She turned to him and said, ‘We’ve reached a point of no return.’

………………………………

The following Monday she called him to tell him yoga finished at 8pm and not at 7.30pm like she said in her email.

  ‘Oh, I feel funny about this,’ he said.

  ‘So do I,’ she replied.

  ‘Listen, I don’t want a girlfriend and this is not a relationship so if you are cool with that then that’s cool. However, if you are not cool with that then this is not fair.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said. Not quite understanding the meaning of his words. She already knew she wasn’t his girlfriend and they weren’t having a relationship so she didn’t understand the necessity of his words.

  ‘It’s kind of like, now I had you… I don’t want you anymore,’ he said.

She started laughing, first out of confusion and then because she could see his mistake. Not for one millisecond did he experience ‘having’ her. It felt like an American daytime TV drama with some bad script writers.

  ‘I don’t want to sleep with you again,’ he said.

  ‘That’s good because I definitely don’t want to sleep with you again,’ she said.

  ‘Was it really that bad?’

  ‘Yes it was really that bad.’

  ‘Well, you made me feel so comfortable about it I don’t mind,’ he said. Of course, he didn’t mind. She recalled the smile on his face as he settled down to sleep. She lay there looking at his face for what seemed like hours after. At one point she almost wanted to punch him from frustration.

  ‘Actually I was freaking out a bit,’ she said.

  ‘Well, you could have told me,’ he replied.

  ‘I tried. I told you I was scared,’ surely that was literal enough.

  ‘I am a man, you should have been more direct. How was I supposed to react to that?’

His voice rushed in her head. They spoke fast. Their words were not considered or thought about. They set their cannons loose.

  ‘Look, I know you’re not into me, that you don’t fancy me. It’s cool,’ she said in an offhand manner. 

He didn’t deny it. Obviously the lack of chemistry lent itself both ways… they should have been more honest about it earlier.

  ‘You’re so pragmatic about it.’ He had said that about her before, considering how impractical she could be this only proceeded to show how little he knew about her.

  ‘Listen, it’s probably best we didn’t spend too much time together as we’d end up driving each other crazy anyway,’ she said, which was part reaction and part truth.

  ‘I never felt like that, I always got a lot out of spending time with you,’ his contradictory nature revealing itself.

  ‘No, we are very different, very incompatible in many ways.’ 

  ‘But you thought you would be seeing me tonight,’ he said.

  ‘Look if you want to come round that’s fine (that’s not fine) but I am going to yoga and I have got things to do.’ She paused, ‘Listen, it’s okay, I don’t depend on you. Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘It’s not about that. I will call you.’

She laughed at this.

  ‘No, I will email you.’

She laughed again, what was this boy trying to do? Why was he trying to put her off using empty promises and platitudes? She really didn’t want to see him after this conversation.

  ‘Don’t laugh, you should give me more credit that that.’

They were happy to put the phone down on one another. Since she had arrived back in Australia there had been a sinister tone to their friendship. Neither of them would give what the other wanted. Previously they had got a kick out of being together, knowing that the main reason for their union was the pursuit of fun, yet it didn’t feel like that anymore and there was no reason for them to keep talking.

  ‘It’s kind of like, now I had you… I don’t want you anymore.’

She went to her yoga class and her teacher made them stand in the warrior pose for what felt like hours. He said, ‘Don’t listen to your mind. It will say your body is hurting so you better move or you’re in pain so you’re better off doing other things and that you should leave. It will try everything to get you out of this pose but you need to show your mind it’s not in control. If you can feel this pain and still stay in this position you can face any pain in life.’

She stood there, determined to feel the most pain and stay with it.

Afterwards, she stood in front of the mirror and studied her face. She took a good look at her eyes and the story they had to tell, she could see passion warming them, humour unfolding them, secrets guarding them and strength shielding them. She noticed her skin, the lines of laughter, the pockmarks of heartbreak and the scars of living which made her face, if not beautiful, then at least unique. She touched her lips with her fingers, their soft texture jutting from her mouth and she smiled at herself.

She took off her clothes piece by piece and examined the body she had accumulated as the years passed. Her shoulders sprinkled with freckles sloped down to her breasts then to her belly and hips. Her revered hips… then her legs rounded down to her narrow ankles. She was a classic pear shape, totally feminine. No one had her or would catch her and that was fine. She was just fine. 

……………………..

You can read my short stories here: Gracie's short stories
 

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