‘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 a
year, 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.
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, between desire and orgasm. 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
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