You are at the door and bearing a playful
smile as always. “You ready?”
“Yes.”
“Is that all you are bringing?”
“Yes. Its only one night.”
“Ok”.
You raise your eyebrows, pull your sunnies back down and watch as I shut
the door behind me. You take my tiny bag and hold my hand as we cross the road,
opening the car door for me and throwing my bag in the back.
I like road tripping with you. I am curled
up in the seat so I can face you, chatting away, messing with the music.
You tell me about your girlfriend who wanted
to have sex 9 times a day and how stressful it was. I tell you about India and
how it felt to realise I was single and happy in an isolated ashram. You
espouse some sh*t about poor people being genetically inferior and we have a
sociological argument. We discuss Bec and what will become of Bec. You let me
play all of my favourite White Russian Music and Panic at The Disco. You put
your hand on my leg, we stop for coffee along the way, and I am really enjoying
being with you.
Launceston is cold but not frigid and there
is some movement in the streets. No buildings are too tall and the houses all
have pretty winter gardens, your mum’s included.
Your mum is tall and blonde and called
Natasha or Nadia or something like that. She speaks with a thick Russian
Accent, used to be a model and keeps a pristine home. Looking around, it is
very lovely. I enjoy chatting to her. I can tell she is sussing me out. We
speak about life and generalities, university and Hobart. Every now and then
she says something to you in Russian but for the most part you both speak
English.
When you leave the room she says “I hear you
are leaving for Sydney next year”.
“Yes. I have a grad job with a good firm.
So excited. I leave in February.”
“What will happen to your relationship?”
Roman is my really good friend. I
am super confused. What has he said?
And then it hits me that he might have said nothing at all, but the
circumstances would indicate, for all the world to see, that we are in a
relationship.
“I don’t know”.
I change the subject and it is a nice
night. You and I retire to our room and fool around. You are athletic. It is so
normal that I feel like an idiot. After an hour you fall asleep but I cant stop
moving.
“What are you doing?” you say sleepily, my
White Russian in the dark, skillful lashes and strong arms wrapped around me. I
throw on a dressing gown that I had the foresight to bring.
“Nothing. Sssssh. Go to sleep.” I pull the
covers over you. I feel anxious and I need something to read, anything. My
foresight has failed me evidently. I look, really look. I have brought nothing
with me and there is nothing in the house. Not even an old magazine. I am stone
cold sober and realise that I have
gotten myself into something of a conundrum. Anything will do to beat this
isolated insomnia. I feel desperate. And yet how ridiculous. I am safe, I am
ok, I am with my male bestie in his family home. And yet I am confused.
I go back to bed.
“Did you find anything to read?” you say sleepily.
“Yes. The back of labels. Did you know
special K has 5.3 grams of fiber a serve?’
When we drive back the following day I know
that there is a conversation we probably should have.
“Hey kitten. You wanna coffee?”
His smile tells me all sorts of things
about last night, last week, tomorrow, now.
“Lets forget about everything and just be
here road tripping together” I say. His hand slides up my thigh.
“You don’t want a coffee? We’re having coffee! Hey, the Stones, turn it
up. Stay at mine tonight?”