by Karen Botha
“Sure it is, that’s why it’ll be great. Come on, don’t be a stick in the mud.” I splash her with some water.
“Agh,” she screams. “I’ll get you.” She’s up and running at me, slamming into me with that amazingly toned body and slamming me backwards. I almost fall, but I don’t let her see. I think I pull it back with dignity.
Standing up to our knees now, I kick the water, chasing after her. We fight, and she’s tough. I can see how she managed to kick the ass of the little twerp the other night and come out relatively unscathed. There are a few women I’ve met in the past who would have let that ruin their evenings, but not Jessie. She just batted it off.
A little like she’s batting me off now. I really have to use my strength to stand up to her, but her disadvantage is her weight. I lift her above my head and although she’s sending arms and legs in all directions, I have her and run full on in to the deeper water.
When I trip and we both fall with a huge splash, she comes off worst, sinking all the way under, and coming to the top in a choking fit. Laughter is bursting free from my lungs in a way it hasn’t since I was a kid. I’m not thinking about anything except being alive in this moment.
Unlike other girls I’ve known, she’s also laughing at her underwater fishing trip. And coming for me. She manages to mount me, clambering over me until she’s got herself seated on my shoulders. The texture of her shaved skin brushes against mine, and despite the freezing nature of the lake, that warmth which is so familiar when she’s present burns through the ice water and I’m hard as one of the rocks on which we’re standing.
She takes advantage of my distraction, launching forwards, back into the water, clasping her legs around my neck and submerging me with her.
Jessie
“Who’s spluttering now?” I laugh as he comes up, now also coughing. The glint in my eye touches evil. He’s making far more of a commotion than I did and bats his fist to his chest. When he tries to say something, the words are snatched away by his tight lungs. He points again, “Can’t breathe.”
“Ha-ha, serves you right.” I laugh.
He shakes his head. “No, really.” At least that’s what I think he says.
Uh-oh.
I don’t know why I suddenly get the sense that he’s telling the truth, but an uncomfortable feeling rises up my spine, bristling the hairs on the back of my neck until they’re standing on end.
“What? Are you OK?” I ask, my face contorted in horror.
He shakes his head, banging his chest again and struggling to get out of the water which is heavy around his legs. I grab his elbow and pull him forward, trying to speed up his exit, but instead of helping, he stumbles and trips over the smooth rocks.
I leave him, run up the beach to our clothes and root through them like a maniac, pulling out his top first and flinging it aside and then his shorts hoping like mad that some kind of inhaler device will make itself known.
“Do you have medication?” I ask, bent over with my bottom visible for all to see such is the distress of my search.
And that’s when he starts to laugh.
“What?” It takes a moment to register.
He’s still bent over and still clutching his chest, but this time he’s wracking with laughter. His body heaves as he’s still unable to speak, but he is certainly not dying.
I charge at him, anger and relief mingling into one almighty torrent of water as I discharge my full weight in his direction.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He holds up both hands. “I couldn’t resist it.”
My arms form swooping arcs as I force water out of my way in an attempt to get at him as quickly as possible. The trail of white foam bubbles then disappears as I take another restrictive step forward. He backs up and his laughter is not abating. As the level gets deeper, we both start hopping to keep our heads above water, until I reach him. He starts to “whoop,” leveling out to swim a little further out of my grasp. But I was a champion swimmer in my day and it doesn’t take long before I flip my legs out behind me and kick.
This time when I catch him, I’m not messing about, I launch myself at him, pushing on his shoulders until his head disappears. And then we’re both wrestling under the cold water, hands grappling with the others slippery flesh in an attempt at, what? I don’t know. I guess it’s a release of all the tension of the last few days, mingled of course, with a healthy dose of sexual attraction. And just like that, I’m back in adoration of him.
My earlier misgivings about his morals are somehow insignificant because this man can manage me. He’s strong enough, and sly enough, to have me over where others would fail.
I don’t intimidate him and it’s refreshing to be someone’s equal.
Zac
We spend the rest of the week getting to know each other better. I open up to her and tell her all about my childhood, while we’re out fishing on ‘our island’ one afternoon.
We’re seated on rocks, watching the crystal waters lap against the banking in ‘our spot,’ chatting easily about life and loves.
“My dad was an angry man. He wasn’t a bad person, but he was so frustrated by life he couldn’t contain that sometimes and when we played up as kids, we felt the back of his hand for it.”
I’ve never told anyone about this. My friends at school didn’t even know. They would comment that they could never come around to our house, and they said that when I walked in the house, I transformed into a different person. But, they never knew why.
“I kept everything hidden,” I confessed.
“Well, thank you for trusting me with your story.”
She falls quiet, and I don’t look at her, knowing this is her time to repay my faith. Something about the silence between us, tells me that she’s struggling to locate the correct words. Eventually, she starts with, “I have a similar story.”
“Did your dad beat you too?”
“No, my dad would never do anything like that, but my mother is weak. I plucked up the courage to tell her my uncle had been kissing and touching me when we went to visit him. But, she didn’t believe me.”
“How could she not believe you? How old were you?”
“It went on for a few years, but I would have been about eight at that time.”
“And she thought you were lying? How could you make that up at eight?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know.” Her head shakes. The movement is imperceptible and my heart breaks for her.
Placing my arm around her shoulders, I pull her toward me. “I’m sorry you were treated like that,” I whisper and plant a kiss on the top of her head with the gentlest of touches.
“Yeah, me too. Looking back at it now, I don’t think it’s that she didn’t believe me, it’s that she didn’t want the upset of dealing with the issue if she acknowledged it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, like your mother, she was weak and couldn’t cope with the fall out. It would have brought shame on our family if people found out about the incest.” She laughs, but it’s wry. A sharp interlude in her words which tells me as much about how she feels about her family as the words she’s speaking.
I sigh. “Wow, we’re a pair aren’t we?”
Her mouth curves into a closed smile which doesn’t reach her eyes. “Yep! So, you see. Leaving home and going on the road with a load of guys who have my back isn’t such a big step. They’re my family and although they are overbearing, there’s a part of me that needs that.”
Oh, shit! I’d figured that once we got this thing, whatever it is, off the ground, her posse of supporters would back off and if they didn’t then she would make them. The last thing I need is the kind of hassle I’ve had this past few days on an ongoing basis.
Plus, I’m not so sure their interest in her is as innocent as she chooses to believe. “Are you sure they’re just fulfilling a family role for you? Their involvement seems way over the top to me.” There, it’s said. The surrounding tension in the house is unmistakable, and I’m
not sure I want to live my life out according to what some jealous guys think is right.
“Of course. What do you mean?”
“Well, look at Ryan, getting his pants on fire every time I’m near you. His concern for you, it's not the same as you feel for a sister. Surely you can see it?”
“Surely, I can’t.”
“Huh?”
“You have no idea how much we go through. We live together as a family unit for eight months of the year. I think I would have noticed if they were attracted to me.”
She stands, reels in her empty lure with a rigor which threatens to snap the delicate machine. She doesn't seem to care as she then dumps the rod on the ground next to me before standing over me with her hands on her hips. I watch, unsure what to say as her chest moves up and down with alarming speed. Just when I think we're getting somewhere, I go and do something wrong.
Eventually, I have to ask. “Why are you angry?”
She bends down until her face is only a few inches from mine. “Because you are just like the rest. I thought you were different.”
With that, she turns on her heel and stalks off.
Zac
There’s a pattern developing here which makes me uncomfortable. She stalks off and I pursue her. But, even though this is not something I’d usually stand for, the pull she has over me continues to draw me in.
The balance of this relationship is everything I normally despise, but I can’t just let her walk. There’s an undercurrent bubbling away which is telling me she’s worth chasing, that underneath her tantrums, there’s something which needs to be said and once she’s got it off her chest, we’ll be able to move forward.
I’m not sure if I'm engaging in wishful thinking because I want her to be worthy of the drama I’m taking on the chin for her, or because I don’t like the way she has me following her around like a lapdog, but whatever it is, I get up off my butt, pack away the fishing gear and meet her at the dock where she’s looking out over the view.
Her features have softened, her eyes wistful and her demeanor is generally serene. That's the great thing about looking over the mountains in the distance; they change every time we look at them, like a watercolor being touched up and re-shaded by a schizophrenic artist. Something about the light out here casts the same vista in a million different aspects. Today, as the sun is high in the sky, there’s an orange glow reflecting on the usually clear water.
“What’s going on with you?” I ask. I think it’s a perfectly reasonable question, but clearly not.
The kindness vanishes from her expression as she shoots me a glare which says way more than words alone ever could.
“What?” I ask. “Why did you say I’m the same as everyone else?”
“Because you assume you can own me, just like the guys. Except that I have a history with them. We've only known one another a matter of a few days.”
The conversation is short, but it slices through my intestines. I can’t see myself, but I know my reflection in the water will be gray as the blood drains to sustain my broken heart.
It’s pathetic, but that’s how I feel. And I can’t believe she would say that. The last thing I want to do is to possess her. Not without her wanting me to. Where’s the fun in that?
I want to take every piece of her, to understand how she moves, to hear every sound come from her mouth, but only if that is what she wants to give.
This is the moment I’ve been trying to avoid. I can no longer run scared of the inevitable. I thought it was us being together, when in fact, it’s that we should never have been joined. We are not the match made in heaven that I hoped. We are instead probably formed of the same distorted framework which weakens another when conjoined, pulling it further out of shape in the areas it is already unsteady.
Jessie
It’s an awkward journey back to the house where we barely look at one another, let alone speak. I feel painfully out of place, like a pepperoni which has made its way onto a vegetarian pizza. A heavy silence settles over us and follows us like a black cloud from the boat to the car. We both look around at the view, but this time we're unseeing, more intent on using it as an excuse to avoid contact with the other’s eyes.
As soon as we arrive, I high tail it upstairs to my bedroom and hide away. I am not in the mood for Ryan and the others to be gloating about how right they were and how bad a judge of character I am. Again.
Choosing bedrooms next to each other seemed like a good idea. But, now I can hear Zac rummaging around, walking from one part of the small room to the other and making way more commotion than I’m happy to listen to. I really want to be licking my wounds, but him performing an orchestral rendition of pity on the other side of our wooden divide is nothing short of distracting.
I plug in my headphones and search for some music which will lift my mood while blocking out his clattering.
Of course I can’t find anything that I can be bothered to listen to. I scroll through my playlist, remembering us meeting on the plane. How long ago that seems. Nothing captures my heart and makes it soar in the way I desire. Normally I can lose myself in music.
But not today.
Only a few minutes after placing them in my ears, I rip out the headphones. It’s no good. I cannot concentrate on anything other than Zac and our argument. We had been getting on so well and if I’m being honest with myself, now that I’ve had time to calm down, confiding in him and letting down my barriers was scary. I’m happy to apologize and admit I overreacted.
Bouncing off the bed, I take the few steps from my room and knock on his door. He’s fallen quiet now at least. Perhaps he’s also listening to music because he doesn’t answer.
“Zac?” I tap on the door again.
Still no reply, but there’s no motion in there, nothing, so I push the door ajar.
And then wider.
Until it’s fully open.
He is not there.
I take two paces inside. His possessions have gone.
I race down the stairs and bump into Elliott and Kyle. “Have you seen Zac, El?”
“Yeah, he just left.” Elliott turns toward the closed external door. “Why?”
“He left?” My heart is thundering against the walls of my chest.
“Yeah. Something came up at work. Didn’t he tell you?” Kyle says.
I don’t answer. Instead, I stare at Elliott, then at Kyle and then between the two of them.
“He didn’t, did he? Have you guys had an argument?” It’s Elliott again.
I sigh. “I may have overreacted to something.”
“Ah, Jess. What have you done?”
I shake my head and we all stand in the hallway in silence.
“Come on, I’ll take you to the airport,” Kyle says all of a sudden.
“Huh?”
“You need to sort this out. Elliott and I had our disagreements while we were getting our different lives organized. Sometimes these misunderstandings just need ironing out. But Jessie, you can't leave these little rows to fester otherwise they'll blow out of proportion and you'll always wonder, 'what if?' You leave him to get on that jet and I guarantee you'll regret it.”
Zac
I am so well rid of Jessie. I’m just kicking myself that I didn’t see it sooner. It’s not even like I ever pine away in my lonely flat, wishing I was with someone. I have a fulfilling life that barely gives me time to catch a breath. So, why I was so eager to fill it even more fully with a girl, beautiful as she is, who doesn’t appreciate me, is beyond me.
I’ll put it down to a flash of weakness, the romance of the wedding. Yes, that’s what it was. I got caught up in the beauty of real, unexpected, fucking love and thought I’d have a piece of it too.
Well, the juncture has passed and I’m moving on. What this weekend has taught me is that there is absolutely no value to me being in a relationship.
“Here we are.” My driver, who speaks perfect English, has had the good sense to not use it during our journey t
o the airport. I didn’t notice anything about the spectacular scenery I’ve been admiring all vacation. It didn’t even register so consumed was I in my dark thoughts.
“Thanks.” I hop out of the car and continue my internal dialog with myself. I can tell myself whatever I want, but I still feel sick to the pit of my stomach. When I left Elliott and Kyle's place, my heart was protected by a flash of anger which turned my emotions ice cold and allowed me to believe backing away is the best form of protection.
But I wasn't expecting to be left with a sickening pain which gnaws at my pride reminding me that I failed her, and us, by fleeing. The frightened child, who I leave buried for as much of my life as I can muster, has resurfaced to once again hide away from the fear of being damaged and that in itself has left me feeling battered.
At least Duncan is back from the family trauma now which kept him from flying me out to the wedding. I can see him out of the floor to ceiling glass windows, readying my jet, conducting his pre-flight checks. Thank goodness. The last thing I need right now is another journey on a budget airline.
The airport is thankfully a breeze. It’s so small that I pass through in ten minutes and I’m already out on the tarmac when I hear the call.
“Zac!” I turn, but I don’t see anyone.
“Zac!” There it is again.
I cease walking up the steps and holding onto the barrier, take a good look around.
There’s a group of people on the other side of the chain fence that separates the tiny runway from the public.
And lined up like three monkeys are Elliott, Kyle, and Jessie.
All three are waving.
Despite my best efforts to remain mad, it’s impossible, and an unwelcome smile creeps onto my face. Not only that but the black cloud which had been weighting down my stomach, evaporates like the rain. My mood lifts like a rainbow glowing in a thunderous sky.
