The Seven Steps to Closure

by Donna Joy Usher

  ‘Looks like you’re staying right here,’ said Gloria, laughing as I examined the hole I had created.

  My next throw hit the Pacific Ocean and we clustered around the map examining it, searching for a teeny, tiny island.

  ‘There’s nothing there,’ Nat announced officially.

  ‘Bugger, I wouldn’t have minded a relaxing holiday lying in the sun by the ocean,’ I said pouting.

  ‘Well, why don’t you just go to Bali?’ asked Elaine.

  ‘No, no, if I don’t do this right, the rest of my life will be a disaster. I just know it,’ I said.

  ‘Well you could hang around in a lifeboat at this location waiting to be rescued. Who knows, the rescuer may be hot.’

  I stuck my tongue out at Elaine. ‘You know I get sea sick,’ I said.

  ‘Honey, you threw up on the ferry to Manly, that’s not seasick, that’s flat water sick.’

  ‘There was a big swell that day,’ I said defensively, as I pulled the dart out of the board.

  The third shot landed right at the top of Mongolia. They looked at me expectantly.

  ‘I don’t want to go to Mongolia,’ I whined. ‘It’s cold there and I saw Ewan McGregor in The Long Way Round. He had to eat sheep’s balls in Mongolia.’

  ‘Look on the bright side,’ said Dinah, smiling cheekily, ‘maybe you’ll meet Ewan McGregor.’

  ‘That would be nice,’ I said thoughtfully, ‘but he’s probably not there anymore, and anyway he’s married.’

  ‘Maybe this is like in Who Wants to Be a Millionaire where you get three lifelines, but in this you get three chances to say no,’ suggested Gloria helpfully.

  I smacked my hand to my head and then pointed at her. ‘That is exactly what this is like. I’m using up the first of my lifelines.’

  After a brief conference, they all agreed that that was only fair, so I took up my position again. The next throw saw the dart bury itself deep in the middle of Greenland.

  ‘Greenland?’ I yelped. ‘I’ll freeze there.’

  ‘Or get eaten by a polar bear,’ suggested Elaine.

  ‘Second lifeline?’ asked Nat.

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Only one more lifeline though,’ she warned.

  My next dart smacked into Africa before falling to the ground.

  ‘What does that mean?’ I asked them.

  ‘Maybe it means that you shouldn’t even consider going to Africa,’ said Nat, pulling her long blonde hair over one shoulder.

  ‘Does it count as a lifeline?’ Elaine asked Gloria.

  ‘No,’ she replied, ‘that was the universe sending Tara a big warning about the dangers of going to Africa.’

  ‘There are lions in Africa,’ I said.

  ‘And hippopotamuses who kill more people a year than lions,’ said Dinah.

  ‘And there are these worms,’ said Gloria, who was an African expert, ‘that dig through the soles of your feet into your blood stream. They grow about a metre long before sticking their head out through your skin. The only way to get rid of them is to wrap them around a matchstick and turn them a little every day. It takes about a year.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, shuddering at the thought of having a worm wrapped around a matchstick attached to me for a year, ‘that’s settled. I’m not going to Africa.’

  ‘You still have a lifeline,’ Dinah said officially.

  I threw again.

  ‘New Zealand,’ announced Elaine.

  ‘I’ve already been to New Zealand. I want to go somewhere new,’ I said, stamping my feet childishly.

  ‘Do you want to use up your last lifeline to not go to New Zealand?’ asked Dinah.

  It was a tough one: New Zealand or the unknown. I pondered it for a while. What if I hit Antarctica next? But there was also a chance of Tahiti. Oh well, I had started this to have an adventure, so what the hell.

  ‘I am going to use up my last lifeline,’ I announced finally, staring at the map. Bali, I willed the universe, Bali. My probability of ever hitting it was pretty slim, but a girl can only hope. ‘I give myself over to the will of the universe,’ I shrieked, as I launched my dart at the map.

  ‘India,’ cried Dinah. ‘God you are going to love it. I can lend you my Lonely Planet. Hey, isn’t that where Jessie lives? Maybe you can stay with him when you get there.’

  Jessie was Jake’s twin brother. The two were as alike as night was to day.

  ‘Won’t Jessie be coming to Jake’s wedding?’ asked Gloria, once we had explained whom he was.

  We all burst out laughing.

  ‘No,’ I advised her, ‘Jessie and Jake hate each other. I always got on well with him though. Jake hated that,’ I admitted.

  I sank down onto the couch as I considered the option of going to India. It was something I had never thought of before. Going to stay with the brother that Jake hated, while he married my cousin certainly had agreeable symmetry. I could see why the universe had offered it up. I rolled it around my mind. Maybe he could get some time off work and travel with me. Finally, I nodded my head at the girls. I was going to go to India and I was going to love it.

  6

  The Fifth Step to Closure - Travel to an Exotic Destination

  To say that I loathed India would be an understatement. All right, so I hadn’t been there very long – three days to be precise, but already I was hot and flustered, and nothing had worked out how it was supposed to. I felt so guilty even thinking that, given everything that had happened since I had gotten here, and all the pain and suffering there had been. At least I was alive and safe. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start with the plane ride over.

  Ahhh, the plane ride over: one squeamishly embarrassing moment after another. I had found my seat and squeezed into it, wondering whom I was going to sit next to. It was a bloody long way to Mumbai and I was hoping I would get someone very small and petite, who didn’t hog the armrests. Even better someone with no arms. Oh and God, I prayed, please no sneaky farters.

  I picked up the Qantas magazine while keeping an eye on the people filing towards me, breathing a sigh of relief as a man bordering on obesity waddled past. After a few minutes had passed, and my neighbour hadn’t appeared, I began to have hope that the seat next to me would be vacant. I flicked to the entertainment section of the magazine to see what movies would be shown on the flight.

  ‘Do you mind?’ a low, husky voice asked from beside me.

  I started at the feet and worked all the way up his long, hard body to his face, which was every bit as pleasant to look at as the rest of him. He had to be at least six foot tall. His brown hair, long enough to be fashionable without appearing girly, was sandy brown. His bluey-green eyes, stared at me intensely, intelligence evident in their depths.

  ‘Woof,’ I said as I stumbled out into the aisle to let him in, blushing profusely when I realised I had just woofed out loud. Christ, how embarrassing.

  ‘Pardon?’ he said, looking at me. ‘It sounded like you said Woof.’

  I blushed harder. ‘Why would I say Woof?’ I asked defensively, wishing I hadn’t consumed those Dutch courage, pre-flight drinks.

  ‘My mistake,’ he said.

  He brushed past me and, squeezing into his seat, shifted trying to get comfortable. His long legs looked very cramped.

  Yummy yummy yummy, I thought to myself as I wriggled in next to him, making sure to keep it inaudible this time. ‘Thank you God.’ Oops, out loud again.

  He looked at me.

  ‘Thank you God,’ I repeated thinking furiously, ‘for the food we are about to receive. I like to get it over really early,’ I explained, ‘in case I forget when they bring out the food. I get really hungry sometimes and before I know it I’m halfway through my meal and have forgotten to say Grace.’ I giggled nervously, while resisting the urge to put my head in my hands.

  ‘Well, is it possible to just say one big Grace that could last you the whole day or month, why not your whole life?’ he asked.

  ‘Very good
question, I shall be sure to ask the minister next time I see him,’ I said, picking up the Qantas magazine and staring intently at it.

  I was saved from having to say anything else by the appearance of a cabin crewmember with a lifejacket and a whistle. Watching intently as she explained what to do in the event of an emergency and how to brace if we were going to crash, I felt a small ball of panic starting to unfurl in my stomach. I mean really, how was I going to remember all of this if there was a real emergency? Frantically, I counted rows to find my closest exit and felt under my seat for the lifejacket. Then I noticed my neighbour watching me with an amused expression on his face.

  ‘First time flyer?’ he asked. He really was very cute.

  ‘Absolutely not. I flew to New Zealand a few years ago,’ I said, staring at him. He reminded me of someone. Who the hell was it?

  He looked, if anything, even more amused. ‘Ah, New Zealand,’ he said, smirking.

  I looked at him suspiciously. Was he mocking me? Surely not.

  Finally locating the lifejacket, I settled down for take-off, trying to appear calm and relaxed. Do not grip the armrests, I told myself severely.

  The plane began to taxi down the runway gathering speed; going faster and faster until all of a sudden, like magic, we were airborne. I felt the acceleration of the plane push me back into my seat, and just when I was starting to feel comfortable, I heard a funny noise and felt the plane shudder.

  ‘Jesus,’ I yelped, grabbing the armrests.

  I could feel my neighbour staring at me. I mean seriously this guy was starting to get on my nerves. What was his problem?

  ‘What?’ I said rudely.

  ‘It’s just the undercarriage retracting,’ he said.

  I looked at him stupidly.

  ‘That bump you felt, it’s just the wheels retracting back into the plane. It’s nothing to worry about,’ he smiled reassuringly, his eyes crinkling at the corner.

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  ‘Do you think I could have my hand back?’ he said a few moments later.

  I looked down and realised that instead of the armrest on my left, I was in fact gripping his hand.

  ‘Sorry,’ I muttered letting go. I could feel my face heating up.

  To hide my embarrassment I picked up the on-board information card, examining the menu options for the flight.

  ‘Saying Grace again?’ he asked.

  ‘Pardon?’ What the hell was he going on about?

  ‘Well, you were staring so intently at the menu that I thought you might be trying to get another Grace in before they brought out the meals.’

  Belatedly, I remembered my previous slip up. ‘Grace, right,’ I said enthusiastically, nodding my head.

  I heard the rumble of the trolley down the aisle as they announced over the intercom they would be serving pre-dinner drinks and snacks. I couldn’t believe my luck when they also informed us that the dinner movie would be Twilight. Finally, I settled back with my sparkling wine and tiny bag of nuts to enjoy the movie.

  About ten minutes into it, my neighbour shifted uncomfortably in his chair and bumped me, causing a large slurp of wine to miss my mouth and end up on my lap. ‘So sorry,’ he said sincerely.

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ I dabbed at my black t-shirt with my serviette.

  I didn’t think much the second time it happened either. I mean the man was obviously too big for the seat, but the third time I started to have a suspicion that it had been no accident. I glared at him. He raised both hands in the air in a gesture of helplessness.

  Hmmphhhhh.

  Halfway through dinner, a sharp kick in the back of my seat from the girl sitting behind me caused a large forkful of korma to end up in my lap. I glanced over to see my neighbour fighting to contain a smile. He had a cute dimple in his cheek. ‘Did you pay her to do that?’ I asked grumpily.

  ‘Pardon?’ he asked innocently.

  ‘Oh never mind,’ I said.

  I tried to concentrate on Twilight, but he would have none of it.

  ‘You really like this crap?’ he asked.

  ‘What?’ I glanced frantically at him. ‘It’s my favourite book,’ I said, wishing he would be quiet.

  ‘He’s a vampire. I mean it’s not very realistic is it?’ he said.

  ‘It’s nearly finished,’ I said. ‘You can be annoying afterwards if you want.’ As I turned my attention back to the screen, I heard him laugh a low, throaty laugh.

  ‘If it’s your favourite book then you already know how it ends. I’m curious as to why you are so nervous?’

  ‘DO YOU MIND?’ I roared at him.

  His laugh this time was not so quiet.

  Finally, when the credits were rolling up the screen I turned to him. ‘Seriously what is your problem? Do I know you?’

  ‘You really don’t remember?’ he said, crossing his arms.

  ‘No. Please explain.’

  ‘Hi, I’m Matthew King.’ He held out his hand to shake mine.

  ‘Nope. Still means nothing to me.’ But I had to admit there was something faintly familiar about the name.

  Looking disgusted, he shook his head. ‘So how many men have you gone home with?’ he asked, before muttering into his wine, ‘Maybe I should get some blood tests.’

  I stared at him for a few seconds as the few shady memories of my one night stand from last month came back to me.

  ‘The cricket player?’ I asked him.

  ‘I’m a journalist.’

  ‘Well I’m sorry. I have only gone home with one person, other than my ex-husband, in the last 6 years and he was in a sports team.’

  ‘Your husband was in a sports team?’

  ‘No, not my EX, ‘ I stressed the ex, ‘my one night stand.’

  ‘What was his name?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t see what my ex-husband’s name has to do with any of this?’ I said huffily. God the last thing I wanted was a journalist writing some incriminating article about me being a tart, and how lucky Jake was to get rid of me.

  ‘Not your ex-husband, your sportsman.’

  ‘I can’t remember,’ I admitted defiantly. ‘It was great, but I was drunk and I can’t remember his name. Now do you mind?’

  ‘One in the last six years?’

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘I am a journalist who was interviewing a cricket team a month ago and went out with them afterwards.’

  It took me a little while for it to sink in, but when it did it hit me like a tonne of bricks. Ahh, the shame, I was sitting next to my dreamy one night stand guy and I hadn’t even recognised him. This guy had gone down on me.

  ‘Does that make me a slut?’ I asked blushing.

  ‘I don’t think one guy in 6 years would classify anyone as a slut.’

  ‘No, not that part. I’m sorry I didn’t recognise you. It was dark and I was drunk, but you were great,’ I gushed. ‘Really great, and then in the morning you had gone and I wanted to ring you, but you hadn’t left your number so I couldn’t.’

  ‘I left you my business card.’

  ‘No, there was a card for a journalist which I threw out. Oh.’ I stopped. ‘Oh shit. I didn’t realise it was you.’

  ‘Because you couldn’t remember my name,’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’ I cringed as I admitted it.

  ‘And you thought I was a cricket player.’

  Part of me was mortified; the other part was doing a little song and dance.

  Ratatatata yeh, he left me his number yeh. Ratatatata yeh.

  I could feel my ego congoing around my head.

  ‘Sorry,’ I muttered, ‘always have been a little bit of an idiot,’ I admitted.

  ‘Just a little bit?’

  ‘Sometimes just a little bit, sometimes a really big one.’ I smiled at him. ‘Forgiven?’

  ‘Forgiven for seducing me and doing crazy things to my naked body and then throwing out my number like a heartless shrew?’

  ‘Yeah, for all that stuff.’ I was pretty
sure he wasn’t mad. I smiled again encouragingly.

  ‘Oh what the hell, forgiven.’

  After that there was a bit of an awkward silence. It lay there between us like a black hole, getting bigger and bigger with each passing second. I cleared my throat in an attempt to fill the silence, and saw Matthew look up from the book he was reading. Oh good. So he was actually reading, and it was just me feeling the embarrassing silence.

  ‘If two people are talking, and then they stop and one thinks there is an embarrassing silence, but the other one is quite content reading, does that mean there actually was an embarrassing silence?’ I asked before I could stop the words rushing out of me. Oh crap, he was going to think I was a right weirdo now for sure.

  ‘Do you always say exactly what you’re thinking?’ he asked.

  ‘Most of the time, I can’t seem to help myself.’

  ‘Have you had many embarrassing moments?’

  ‘Yes, but it means I normally don’t have any embarrassing silence issues.’

  ‘Sometimes silence is a good thing.’ Ouch. I guessed that was his way of telling me to shut up. ‘But I must say I find conversation with you refreshing. You don’t pretend to be something you’re not. You say what you’re thinking and not what you think I want to hear. And you don’t come up with pompous statements, while secretly hoping I’ll quote you in my next article. You have no idea how nice that is.’

  ‘Well if you find my foot in mouth disease nice, then I’m happy for you.’

  ‘Now, I’m going to read my book. But I don’t want you to think that I’m doing it just to ignore you. I’m up to a really good part and once I arrive in India I’ll be doing more writing than reading so I want to get it finished.’

  ‘That’s all right; I’ve got a book to read as well.’ I pulled out the book I had been advised to buy by the pimply, little book clerk at that airport, thanking God I had let him talk me into it. He had raved that it was the best book he had ever read and I really wouldn’t regret carting it around India.