by Inia Jardine
And I have lots of lonely hours to kill.
An online game set in the D’ni city of Uru, Myst is for me the most aesthetically pleasing, most exciting, massive multi-player adventure & puzzle based online game. There is no fighting. Most games seem to be built around war and fighting but not Myst.
There are many 'ages' or places in this game, one more beautiful than the next, from islands full of cute little crabs in Ahnonnay to a desert with thunder showers in The Cleft.
From the luxurious buildings of Kadish, the age where giant trees tower like sky scrapers in a purple and pink sky, to the waterfalls and gardens with fireflies of Eder Gira and Eder Kemo.
To the sci-fi pods where strange and elusive animals dwell and mysterious portals appear at certain times - the one I have not mastered yet. To Garesheen, the mechanical masterpiece with gigantic revolving buildings.
You meet and feed Shroomie the Loch Ness type monster who lives amongst enormous mushrooms and sounds of frogs in Teledahn. I love going there to just listen.
But the best of this mysterious world of Myst is that you can always go back to your own secluded island, your Realto, your safe haven complete with rain, fireflies and butterflies. You have to work hard to earn each special effect by solving all the puzzles of the ages. Yet your little oasis is always waiting for you. It is an island surrounded by 'the nothing' where if you jump, you fall into the abyss but end up back where you came from to start again. Suicide free. No high walls but surrounded by an endless void or abyss. Endless chances to start over if something goes wrong. If only life worked that way.
Thinking about it, my birthday getaway fantasy was very similar to this little haven.
Losing myself in an alternate reality has never felt better. I guess it is a type of nirvana for me. Antisocial nirvana.
‘Why do you hate people so much?’ Italiano counters after a while. I can tell his attention is not on me. As a member of a naturally sociable group of people - Italians, he finds not wanting to interact with others in a laughing, drinking, eating kind of way very difficult to comprehend.
I dig deep into a well of possible replies and come up with ‘They are cruel, judgemental, snobbish, selfish, and I always feel apart from any group. My family included as they have never accepted me for me, myself, per se. I am who I am, who my life made me, and I can't and won't change myself for anyone. I can’t smile all day and say that I am very well and happy. That will be false.’
People always disappoint. Especially family and partners. They should stand up for you but they don't. Blood is not thicker than water. Maybe other bodily fluids are more important in relationships.
Not gracious at all but it is the truth, my truth at least. At least I have always been honest with myself.
Italiano and I have become very close over a period of weeks by playing the game together, running and jumping over obstacles and catching fireflies in virtual worlds side by side. Him the teacher, me the student. We have become as open with each other as people several thousands of kilometres apart can be. People who have never met but get on like they have known one another forever. It makes me realise what I am missing in a real life partner.
‘You know I will always be here for you to help you in the beautiful world of Uru, amore. Just remember that a keyboard on a computer is no replacement for touching a real person, loving a person, holding a person. I am going to the pub now to meet with some people. I will celebrate your birthday for you.’
He is totally correct and I wish again that I had wings to fly over continents and seas to be with him.
His character disappears from the screen and he messages me with a quick ‘ciao’.
Shite.
I bang my hand on the desk in front of me. ‘Damn! The so-and-so just gets up and leaves me hanging in cyberspace? Who does he think he is? I guess he is meeting his girlfriend.’ I spit out the word like it is poison.
‘But what is the big deal’ I mumble out loud. He is actually a stranger.
I guess I feel worse, because being the cynic I am, I always mistrust people. This time though, this one time I have totally swallowed the whole she-bang of a tall, dark and handsome Italian stranger liking me. Calling me his girlfriend.
I belatedly realise that he can be anyone, anywhere, he can be a woman for goodness sake. We can pass each other on the street and we will not know it. A pimply teenager or a serial killer. Living a few houses away from me! That is so scary. Cyberspace is scary. Lies, lies all lies.
Here I am falling in love with a figment of someone’s imagination because I like his avatar as he is good looking and purple haired like me! Go figure.
Damn.
How utterly stupid.
Grow up Lilia.
Yes, he has a life outside of the game at least. I sigh. Most probably has a wife and seven little Italians running around.
Damn and blast.
How could an avatar departing from a make believe island in a make believe world leave me feeling so empty? Damn him or her or whatever he is. Blasted Italians. Casanovas all of them. That is the last time I will meet up with him and flirt in our Myst world. I will kill my avatar and create another. I will play invisibly without friends. That way I can’t get hurt.
He can go and find another sucker to seduce.
I get up from my creaky chair in front of my ancient desktop computer and storm to the kitchen to pour myself some wine. It’s not that I don’t have a life, hey, I have lived well, done many things (granted - some I would like to forget) and am a productive member of society.
Well, when I have work that is. Jobs in my line of work are quite scarce nowadays. Especially with the drought in this country. I have to find another job, in another country if I can because there is nothing for me here. South Africa has become intolerable for me. I should take a plane, change my name and fly away! Yes. I am single, I have no family.
Never in my life have I been important enough to anyone and me, Lilia, will now be number one.
My cats love me more than any person in this world ever has. They are my world. Today is the first day of the rest of my life. If there is one thing I will never do again in my life, it is to fight for someone's affection. If not given freely it is worthless. I have learnt this lesson so well over the past few years.
But now, from today, I will forget that I have a past, I will start over, I will live in the present moment and concentrate on my immediate future. For whatever time I have left.
For weeks I trawl the internet looking for possible job openings. Eventually with the help of my UK ancestral visa, I find something good enough to make me give away and/or sell all my possessions. I hold my cats in a group hug and plan for our future. ‘Willow, Flower and Rainbow, we are going to the land of the British. It will be cold there, but we will have a fireplace.We will be happy.’
The crazy cat lady is what I will become, I will work all day and come home to my cats and be happy. I will, I can do that, I am not afraid of my own company.
∞∞∞
3 Months later
I have accepted a job to design an arboretum for a historic castle in the lovely little town of Arumvale on the South Coast of Britain.
A few days ago I came over here to rent a cottage, acclimatise my three cats to our new home after their quarantine and settle in. They are now waiting for me in the care of my lovely and exotic new neighbour Bella.
Not too long now before I start my new job...two weeks...
...but first I am going to fulfil a dream. One of three things on my bucket list…
2
Rocky Point - St Thomas - Jamaica
All of a sudden the beautiful warm, sunshiny day disappears and the rain just starts to pour. As if from buckets.
I am caught totally unaware in this shower of ‘dragon’s tears’ as we used to call rain during sunshine when I was a kid.
It happens as I am crossing through the park between the library and the road that leads to my rented bungalow at the Jam
rock Hotel. The rain thoroughly drenches me within seconds. I stumble and drop my notes. My recently printed research material is now lying in a dam of water, a wad of wet paper with black ink blotches on. My long gauzy floaty summer dress is clinging to my ample frame like a second skin, no longer hiding all the bumps and lumps.
‘What a pretty sight, a real woman’ I hear a deep voice say. It is followed by the most genuine laugh I have ever heard. It certainly is astoundingly loud.
‘What’s happening!’ the voice booms the Jamaican greeting. ‘Over here, I have an umbrella.’
I’m embarrassed half to death by being as good as naked in public, and upset by the sodden inconvenience. I am as wet as a fish.
I turn around to face the voice. I look up and up and start stuttering ‘A… a… as you can see, it is a disaster of vast magnitude. Please don’t look at me.’ This man is tall! Big and tall, and I am soaked to my skin in front of him. I'm positively pornographic in the thin clinging dress.
I have just spent an entire afternoon finalising and printing out my research on the slave revolt here in the 1820’s as well as the emancipation of the slaves. Something I have always wanted to do, to see where this age old hatred between black and white originated, what it did to those involved. The archives at the library have been extremely useful and detailed. And upsetting.
Now it’s all lost.
I have only allowed a few days for work. My lifelong dream of a working Jamaican holiday is almost over. I still wanted to have some fun in the sun and explore the island but now there is no chance of that happening!
The big guy picks up my wet notes and shakes his head. ‘I’m Jonah. Now that is a bit of an inconvenience lovely lady, what did you have here? Was it important? Why are you crying? What is the matter?'
'I'm not crying. That was my work! And I am wet.'
'And there I was thinking that you look like a happy spring flower, you are working? Here?' He points back towards the Institute. 'What are you doing?'
‘Actually it is for my manuscript, but nothing the last few days of my holiday spent in the archives and reprinting won't fix’ I snap unnecessarily, and immediately regret it. I sniff and wipe my hand across my eyes. The man means well, he sounds so sincere. Non-threatening. And that voice…
The cute glasses on his nose guide me in the direction of amicable too. I like guys with glasses on, it makes them look smart. But yeah, I was actually crying.
‘I have just had enough of the cruelty and horrific deeds committed against people by people. Ripped from their homes, hit, marked, whipped, starved, hung...I am not crying but, but I have been deeply affected by what I have read.'
‘Pleased to meet you, I’m Jonah. I’m impressed. You don’t strike me as the academic type. But you need a warm drink, and to dry off.’
I’m Lilia Lamonte’ I reply, ‘from the UK. Well actually South Africa and then the UK. And I'm not an academic, I am a gardener on a non-gardening mission. And don't type me as brainless just because I am sort of blond, I can't be put in a box. No box is big enough for me anyway.’
So many unnecessary words. He makes me nervous. We politely shake hands in the pouring rain, mine dwarfed by his powerful hand. He has stunning eyes the colour of a mysterious deep, dark blue sea. Almost as dark as mine, but mine are more of a stormy grey-blue. Must have streaks of black around them now like a panda, because of my eye make-up running.
‘Your type is the very cute type. Lovely name. Love the purple.’ He grins like a Cheshire cat. 'But I still believe that you were crying. Let’s get out of the rain and then I can buy you that warm drink you need.'
I decide to pay no attention to that invitation nor his stunning smile and quickly change the subject.
‘Gosh what is this rain all about? Do you perhaps have a towel or something so I can cover up, not that it will help any more…how can I walk down the main street like this? My hotel is quite a few blocks away.’
‘That’s Jamaica for you – Môn’ - he chuckles. 'It happens all the time. The sun can shine one moment and the next it feels like a monsoon. Usually doesn’t last long though. I’ve been watching you from my office, you getting all wet. I ran out to help you with my umbrella, but it seems too late for that. Come back with me. I have dry clothes for you. We are just getting wetter and wetter talking in the rain, let’s get you dry and continue our discussion later. I also want to show you something which will interest you being a gardener and all.’
I guess it won't hurt to get dry and a few minutes later we are back in the section of the Institute adjacent to the archives.
‘I can assist you with your work if you would like, as I am employed by the Institute’ he says.
I stupidly assume that he is an Archivist even though I have not seen him around for the past few days while I have been working here.
‘Thanks but what I am working on is rather specific’ I respond as I sit down. I am dripping puddles on the carpet and Jonah looks at me. It is as if he wants to do something, or say something, but can’t, and I start worrying about my safety - just as a young woman walks in.
‘Hi Prof Hibbert, can I ask you something regarding the Geology exam please?’
What, a professor? With that casual and friendly attitude? How cool is it to meet someone in one of my fields of interest though. I dabbled in geology in my youth, was fascinated by trilobites and other fossils, studied wave patterns on sand, collected rocks and crystals. It would be interesting to share some of this with him. Maybe I should let him buy me that coffee.
He attends to the student as I look out of the window from where he must have seen me getting soaked in the rain and dropping all my papers.
As the young woman politely takes her leave Jonah walks towards me and extends his hand ‘would you not like to go and dry off now? I have exercise apparel you can borrow. Then come and have a special Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee with me to take the chill off, it is a bit early for another kind of drink. I promise to help you with your research the whole of tomorrow morning if you want. Then you can relax and enjoy your holiday.’
‘Thanks but what did you want to show me outside just now?’
‘When we walk across to the café I will show you something interesting. You are going to like it.' With that he holds out the track suit. It would have dwarfed a smaller woman but luckily I am not a ‘smaller woman’ although the top of my head only reaches up to Jonah’s nose. I have been called statuesque, voluptuous and luscious - but never small.
With a light-hearted jiggle to conceal my awkwardness in the wet, transparent dress I hurry to the restroom and change into the exercise ensemble. I roll up my soaked dress and stuff into my purse. With a few adjustments, the extra-long pants and huge t-shirt actually don’t look too bad - I kid myself. Oh how I have always wanted to be petite, but being big-boned was my destiny. I might also not ever be thin again.
To my utter delight the T shirt he gave me reads ‘PROPERTY OF JAMAICA’ on the back. It has a little five-fingered leaf printed on in green. There and then I decide to pinch it. As long as I don’t wrap the local green leaves in it to take home, I should not be prevented from leaving the country with it. It reminds me, I must ask him if he knows some of the local medicinal herbs. Legal ones, seeds for my UK project. And maybe the others. The not so legal ones. I have yet to experience them.
The clothing exudes the fragrance of its owner – part aftershave or cologne - and part pure male. I fear that this is the main contributing factor to my sudden sticky-fingered thoughts.
I re-join Professor Hibbert for that promised cup of coffee which is sounding better and better all the time.
‘My, my, my, looks like this outfit was made for you!’ Jonah says '...but it sure comes a bad second place after that wet dress, hmm.’
‘Isn’t there a Mrs Hibbert close by who would mind the fact that you take a strange wet lady dressed in your clothes for coffee?' I have to be facetious to hide my growing interest in this huge man. He reminds me a l
ittle of Seal whom I adore but I am no Heidi, not by a long stretch of the imagination. I will just admire him quietly and act the clown, the platonic female buddy, I know how to do that.
‘The last Mrs Hibbert of importance to me was my mom, Hyacinth, but she would not have minded - she would have liked you. You are so down to earth and real, not fake, not trying to pretend. And I am not married to anyone, I am just a rock loving bachelor geek’ he cleverly remarks.
