How to Be Single

by Liz Tuccillo

  So eventually, on our eighth day in Bali, we decided to venture outside our hotel and take walks. We strolled down Monkey Road and looked at some of the local art galleries. At one little café we sat and shared a plate of ayam jeruk: fresh chicken sautéed with garlic and coconut milk, the local specialty. As we sat staring into each other’s eyes and smiling (I was glad to be far from home, so no one saw this moronic kind of behavior), a couple pulled up on a motorcycle. He was a young man, around twenty-five, and she was an older woman in her fifties. They put their helmets on the bike and sat down near us, talking and holding hands. Then she leaned over and kissed him. I stopped staring at Thomas and started staring at them.

  Thomas watched me watch them, and smiled.

  “Ah, the anthropologist has a new subject.” I looked away from them. I had no idea how obvious I was.

  “Well, it is interesting, no?”

  Thomas looked at them. “Tell me, what do you see?”

  I glanced at them quickly. The woman was attractive, but not young-looking. She was in the full bloom of her middle age, with a thick midsection, untoned arms, and gray hair swept up on her head with bobby pins. The boy was beautiful. His black hair was parted in the middle and came down a little past his ears, in a bob. He had a delicate face, but thick eyebrows and big brown eyes that gave him a sense of intensity. He had a skinny body, but even so, it seemed muscular, taut.

  “A man taking advantage of a woman,” I said.

  “Ah. So you see a desperate woman being tricked by a young man.”

  “Maybe.”

  “That’s very interesting. I see a woman taking advantage of a man.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Maybe. It might be that she is here to have a very good time, but she might be making the boy think that she loves him; that she’s going to take care of him forever. Then she will go back home to London or Sydney or Detroit, satisfied, but he will be left here. Alone.”

  “Like the men usually do.”

  “Yes, like the men usually do.”

  I pondered this for a moment.

  “Isn’t it sad we assume it has to be one or the other?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We both immediately assumed, because of the age difference, that one of them must be taking advantage of the other.”

  “Well, yes, of course, Julie. I mean, we’re not idiots, are we?”

  I laughed at that declaration, and Thomas put his hand over mine. He looked me right in the eyes, gleefully. “Your laugh! Your smile. It’s all quite addictive, really.”

  I looked down at the table. I tried hard not to feel anything.

  We walked to the center of Ubud, to the famous temple of Puri Saren Agung, to see a performance of a traditional dance called Legong. As we strolled past cafés and trinket shops, Thomas brought up the couple again.

  “You know, Bali is quite famous for this type of situation. Women go here, in droves, for this.”

  “They do?”

  Thomas nodded. “Not usually in Ubud, but in Kutu. That’s where they all meet.”

  “Where’s Kutu?”

  “It’s on the beach, near the airport. It’s a very touristy town, with everyone trying to sell you things. That’s where all the Balinese gigolos go to meet the women.”

  “That makes me sad.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I wish the women didn’t feel like they had to come here to get someone to have sex with them. It’s so…desperate.”

  “Ah yes, and there is nothing more sad than a desperate woman, correct?”

  “Well, it’s sad when anyone is feeling desperate…but yes, it does feel a little tragic.”

  Then we walked in silence. All I knew about Bali was that it was an island flourishing with the arts, and there was no word in the Balinese culture for “artist,” because art was something done by all so there was no need for any delineation. And the people made this art—danced, painted, played music—all in honor of the Hindu gods and their temples. That’s what I knew about Bali. Not that it was a place to bang Bali boys.

  “Speaking of Kutu, I think we might need to leave here and go to Kutu tomorrow, if you don’t mind. It’s time I did a little business.” He stopped on the road. “Even though this has been absolutely wonderful.” As he put his hand on my cheek and kissed me, I got a little queasy; I wasn’t used to all this pleasure. I told him I’d be happy to do whatever he needed. Then, suddenly insecure, I wondered if he was hoping to get away without me.

  “I mean, unless you were thinking that you wanted to go alone. I mean, I don’t want to assume…”

  He put his arms around me and whispered in my ear, “Shut up, Julie, you are annoying me,” and kissed me again.

  We walked through a large courtyard and saw that the performance was already taking place. The audience was sitting in a horseshoe on the ground, and the performers were entering from one of the courtyard’s gates. It was all women in colorful blue and gold saris with large gold headdresses, their eyes accented with thin eyeliner. The choreography was so precise that everything down to the hand gestures and the fan movements was performed in perfect unison. I noticed that the couple from the restaurant was there as well. I tried to see if she looked like she was in love with him. They weren’t making any physical contact at the moment so I tried to glean clues about who might have the upper hand by watching how they looked at each other as they watched the performance. It was hard to tell. I looked back up at the dancers. As I listened to the live gamelan music that accompanied them, I noticed that even these dancers’ eye movements were choreographed. Every look, to the left, to the right, up or down, was planned. I looked at Thomas. His eyes were sparkling with interest and wonder at all that was going on. I could tell it was all being absorbed into that brilliant brain of his, then getting swirled around with all the knowledge from his French education and mixing in with his overall perceptiveness and wisdom, so that eventually he would say something about this experience that would be utterly fascinating to me. Thinking about leaving Ubud, and then Bali soon, I realized that soon this whole affair would be over. He would go home to more love, more sex, more intimacy, and more companionship. I would go to my next adventure alone. It was clear who had the upper hand in this relationship.

  After the dance ceremony, as we walked out of the gate that led us out to the road, I saw the couple again, kissing on the street a few feet away.

  When they finally broke apart, the woman smiled at me and said in a thick Australian accent, “Didn’t we see you two at the café today?”

  Of course she was Australian. She got smart and actually did move somewhere where the men would fuck you when you’re fifty.

  I said we were indeed at the café that day, and introductions were made. Her name was Sarah and her companion was Made (pronounced MAH-day). She told us that she’d been living in Bali for six months and was thinking about moving there permanently.

  “Are you two on your honeymoon?” she asked us.

  “No, this is just a vacation for us,” Thomas said.

  “Oh, it’s just you two look so much in love. I couldn’t help but notice when we were at the café.” I wondered if that’s a main pastime among couples—looking at other couples, trying to find out how happy they are.

  “Well, thank you,” Thomas said. “We are.” He looked at me, his blue eyes now full of mischief.

  “Won’t you two have dinner with us now? It would be so nice to talk to Westerners and hear what’s going on in the rest of the world. They do have CNN here, but I still feel isolated sometimes.”

  I really didn’t want to spend our last night in Ubud with another couple, but I didn’t know how to say no. Thomas at least tried.

  “I think tonight is not very good for us. We’re leaving for Kutu tomorrow…” Thomas said, relying on his usual charm.

  “Please, I’m desperate for some Western companionship,” Sarah said, interrupting. “Let’s have an early dinner so you can ha
ve the rest of the night to yourselves. Let’s go to the Lotus Café. It’s beautiful there.” We didn’t seem to be able to refuse. “We’d love to,” I said.

  As we all walked down the road, Thomas and I were a few feet ahead of them. I let the silence settle between us, before I turned to him and said, “In love, huh?” And he said, “Yes. In love.”

  We arrived at the Lotus Café, and were seated at what seemed to be the best seats in the house, right by a pond lit up by tiny lights that showed off the ancient trees that framed it; small gargoyles lining the pond spouted water from their mouths. Towering over us from the far side of the pond was a dazzling temple, the Pura Taman Kemuda Saraswati. It was so exotic, very Lara Croft: Tomb Raider, but still austere. It was impossible not to be humbled by it. Thomas ordered a bottle of wine for us and we began to get acquainted. We sat down, Sarah next to me, Made next to Thomas. We were all seated perfectly to be able to look across at our beloveds.

  “How long have you two been here?” Sarah asked.

  “It’s been a week,” I said.

  “How marvelous. Did you get to see the cremation ceremony two days ago? That was a spectacular sight.”

  Thomas and I both smiled and shook our heads.

  “Did you go to the Monkey Forest? I love monkeys. I find them to be so amusing.”

  I shook my head, embarrassed. “No, we really didn’t get to that.”

  “What about that trek up to Mount Batur? No?”

  We both shook our heads again. Thomas leveled with her. “We didn’t really leave our hotel. It’s quite a romantic spot.”

  “Ah.” She smiled knowingly. “I understand completely.” She looked at Made lovingly. “Bali is an exceptional place to fall in love.” Thomas took my hand from across the table and said, “It is.”

  “There’s something about the scenery, obviously, but also just the Balinese culture, their dedication to art and beauty and worship. It is very…sweeping.” Sarah brushed a strand of hair away from Made’s eyes. “It’s impossible not to be taken in by it all.”

  Made finally spoke. “Yes, that’s Bali. It is an island dedicated to all kinds of love. Love of God, love of dance, of music, of family, and…romantic love.”

  Sarah reached her hand across the table. He held it in both his hands and kissed it sweetly. What’s the crime in that?

  Nothing, except it was still, for me, hard to ignore the fact that she was old enough to be his mother. Now to be fair, I feel the same way when I see a much older man with a younger woman. One time I saw Billy Joel on the street with his young wife and I thought, He should be paying her college tuition, not having sex with her.

  But who was I to be judging Billy Joel? Or Sarah and Made. If they’re all happy, so be it.

  By our second bottle of wine, we had covered a myriad of subjects. Made talked about the Balinese lifestyle, of families living in a compound; the parents, children, the children’s wives and families, all living in individual houses connected by a central courtyard. Made also explained a bit about Hinduism, about death and their belief that life is a cycle of life, death, and reincarnation until your soul has reached the pinnacle of enlightenment, of Samadhi.

  Sarah was now reaching the pinnacle of her inebriation, and was beginning to lean on Made, putting her head every now and then on his shoulder like a teenager. A pair of Brits sitting at the next table couldn’t stop looking at the two of them. Sarah was less reserved about her feelings on the situation. She talked a little too loudly.

  “I know what they’re thinking. They’re thinking that because of my age, Made is just using me. But he doesn’t ask for anything. Not a thing.”

  I nodded at her reassuringly.

  Sarah took a sip of wine. “We met on the beach at Kutu. He came up to me and said I was the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Of course I knew that was rubbish, but it was still very sweet.”

  Sarah must have picked up something from my expression, even though I was trying desperately to look supportive.

  “It’s not what you think. He sat down in the sand with me and we just talked and talked. For hours. It was lovely.”

  “That sounds so romantic,” I said, encouragingly. Sarah was now getting more insistent and a little loud. She started tapping her finger on the table to make her point.

  “He’s never asked me for a thing. I mean it. I bought him his motorcycle because I wanted to. I gave money to his family because I love Made and I wanted to help. They’re very poor. He lives with me and I pay for things for us, because I can, because it’s my pleasure. But he never asked me. Never! He works at a boutique just down the road. Every day. He has an amazing work ethic.” She stared drunkenly and directly at the British couple and repeated it loudly. “An amazing work ethic.” The couple looked at her and then toward each other. The man waved down a waiter and asked for their check.

  “It’s getting late. Maybe we should get going,” I said as I shifted in my chair uncomfortably.

  Sarah just scowled a little and curled her arms around Made. “He loves me better than any man I’ve ever known. And I just get so sick of it sometimes. All the looks.”

  Made kissed her on the forehead. “Some people. They don’t understand what we share. It’s okay, my love.”

  “Yeah, well, all those people are assholes,” she said, now loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear. “Assholes.” Then she looked at me.

  “Besides, Julie, show me one relationship that is truly equal—show me one couple that are both feeling exactly the same things for each other at exactly the same time. You show me that, Julie. Show me now!”

  The whole restaurant was now looking at us. I didn’t really want to answer.

  “Exactly. It doesn’t exist,” Sarah said, banging her fist on the table. “It doesn’t exist. So what if I give him and his family money? So what? He loves me. That’s all anyone needs to know. He loves me.”

  The bill came and Thomas paid it faster than I’ve ever seen anyone pay a check, and we made a quick exit.

  As we walked down the road, I felt a little shaky. I walked faster. I couldn’t get away from them quickly enough. To me, she truly was a desperate woman. Desperate for the world to see them as a true couple. And desperate not to allow herself to see that the man who has loved her better than any man she has ever known is doing it as a part-time job. In my opinion.

  This past week had been a miracle; I had been so happy that I prayed to the gods, Hindu and otherwise, for it to never end. When I thought about going back to my life of concrete sidewalks and appointments and lunches and unemployment, of dates and parties, it took everything in me not to start shrieking. If Thomas had asked me to stay there with him for the rest of my life, never live near my family or friends again, just stay there and build a life with him in Bali, I would have said yes yes yes in a heartbeat. It’s like he had opened up this little trap door in my heart, one that was covered all those years by a bookcase and rugs, and he unleashed more need in me than I ever thought I possessed. All I wanted to do at that moment was fling myself at his feet and beg him to never ever leave me.

  Instead, I just kept walking. Fast.

  We went back to our little villa and immediately collapsed into our lush canopied bed. We wrapped our arms around each other and started kissing, our bodies pressed tightly against each other.

  Back in the States

  It’s never a good thing when both people in the relationship are depressed. It’s extremely helpful always to have one person capable of comforting and bucking up the other at any given moment. Serena and Ruby weren’t in what you might consider a classic intimate relationship, but Serena was sleeping on Ruby’s sofa, and both of them were having a hard time getting out of bed. This particular morning, Serena woke up and for a moment had completely forgotten her quick stint as a swami—until she sleepily ran her fingers through her long blond hair and realized that it wasn’t there anymore. Then, she started to cry.

  Ruby was in the other room having a
nightmare about the last pit bull that she’d hugged before he was taken away. His big brown eyes looked so…unsuspecting. She woke up, sobbing into her pillow. If someone had slipped into Ruby’s apartment they would have been able to hear them both in a muffled fugue of sorrow.

  Finally, Ruby stopped crying, realizing she was awake. As she lay collecting her thoughts, she heard Serena’s quiet sobs from the living room. She was confused as to what to do. All she knew about Serena was that she had decided to shave her head and join a yogi convent after getting her stomach pumped for alcohol and chicken wings. She wasn’t sure exactly how well she wanted to get to know Serena. But Serena was crying in Ruby’s home.

  So Ruby got up out of bed. She was wearing flannel pajamas with pictures of tiny dogs on them. She put on her fuzzy white slippers and walked out of her bedroom and down the hall. Vanilla was in the hallway, rubbing up against Ruby’s leg. Serena heard Ruby walking toward her and quickly clammed up. There’s nothing worse than a stranger seeing you cry. If there’s one single reason to live without roommates it’s that you can cry in private. Serena pretended she was asleep, hoping Ruby would go away. But Ruby stood by the pullout bed. She waited a moment, then whispered.

  “Serena, are you okay?”

  Serena moved around a bit. “Oh, yeah,” she said, fake-groggily. “I’m fine.”

  “If you need anything, let me know, okay?”

  “Okay. Sure.” Ruby then padded down the hallway and got back into her bed. As she pulled the comforter over her head, she thought, This is what my home has become. Sad Girl Land. Then Ruby started daydreaming. Which is something she did a lot. In fact, during her darkest times, it’s the thing that always managed to keep her going. Daydreaming of a better life. On this particular day, for some reason, she began to daydream about what her morning would be like if she had a small child in her home. She wouldn’t have time to stay in her fluffy bed with her downy pillows. She would have gotten up already to fix breakfast and make up the lunch box and get her child dressed and ready for school. Instead of that idea exhausting her, it made her smile. Ruby realized she couldn’t wait for the day when she didn’t have the time to think about herself. It was then that she realized this really was such a day. Serena may not have been seven, but she was in need. She was depressed and crying, and if Ruby remembered correctly, Serena was meeting with her old boss in about an hour. This morning, Ruby could be of help. She threw off her comforter, jumped out of bed, and padded back down the hall. Serena was no longer crying, but she was in a fetal position, her arms cradling her head, covering her eyes, breathing softly.