by Luna Blue
I shuddered at the thought of having to work out with Mike. Yes, absolutely not a good idea to meld our very different bodies into one.
My newfound insomnia wasn’t just about the kiss. It was also about the fact, more so about the fact, that this man liked me. He wanted me. Cranky, chubby, loner me. Who knew that a pleasant afternoon would make me feel, well, pleasant. I was warm and tingly all over and that stupid grin was back again, except this time, it wasn’t bothering me. I kind of liked it. The thought made the grin grow wider.
The heat of the afternoon hadn’t dissipated much and the air-conditioner was still struggling. It was hot, even for February in Australia. My sheets were sticking to me and Snip had long ago abandoned me in bed, preferring to sleep in the hallway under the air-conditioning vents.
“Traitor,” I said to him as I walked past to get some iced water. Opening the fridge, I saw some of the homemade lemonade Alice had dropped off yesterday, probably just so she could brag about her lemon tree that actually bore lemons. I too had a lemon tree in the backyard but the defector of a tree never bore any fruit. It was probably just a tree looking bush that I had confused for a citrus tree, but Dad had insisted it was a lemon tree, so I guess it was. Which raised the question, if a lemon tree doesn’t produce lemons, was it still a lemon tree? Great. Now that’s going to keep me awake all night too.
I was tempted to drink some of Alice’s “Fuck you, I can grow lemons but you can’t” sugary lemonade, but remembered the feelings of having to wear size 14 clothes. I thought I was better off having some calorie free water.
Sleep was obviously not going to be an option tonight. The heat was making it impossible to get comfortable. More so, sleep would not reach me because I was in the throes of epiphanies and my brain was wired. How could I have misjudged Mike so much? We had a lot in common, too much perhaps, and I wanted to get to know him more. Most of all, I wanted to help this man, I wanted to carry some of the pain for him, no one should ever be left alone to feel the pain he feels—a pain that had haunted me since the beer at the pub. I just had no idea how to do it. The thought of consciously wanting to help another human being, out of the goodness of my until now non-existent heart, terrified and surprised me. It seemed I too had layers.
If I helped him, maybe, just maybe, I could find some redemption for my lacking personality. Help Mike, help myself. This sat better with me, I was used to helping myself. Such a severe personality change, so suddenly, and for a man, would have ensured I never slept again. But if, in some way, I was putting myself first, things weren’t to change so drastically. My heart rate slowed.
“Any ideas, Snip? How do you think I should help Mike?” Snip’s answer was to growl and roll over, obviously displeased with the racket at such a late hour. He may have been more surprised that I was actually interested in helping someone besides just helping myself.
“Baby steps, Snip,” I said, patting him to assure him this was going to be something I could handle, not like the time I went to a party at Kellie’s house. That was a disaster, and just because it was two years ago, didn’t mean I was over the scars and humiliation. I only went because Kellie mentioned she had been baking for a week in preparation. So, I took Snip and we awkwardly sat in the corner working our way through a plate of brownies. Even Snip was embarrassed.
Only weird people take their dogs to parties, but I didn’t know that at the time.
Myanmar was coming up. Surely an overseas trip to an exotic, and from what I had read so far, beautiful location, was the perfect setting to help somebody show kindness, to delve into the art of happiness, literally. And if the truth be known, I wanted nothing more than to spend a few days wrapped in Mike’s deliciously robust arms, swimming, and drinking cocktails. It would be perfect for me, but I at least wanted to try and put Mike’s needs before my own. This concept was something I had never attempted before; it was probably going to require a lot of sugar. But if I tried it, all my years of bad attitude could be wiped away with a kind and generous gesture. I hoped. It’s more than a one-time-thing, Rosie. “Oh shush, Dad!’
And even better, perhaps all the years of Mike’s pain could begin to be washed away by the sea, which we fly over for twelve hours and five minutes, according to Google. The ocean wasn’t exactly my favourite place in the world, growing up so far inland meant I never got the chance to swim in it very often, so it was always strange, and then I saw Jaws and I never wanted to get into the ocean ever again. At least the movie traumatised Kendell too, so she at least had one flaw.
The annual radio host conference was taking place at the Myanmar Treasure Resort. I clicked onto the thumbnail on the website and was presented with crystal blue waters framed by rustic red villas—they almost looked like they were made out of clay—and palm trees. A huge swimming pool was located between the beach and the villas, complete with a bar. Never in my small, lonely life had I thought I would be going to somewhere like Myanmar, but looking at these pictures there was no way I was going to miss it, chubby thighs and all.
An ad for Balloons over Bagan popped up on my browser. The elegant balloons swayed over a landscape that looked like it was on another planet. Still, in all its strangeness it was beautiful. This would be perfect. Some pictures showed couples in the balloons happily smiling as the sun rose over what looked like archaeological temples. Bugger Mike, we were doing this, whether he wanted to or not. I could almost feel his strong arms snaking around my waist, I could smell him as he leant into me, whispering gratitude into my ear.
I could feel the cool of the hotel pool stroking my skin already and the hairs on my arms rose in expectation. Or, someone had just walked over my grave, it was hard to tell which because I was still alive, and couldn’t see my grave, let alone who was walking over it. Even more importantly, I could see Mike and me, wrapped in each other’s arms by the pool. Cheekily, I allowed my imagination to roam free, no fences to rein it in. I could feel Mike’s hard-on under my hand and I saw us dashing back to the room, chasing swirls of ecstasy that hovered around us. We were laughing as we ran, and the slight rubbing of my inner thighs was barely noticeable.
According to Wikipedia, Myanmar was muggy and hot, so Mike’s skin would be oiled with sweat, just like when I saw him at the park. The thought of it all caused a throbbing between my legs. Horse riding on the beach was another option, according to the plethora of ads attached to the hotel’s website. I thought about it but I much preferred the image of Mike in a balloon, rather than riding semi-naked on a beach. Balloons have less room to move about, more chances to get close.
Plus, there was the whole uncontrollable fear thing I had about horses. Dad bought my sister and me a horse each when we were kids. Kendell’s was tall and white and graceful and called “Highway.” Mine was stubby, and mean, and tried to kill me every day, and called “Studgy.” Dad made a big mistake when he said, “If you can learn to ride this horse, you can ride anything.” I never learnt to ride the nightmare with four legs because every time the stupid horse took off, I would jump for my life. Poor Dad spent a lot of time driving around the paddocks on the farm looking for a bridled black and white horse that may have been the actual devil. I’d never been on a horse since.
Most girls go through a horse phase and I was no exception, although it was unclear where this obsession came from. We were not horse people. Dad used to buy me copies of The Horse Magazine each month and I would greedily soak up the pictures of all the horses. The palominos were my favourite, with their caramel colouring offset by their white mane and tail.
But once I was given Studgy, my obsession died pretty quickly. In fact, it died overnight, never to return, but since Dad had gone to the trouble of buying me a horse, I had to ride him, although the term “ride” was used loosely.
Kendell was—big shock—a natural at horse riding. Mum and Dad hired a trainer for her and Dad built her a riding ring. Just because she had a horse that didn’t try to murder her every time she got on it, once again she was the g
olden child, the superstar.
So no, I doubted very much I would be getting on any horses in Myanmar. Plus, I was really allergic.
“Oh my god, Snip! I think I’m trying to seduce Mike.” Snip couldn’t have cared less but the revelation was a huge one for me. I wasn’t even sure how to seduce someone, let alone a man like Mike. I grabbed The Art of Happiness from my bag and hurled it out the back door. “I have no idea what you’ve done to me, Dalai Lama, but you can get stuffed!” I couldn’t isolate my feelings. Fear? Anger? I decided to go with fury and blame the entire situation on the entire race of Tibetan Buddhists. Unless of course, Mike and I did end up having sex, then the emotion would be changed to happiness and I would be thankful to the Tibetan Buddhists. I may even go vegetarian and meditate and hang up prayer flags.
I leaned back into my desk chair and reached into my cotton pyjama pants.
The wetness covered my fingers as I rubbed my clitoris, thinking of Mike’s strong body covering my own. Raising my hips and pushing my fingers down harder, I could hear Mike groaning in my ear, I could feel him inside me and his strong hands holding my head as he kissed me. Between the kissing me and sucking my nipples, I heard him say, “I’ve wanted you for so long. I’m going to come inside you.”
The thought pushed me over the edge and I climaxed into my own hand.
I lay still for a moment, basking in the after glory of a sexual encounter that had never happened. I wanted Mike. Yes, I wanted to peel back his layers, but just as much, I wanted to feel him spurt inside me and collapse on top of me with ecstasy. The number of times he had asked me to go for a beer with him, I was sure he wanted the same thing. I wondered if he had ever masturbated over the thought of me.
Straightening up my desk chair, and wiping my hand, feeling satisfied but slightly embarrassed, I clicked the mouse over the confirmation button and booked us a hot air balloon ride on our first morning in Myanmar.
Feeling quite pleased with myself and suddenly sleepy, I crawled back into bed. Thoughts of Mike danced in my head and then, I was asleep.
Chapter 7
A ridiculously short sleep did nothing to deter the bounce in my step. If Snip had bags to pack, he would have been packing them, but lately he was all too discombobulated by my newfound and increasingly common feelings of happiness. It wasn’t what he signed up for, all those years ago. He was old, set in ways, and comfortable with my cranky moods. Plus he was a dog, and dogs didn’t generally have bags to pack their stuff into.
The birds were up early today. For all I knew they were up this early every day, I certainly wasn’t privy to the goings on of the world at this time—seven a.m. Wow, it may as well still be yesterday. For the first time in a long time I put some makeup on. The foundation was out of date and the mascara was more clumpy than smooth, but if felt good to care about how I looked. It felt good to want to look good. I pretended it was for me, but since I could hear my own, deep and secret inner thoughts, I knew it was for Mike.
Another first for a very long time, I half walked, half jogged to the radio station. The air smelt sweeter today. I waved and smiled at Kali from the other side of the street as I power walked past. Kali frowned and hugged the pile of books she was carrying closer to her, using them as a shield against the strange, happy creature who was prancing around in my body.
Flying through the gate of the studio, I opened the door with such excitement it left a slight dent in the wall. Guilt was quickly pushed aside, nothing was going to spoil my day today, not even the destruction of other people’s property. I was about to change Mike’s entire life, he was going to be so pleased that I had taken the initiative and booked something as brilliant as a sunrise hot air balloon. There was no time to waste. Happiness like this only comes around a few times in a lifetime. I think.
“What the hell do you mean hot air balloons in Myanmar?” Mike’s reaction was a little underwhelming.
“I mean—I’ve booked us a ride on balloons.” I sounded small.
“You said that. What I don’t understand is why.” His arms were folded across his body and he was clearly freaked out.
“Because I thought you could use a chance to get out of your head, because I wanted to help you, do something for you, and at the time this seemed like a really good idea.” I was starting to panic.
“What? Rosie, this is crazy! Not long ago you couldn’t stand the sight of me, and now you want to take me for a romantic balloon ride at sunrise. It’s not normal!” I didn’t remember actually using the word romantic. I really, really hoped I hadn’t.
“How do you know it’s romantic?” I asked him. I was impressed with the calmness of my voice.
“Well, isn’t it?” He was right, it wasn’t normal. It had seemed like such a good idea at two a.m. last night, but now the whole situation was making me look like a crazy, desperate woman. It had just been so long since I had opened my world to anyone, I got carried away.
“I love Lee,” Mike continued. “I won’t love anyone else. I only love Lee, and I always will.” His voice was strained, like he was teetering on the edge of a cliff and his footing was slipping. Any minute he would fall off, lost in the black below.
“It’s okay, Mike, You’re right. I’m sorry. It is weird, totally weird. I’m weird.” The tears were forming behind my eyes. I willed them not to fall, not to show themselves to Mike. “I wasn’t suggesting you love me or fall in love with me, I was just suggesting a hot air balloon ride, something different—for both of us. I think I got overexcited about having a new…friend.”
“Rosie, you could have as many friends as you wanted if you were nice to people.” Mike sighed as though his energy reserves had completely run out. He looked tired and I know how he felt. We were both in danger of tumbling off the cliff, but at least we might fall together.
“Well, that’s what I’m trying to do.” This was getting exasperating. Which one was it? Obviously, I’m a weirdo if I try to be nice to people, but that was a risk I was willing to take, for Mike anyway. Not that my first attempt was going very well.
“Thanks for the gesture,” he said after a prolonged silence in which I had busied myself playing with the station’s phone. “No one has done anything like this for me since Lee died…I was caught off guard. But I would never have let anyone get away with something like this before, either. Okay, let’s go on a hot air balloon ride in Bagan—as nuts as this is—I could use an adventure.” Sinatra was singing “Fly Me to the Moon.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, putting the phone back in its cradle.
“I think so. Are you going to actually be nice to me? Are you going to be able to be nice to me for the duration of the conference? It’s a big thing for you.” He managed a smile, hidden in the sprawling patch of confusion that had almost engulfed the room.
“I’m trying not to be offended by that question, but I understand why you’re asking it.” Suddenly, realisation dawned on me. “Mike! See! Only recently I would have been so angry at you for asking me that, which would have turned into weirdness and surliness. But yay me! Emotions in check!”
“I’m happy for you,” Mike said, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I have to get back into the studio.
“We leave for Myanmar on Monday, can you believe it?” I did the calculations in my head. “Four more sleeps to go!’
“I know. I’ll drive us to the airport. I’ll pick you up at seven a.m. on the Monday,” he said.
“Seven a.m.? Can we get a coffee on the way?” I was horrified. Just because I got up at some inhuman hour this morning, didn’t mean I wanted to make a habit of it or, ever do it again really. I liked the world to be churning away, going through its motions and well into its daily routine before I decided to join it. Chirping birds or not.
“No. It’s better to be early than dead on time. Anything could happen. We don’t want to miss the flights and then miss, god forbid, the sunrise hot air balloon ride.” And there he was, the arrogant man I knew before the modern interpret
ation of Mike I had been getting to know. I wondered if this character flaw came out when he was under emotional pressure, or just good old fashioned stress. But denying me one coffee wasn’t as bad as my not-so-brilliant plan to look more and more like I was the weird one in all of our dealings. I started to lose even more confidence and freak over why he had agreed to go ballooning with me in the first place.
Be patient, love.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, Dad! First, I need to be nice to people, then I need to lose some weight, and now I have to be patient. Do you want me to get world peace whilst we’re at it? Dad didn’t answer me. He never used to when I was mad, so I don’t know why he would start in death.
In a perfect case of serendipity, maybe Mike had agreed to go with me because I was the one who needed help, not him. I felt my face redden at the thought. All this self-reflection was gruelling. And embarrassing. At every turn, I was finding a new version of myself that was less than desirable. I had always liked myself, but it was becoming apparent no one else really liked me, and they were right not to. God, I was weird.
“Fine, seven a.m. it is,” I said. Sinatra crooned “My Way.” I wish, Old Blue Eyes.
Seven a.m. for a flight that leaves at nine a.m. makes sense if you have the discipline of the army running through your veins. All I had was sugar. I hoped the coffee at the airport would be drinkable, yet I knew it wouldn’t be. But this was about Mike, an experiment into what it consists of and how it feels to do things for other people. So far it had consisted of not getting my morning coffee and it felt a little like rage.
