Last day. Not sure how I feel about that.
*Sadly, I have no photos from the last day except this one piddly self-portrait. Equally sad is that my plan to provide a smattering of situational-appropriate music in their stead had been dashed by McDonald’s ridiculously slow wifi, my only access to full-browser internet right now. It was going to be utterly poignant and clever and now, you’ll just have to hum a tune and make it work.
Dear John,
So comes the end of an era. I know I won’t be sitting next to you as you read this entry, so I’m free to bash, admire, detest, or adore you without fear of confrontation. Muhahahaha. But considering you’ve just bid me goodbye and walked out the door, and now my paper is a bit soppy and the ink blurred, I guess we know which one it will be. And yes, I start by blog entries as a rough draft on a piece of paper. What of it? Heaven help me if Francis catches me crying. Rather, heaven help him because I’ll just punch him in the arm so he can whinge about that for a few days, just like last time. There, my masculine energies have been restored. It’s a constant balancing act. Life, that is. You give and take, lose and restore, hold on and let go. In essence, I’ve loved loving you, and goodbye friend.
Love,
D.
Before 0730hrs rolled around, the wheels of John’s Land Cruiser were spinning us slowly away from our final campsite, and not without a wee bit of tension in the air. First off, the noise of death in John’s front wheel was still there and while John is one to keep his composure, the look on his face was enough to scare small, furry woodland creatures back into their hovels. Although, that look may have also been constipation as he, and the other boys, had a substantial deposit to make at the bank of dutchie, but had allowed their distaste for digging a hole, compost toilets, and even public toilets dissuade them from doing so. In the end, we would all suffer for their daintiness.
Back to the noise of death- John would argue that while he was seriously concerned about the well-being of his car, the rest of us were brushing it off, chocking it up to nothing. It’s true that we did try to sugar coat the situation, attempting to keep the captain of the ship from blowing his fuse, for once something gets in John’s head, it festers, deepens, and darkens. Aka, he is a pessimist. I’d also like to point out that the night before when John was fiddling with his gps, I suggested looking for a local mechanic. The suggestion either went unheard or unheeded.
Yet, every time we tried to console him, he’d combat us with negativity, speculating that the issue was going to cost him heaps of money and figuring that his car was cursed. And then, the subject turned to the backpackers staying in John’s apartment. John lives with three other people, Kirby who has her own room, and Francis and Andrea who share a room. Francis and Andrea had arranged for Francis’s coworker and her fiancé, who were also backpackers, to stay in their room over the holidays to offset the costs of rent while they were visiting family. So at this point, John starts prattling on about the dirty backpackers, how they are likely looting or trashing the apartment. How her faded pink hair and the scar on his neck were off putting. I tried to be the voice of reason and charitable thought, stating that I’d met them and had a good intuition about them, that Francis’s brother-in-law was meant to check in on them, and even in the event of the worse-case-scenario, Francis’s workplace had all of her information. Plus, hair dye fades and he had been in a car accident, as John well knew. Did John allow any bit of this hopeful reason in? No. Tom intervened and asked if I thought John was being unreasonable. “Yes.” Which then set John off in a rant, “I’ll tell you what’s unreasonable,” but at this point I was done arguing. If John wanted to make the worst of every situation, martyr himself and condemn complete strangers in the process, then I didn’t really want to speak to him. And so through his pessimism came the first time since I had known John that I was completely off him, revolted by his attitude and commenced to stonily stare out my window, my body pressed as closely to the door and as far away from John as possible.
And I admit, I was probably taking everything a little too personally. On one hand, I used to be a lot like John, determined to play the part of the victim, dwell on the hopelessness of situations. It’s very much like an addiction akin to smoking- Once you start it’s nearly impossible to stop and if you do succeed, being around it is rather repugnant. On the other hand, I couldn’t help but think how lost I’d be if more people were as despairing of the human character as John, and in comparison, how many people had taken a chance on this dirty backpacker despite my often multicolored hair, sleeve of tattoos, and quirky disposition. I know there are murderers, rapists, thieves, and generally unsavory characters in the world. I don’t deny that people can very much suck and disappoint at times. My eyes aren’t blind to reality; they’re just open to the possibility of a better one. And finally, on my third non-existent hand, I guess I was in fact a little disappointed in John, because I know he has a good heart.
And that being said, I closed my eyes and asked for help in diffusing the Korean rage. It was time to practice what I preach and give John a little grace. He was likely still not feeling well from the heat the day before, obviously did have to deal with some sort of car problem, and being a human he has his asinine moments like the rest of us. But still, I stared out the window, my mind churning with old dilemmas, hurts and mistakes tied to my “special” way of seeing people and the world. Sometimes, I feel like I’m constantly battling the world at large, and I wonder if I’m the one who has it wrong. Le sigh.
While I brooded, John navigated us to the town of Mudgee, where his great grandfather was mayor and there just happened to be a Toyota dealership. John and I sat in the waiting room while Jono and Tom set off for the nearest Mackers (McDonalds), and while no longer upset with John, I was now stuck in an unsettled state of mind trying to figure out the purpose of life and other trivial questions. I feigned sleep until the technician came out and advised John that his brakes hadn’t been working because in essence, he didn’t have any. The pads had been worn to the metal and the rotors marred as a result. It would be a couple hours to repair, which of course actually meant four or five hours, all to spend in the spectacular one-street town of Mudgee. The dealership loaned us an old beat up Camry and we set off to meet the boys.
Everyone was in a pretty somber mood as we sat around a table outside of MD’s, or perhaps they were all just suffering from severe constipation. I feel like McDonald’s wasn’t the best choice given the situation, but meh, what do I know. As John and I stood in line to order, I’d resolved to get an ice cream cone to soothe my nerves and for some reason announced it. John helped me justify the treat saying, “After yesterday’s heat, I think you deserve it.” But for some reason I was still in the mood of announcing things and said, “Actually it’s moreso because I was ticked.” It is INCREDIBLY rare for me to ever admit to being upset for a whole slew of psychological mumbo jumbo reasons we haven’t time for here. Point being, I don’t know what came over me. John turned and looked at me for a few seconds. “You were ticked with me weren’t you?” I shamefully tucked my gaze towards the floor and nodded. John was called up to the register where he promptly ordered an ice cream cone for me. As we stood waiting for the order, John asked what it was he had done. I replied, hoping he would understand without me having to elaborate any further, “It was just your poor attitude.” John scooped me up in a massive hug saying, “We couldn’t have gone this entire trip without getting a little ticked with one another. We’ll just hug it out.” I was taken entirely off guard, as I had always been the one instigating cuddles, normally with some sort of awkward phrase like, “Can we do that thing where I hug you and you pretend you don’t hate it?” I was perfectly afloat in that moment of friendship when you realize there might be something more bonding you than convenience. And I had ice cream coming. It’s a surefire way to win my good graces.
After four hours dawdling in Mudgee, the white whale was finally equipped with fully existent and functional brakes, and we were headed towards home again. Our route just happened to take us through the Blue Mountains, which meant a scenic and rather steep descent. We couldn’t all help but be thankful for John’s prudence in stopping for repairs, as we surely would have died otherwise. Jono and Tom asked that if we did go off a cliff, if I would pray for them. I smiled and said, “I always do.” Proper brakes and prayers in tow, we still came close to death. We were cruising along when John raised an eyebrow and said, “What’s that eggy smell?” That, my friends, was the smell of daintiness catching up with us, and more specifically with Jono. It was the first of three noxious farts Jono endowed upon us on the ride home, each time causing our eyes to tear, our lungs to burn, and our gag reflexes to surge, even with all the windows open.s
No longer in the middle of nowhere and very much in the city of Coogee, we prepared to drop off Tom. Only, when we went to open the tailgate, the upper portion was lodged with the massive amount of crap in the boot. Sigh, one last time. I climbed over the back seats and wedged myself between the uber amounts of crap and the roof of the car, stretching an arm to dislodge whatever was preventing the latch from working. Voila! Except then I was a little stuck and couldn’t help but lament for maybe the tenth time on the trip, “This wouldn’t be happening if I were a petite Asian. Damn you birthing hips!” Happily I became unstuck so that I could climb into the boot and begin pulling out Tom’s hoard. Squatting and grunting in the boot, I looked up and caught John laughing at me. As I hopped out, he scooped me up in the second unexpected embrace of the day stating, “What would we have done without you? You’ve been an amazing camping partner.”
Shockingly, I think John may have taken to heart my frustrations with him earlier that day for he exhibited nothing but positivity the remainder of the day. He vowed appreciation for the beat up Camry the dealership had given him, despite being a lover of nice things. He reminded the boys that their good eats on the trip were thanks to me. And, he said I was the glue to the whole trip, that all would have been lost, quite literally, if it hadn’t been for me. The glue! It was all I could do to keep from breaking into song and dance and make John regret all his affirmations. And now, he was displaying unwarranted affection yet again. I may have checked him for fever, just in case.
We estimated that less Tom and his stuff, we were lighter by 200kg. But, arriving at John’s apartment my heart felt a little heavier. Heavier with love for my disgusting, crude, and utterly helpless boys. Heavier with pure satisfaction of what I was doing with my life. Heavier with the realization that I didn’t know the next step, but it would almost necessarily mean leaving John, Francis, and Andrea behind. As I unpacked my toiletries and prepared for bed, I found John’s hairbrush and toothbrush and chuckled. I’m such a mom, an old woman in a younger one’s body, maybe with a touch of old man given my adoration for scotch and a good pipe, and five year old child wrapped into one. Aka, I’m a hot ghetto mess. Just then, John walked down the hall, calling out, “Goodnight, Diana.”
“John,” I said slightly louder than a whisper, and with a strange energy of expectation, he was suddenly at the door of my room. “I thought you might need these,” holding out his brushes.
One last time, John surprised me. Maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise, having happened twice already that day, but something in me broke with that final embrace. The final section of some barrier I’ve had around my heart for so many years, some need to pretend like I’m so tough and self-reliant that I don’t need to lean on another , to feel their strength holding me up, if only for a moment. Falling asleep that night in a proper bed in my very own, borrowed, room, and already missing the sounds of krill predators and surrounding nature, I shed a tear through a smile saying, “Goodnight, John. Thank you, God.”
5 days, 4 nights, 3 boys, 2 tents, and 1 epic camping trip later, and I’ll never be the same. God writes the strangest stories, his characters always dynamic and ever-developing, his plot lines always unpredictable, his themes timeless. They’re rarely the best-sellers, more often texts dismissed and underappreciated until years after their publication. Reflecting on my own story and on the question the boys asked of me that first day, “Why do you choose to believe in God,” I now reply, “How could I choose not to?”
*Okay, I had time to upload one song. Enjoy. Miranda Stone-Winter at Nine
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