She sits hunched on the edge of a garden bed on Cavill Avenue, carry-on suitcase beside her, head in her hands. The scenery is picturesque: perfectly preened garden, spotless blue sky, sun blazing, the sound of seabirds constant but soothing – at least to any other listener. Inside her head, a storm rages.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The Gold Coast. Schoolies.
She struggles to stay afloat as a sea of memory thrashes against her – mixing, clashing, unchronological. She smells not the saltwater air but the tang of the small liquor shop, feels not the gentle breeze but the sting of her now ex-boyfriend’s voice:
*
“Just go in; it’s not that hard.”
“I can’t; I’ve never bought alcohol by myself before,” she said. “Please, can’t you do it?”
“I told you; they won’t let me in anymore.”
She waited in silence. There was no way she could muster the confidence to go in – it was already at an all-time low from him chastising her all weekend.
“Ugh!” He punched the air. “Wait here then.”
She watched him enter the store, eyes darting around, ducking between shelves, seemingly on the lookout for a specific person. She felt true shame.
*
Someone comes and sits beside her by the garden bed. A man, white. Middle aged. Sunhat. It’s all she has the capacity to note. Adrenaline moves her to tense up and grab her suitcase handle.
“Don’t worry baby; I’m not here to hurt you,” the hatted man says. “What’s got you crying?”
She takes stock of the surroundings: full daylight, people constantly traversing the street. The nearest shopfront steps away. She feels safe to divulge in this stranger – at least enough to satisfy him to leave.
“My boyfriend… He dumped me. I came here to visit him,” she explains, aware of how pathetic she must look.
“Wow; your English is great! Where are you from?” says the hatted man.
“Melbourne,” she replies through gritted teeth.
“Melbourne, I see,” says the man, visibly restraining from the ‘But where are you really from?’ follow-up. “Well, he’s trash you know; he doesn’t deserve you.”
“Thank you,” she says, thinking for a moment. “I know.”
*
She thinks back to her ex’s apartment, the newly bought six-pack of beer sitting idly on the coffee table between them. Desperately needing it, she reached forward and tore it open.
“After all that, you’re gonna let me drink alone?” she said.
He sighed and grabbed a bottle. They drank in silence. She thought of the fridge filled with groceries that they’d gone to buy together. He’d wordlessly added an array of essentials and treats to the basket but let her foot the bill. She decided against asking for compensation – instead taking another swig.
*
The hatted man speaks, pulling her back to the present. “You know, I can take you somewhere with nice people where we can have some fun. What do you say?”
“Oh- no thank you,” she blurts.
“It’ll be good,” he insists. “You can forget that loser. I’ll take care of you.”
“I-I-I have a flight to catch.” She is surprised and angry at herself for stuttering. But her defence is strong – she’s heard that shit before. I’ll take care of you.
*
“Please, just let me stay tonight. One more night, then I’m back to Melbourne,” she begged her ex.
“I have an important class tomorrow. A university. Class. You’d know nothing about it,” he said.
“Please.” She didn’t know what else to say.
He sighed.
“I’ll sleep on the spare bed,” he said.
She joined him in bed anyway – tried to seduce him.
Some fun, she thought, might fix things. Make us both feel better.
She sat on top of him, in her best posture, sure she looked pretty. Kissed his still face – frozen in aloofness. Borderline amusement.
“I don’t love you,” he said, a smile spreading across his face.
“What?”
“I don’t love you,” he repeated confidently.
She dismounted, moved to her half of the bed and lay on her side, facing the room’s singular grey-curtained window. This room, this city, this whole place felt cold. For the first time, she felt truly rejected.
*
She displays her back to the hatted man with the same resolution. Tears stopped. Mouth sealed in a straight-line anger. He finally gives up.
“Hey- hey,” says the man, standing up. “You deserve more than this.” With that, he leaves.
She has an inkling: perhaps the hatted man had meant well after all. But it doesn’t matter – she doesn’t need him to tell her. Her sea has calmed; her memories have become still and clear.
She stands and heads for the airport shuttle. It will take her to safety, to home – but most importantly, to a new era of independence.