All At Sea Read online

  I am aware that he makes you uncomfortable, but I’m going to let you in on a secret. He has a magic button you can press. Just compliment him and he will be putty in your hands. He works hard to keep in shape and gets a real buzz when people notice.

  I probably won’t be taking any calls, so I will see you in a week or so.

  Try to have fun!

  Wednesday 12th February 8.04am

  —Waikiki Yacht Club—

  Wait! Are you still there? Maybe I should just cancel lessons until you get back? I don’t know about this.

  Monday 17th February 3.05am

  —North Shore Hostel—

  Hi Amelia, I don’t know if you sent me any messages while I was away, I lost my phone in the sand. Had to get a new one. I’m pretty hopeless like that.

  Anyway, I have been going over this in my head trying to think of the right way to say it, since last time I gave you a lecture you went all doe-eyed and freaked the crap out of me.

  I’m just going to say it.

  In Australia the legal age to vote and to drink is eighteen, so if we were in Sydney I would just mind my own business and wish you both well. But here, where we are, the legal drinking age is twenty-one, and I feel that I have a duty of care over you, even if Lachlan doesn’t.

  I don’t really want to know the particulars of what went on the other night. Maybe you were lonely because it was St. Valentines Day, but I’m saying to you that what you did was against the law, and I think it was dumb.

  It’s not that I’m the anti-fun police or anything, but I know Lachlan. He’s going to try to get in your pants, if he hasn’t already. He has a very high success rate. I don’t know if that’s who you want to be. Maybe it is. How would I know?

  Anyway, sermon over.

  Monday 17th February 4.53am

  —Waikiki Yacht Club—

  Hello, Kody. Well, after reading your message a dozen times, I’ve finally managed to pick my jaw up from the floor and cobble together a response. I’ll start with the surf lessons themselves.

  The last few times I was out on the water with you, I really felt like I was coming along. I was 100% focused on ME and my fears and goals and not on the schoolgirl crush that I initially felt towards you. (Even though, let’s be honest, a couple of your messages were a little baiting. Missed you today...I reckon I can learn a lot from you, too.) Like what, exactly? I’m not allowed to talk about anything except surfing when we’re together! Try getting through a whole lunch conversation when you have nothing to bring to the discussion other than “Remember that time I started choking on water and hyperventilating? Yeah, me too. Remember that other time when I did the same thing?” Nod, nod, nod, insert laugh, nod, nod, nod.

  Clearly, you were stringing me along a little with the sweet talk in order to sell me the multi-lesson package.

  I caught on quick enough, just so you know. It was a little hurtful at first but then I figured whatever, fine, surfers have to eat too. I stuck with the lessons not because of you but because of me. I DO want to learn to feel good in the water and maybe someday surf. And I did everything that you asked of me. I didn’t bug you with my dumb teenage stories or “pepper” you with questions about your own life, or the meaning of life, or whatever existential answers some doe-eyed newbie might be searching for in the eyes of an instructor. I put a lid on it. But then I go out with your friend and now you’re suddenly so, so interested in how I’m spending my personal time?

  Which moves us on to Lachlan.

  If you recall, you passed the “duty of care” torch over to him. And I was MORE than uncomfortable about taking lessons with him. The guy acted like he hated me, never failed to point out my shit fitness and called me a beach bunny poser more than once. “The palest fish on the beach.” And I was expected to follow him out into the crushing surf with my fingers crossed? But I trusted you and did what you said. I took lessons with him. I complimented him on his amazing biceps and golden tan and went out in the water.

  And to my surprise, your advice worked! And to think all I had to do was throw him some shallow compliments. It opened up a whole different side to him. He was tame as a kitten. Attentive, funny, charming, a brand new Lachie. So, when he asked me to go out with him after lessons I went because it sounded like fun. I don’t know anyone on the island except you and Konani (who’s thirty-nine with five kids) and then the yacht crew who are old men. So when someone even remotely in my own age group asks me to go somewhere, by God, I’m going. And yeah, the fact that it was Valentine’s Day made it all the more appealing. What red-blooded female wants to spend Valentine’s alone? Not this one, that’s for damn sure. When a smoking hot guy asks me to go out on Valentine’s I move my freaking ass. And so what if he bought me a drink? BIG DEAL. The drinking age here is twenty-one but it’s not like I’ve never had a sip of alcohol in my life. I’ve had wine at holidays. I was a dork in high school and didn’t have many friends or get invited to the good parties, but it’s not like I never had ANY friends or went to ANY parties. Dorks have parties, too, sometimes. (But that is neither here nor there. I don’t want to bore you with my infantile high school anecdotes any further...) Bottom line: It was one Mai Tai. ONE. And so I think you can cool it on that front. Against the law. Please.

  Regarding Lachie getting into my pants.... you might give me a little credit there, no? I may not have too much real life experience in the romance department but I’m not a complete idiot. (But thanks for letting me know how naive and desperate I must come across. I’ll work on putting a lid on that, too....) Anyhow, if there were any particulars to tell, I’m sure Lachie The Raging Man-Whore would have filled you in on them. He doesn’t talk much but when he does, he’s a wealth of information. I learned loads while in his company.

  Which brings me to my final point...so, you’re married, huh? That would have been nice to know out of the gate. I’m sure she’s lovely.

  Monday 17th February 5.03am

  —North Shore Hostel—

  Engaged. Not married.

  Monday 17th February 5.12am

  —North Shore Hostel—

  The only promises I made to you I have kept. You feel like you know me, because after you have told me your secrets, I spend an hour with my arms around you, telling you how great you are doing.

  It’s not about what you say to me. You don’t have to say anything at all. You’re breathing heavily, and you’re close to me, and sometimes your breath is my breath, as if we have kissed. But that’s not real. It’s a consequence of what we are doing – what you pay for. The intimacy is in your head.

  You think I owe it to you to tell you things that are private to me? Why is that? I don’t owe you a thing.

  I promised to get you on the board. You’re on the board. I promised to make you feel safe in the water. You’re safe. You’re swimming. Job done.

  What do you want from me?

  Monday 17th February 6.22am

  —North Shore Hostel—

  The first thing I said to you was put some damn clothes on, girl! Christ! You look vulnerable to me. You look lonely and sad and scattered in your thoughts. I don’t want to be responsible for you doing something that you’re going to regret.

  I could have you, but I’m not going to. You think it’s arrogant? It’s the truth. If that makes me the bad guy here, then fine. Go and see Lachie instead. He’ll tell you anything you want to hear, but don’t imagine for a moment that he’s a better man.

  Tuesday 18th February 1.16am

  —Blue Volcano Tavern—

  You want to know about me? Here it is.

  I was good at sport, school captain, did well academically, had the prettiest girl. Great parents. Active in the community. When I finished, everyone looked at me like, ‘what is he going to do next?’ as if I knew. I spent a year doing stuff well-meaning people set up for me but that I hated. I let them all down one by one.

  Lachie said he was coming over here to surf, and I tagged along.

  But then
when we got here, it was like a smorgasbord. We just put up the sandwich board and the girls came. They had no clothes on, and I could put my hands all over them, and smile and flex a bit, and offer them a beer, and they would pretty much leap in to bed. Then they’d leave, and you’d never hear from them again. And the next week there was a new girl. Or two or three new girls. They were lining up.

  Lachie thought/thinks it’s great. It got to the point where I couldn’t even be bothered remembering names. I’d just call them, ‘babe’. I’d get texts. No idea who it was from. Get slapped in the face. Doesn’t matter. Next week there was a new girl. It was exhausting.

  I went home for Christmas. Christmas is the worst possible time, because you’re doing the things you’ve always done with the people you’ve always done them with, and everyone is happy and sentimental. I saw my high school girlfriend. She didn’t know anything I had been up to. We spent the week together, and I looked at her and I thought, ‘This is real. She doesn’t only like me for my pecs. She knew me when I didn’t have any pecs.’ I slept with her and it wasn’t new. It was familiar and boring. I still liked her afterwards. So I proposed to her. She cried and said yes. My dad shouts the whole pub. And for ten minutes, with my back burning from all the slapping, it felt like the right thing.

  Then the phone started ringing. Did I want to go in to real estate? Conveyancing? Engineering? A position has just opened up just for you, buddy. I’m looking at her, and looking at her mother. It was more of the same, same, same.

  I got on a plane and came back here. I didn’t break it off with her. I just left. If she knew, she would never forgive me. If Lachie told her how I’d been living my life, she would be miserable for years and years, and I can’t do that to her.

  That’s where it’s at. See? I’m a real sweetheart.

  I just surf and teach people to surf. I’m not interested in being anyone’s holiday fun anymore. It’s an ugly way to spend your life.

  I’m telling you these things because I’ve had too much beer, and I can see where you’re going. Do what you want, but later on, when he’s with the new girl and he’s not taking your calls, it’s going to hurt.

  Lachie doesn’t do second dates. He will chase you until he’s had you and then, ‘Next!’

  Go back to your yacht club and find a nice boy.

  Tuesday 18th February 1.18am

  —Blue Volcano Tavern—

  I’m sorry, Amelia. If I could unsend all of that I would.

  It’s just I look at Lachie and I see myself, and I just want to punch him in the face.

  I can’t punch Lachie in the face. He’d kick my arse

  .

  Tuesday 18th February 2.15am

  —Waikiki Yacht Club—

  Thanks for telling me your story. I know you didn't want to but you did and I appreciate it. Kody mystery solved.

  Regarding Lachie. There’s nothing I want from him. It’s something to do besides sit around the yacht staring at all of my overpriced shoes. When you don't want anything from someone, then that someone has no power to hurt you. So don't worry about me with Lachie. See you at lesson.

  Wednesday 19th February 3.06pm

  —near North Shore, Oahu—

  You did the best today that you’ve ever done. Lachie did a good job with you, despite everything. Just a couple lessons left. But you’re definitely fine in the water now. You obviously prosper with the flame under your arse. You’ve got chutzpah. You’re going to do something spectacular.

  Please don’t stay grumpy with me. You’re a classy chick. You are! You befuddle me. I told you I’m just a big dumb surfer man.

  And you asked. I could have lied.

  Wednesday 19th February 3.08pm

  —near North Shore, Oahu—

  Yes, you could have. You’re a standup knucklehead. See you at lesson.

  Sunday 23rd February 1.47am

  —Waikiki Yacht Club—

  I know I shouldn’t send you messages when I have been drinking, because I write down stuff that should stay in my head. But here goes anyway.

  I don’t know why I am at the yacht club. It isn’t in my area. It isn’t on my way, and it was a freaken expensive cab ride. But it feels like it’s been a while since I’ve seen you, since all our lessons are finished now.

  On the ride over, I imagined you being sad and lonely, sitting in a corner reading bloody Jane Austen or something, and I was going to come in and take your hand and we’d dance and you’d smile and be awkward in a cute way. That was how it was going to go.

  But then I got here and they nearly didn’t let me in because I look drunk, which I am. Then I wandered around looking for you, and I came across you in the billiard room, with that dress on, and like, ten guys shuffling around the room so they could get a better view when you stretched across the table. I mean, how much plyometrics have you been doing? Because your glutes are lik

  Sunday 23rd February 1.47am

  —Waikiki Yacht Club—

  Oops. Sorry! Meant to hit delete.

  Anyhow, you didn’t see me, but I stood around the corner and drank heavily and watched you totally shark all of those yacht club boys. You did that thing when they’d be about to take their shot and you’d swing your hips just a little bit and they had no chance of making the pocket after that.

  So I’m not worried about you anymore. You’re doing just fine. You’re not missing me at all.

  Anyway, I’m kind of rambling now, and the cab is pulling up, but it was great to see you looking happy.

  And also a kick in the guts.

  But a good one. You can kick me in the guts whenever you want.

  Now I’m trying really hard not to send this message.

  Fuck it. I’m sending it.

  Sunday 23rd February 1.48am

  —Waikiki Yacht Club—

  DON’T READ THAT LAST MESSAGE!

  It was completely inappropriate.

  Sunday 23rd February 8.22am

  —Totally Brewed Café—

  OK. It’s morning and I have a headache, and I’m sitting here at the café by the water. You and I have been here on this bench - you drinking your latte when it’s a million degrees, me having my lovely, icy Fat Yak they bring in for me specially.

  No Fat Yak this morning though. Never. Again.

  It’s a beautiful day. Lachie is here with me, finishing a milkshake. Sucking on the end of it so it makes that hideous slurping noise. And he stinks. (Remember that about him. He’s handsome, but he’s a player, and he stinks.)

  In a moment I’m going to pick him up and hurl him into the waves. He’s watching me over the top of his metal cup. Grinning milk moustache. I can see his quads flexing, waiting for it. He loves a wrestle, does our Lachie. He has serious martial arts training. If he really wanted to pin me, he’d have no trouble.

  I’m assuming you read it.

  The plain fact is that I do miss your company, since we’re not instructor and student any more, and I think we could have a go at being friends.

  Do you think we could be like, platonic? I mean in the classical sense. We could totally nut out metaphysics between us. Hammer out the merits of divine madness. Don’t you think?

  Would you be interested in that? You have obviously found a real life use for trigonometry. Come down by the sea and sit with me and drink latte with your pinky out. We can scratch out equations in the sand.

  But if you could wear a kaftan or a toga or something, that would be very helpful with maintaining the platonicness on my part.

  Sunday 23rd February 9.26am

  —Fitness Center at Waikiki Yacht Club—

  We can have a go at being friends. I’ve missed hanging out with you, too. Been up to anything good?

  Amelia’s Four-Day Update: 1.) We moored at Hilo for a night. I did this moonlight volcano hike with my mom. Molten lava. Very cool. 2.) I made some friends. Konani’s daughter is my age. Cristina. We drove around Honolulu last night and ate breakfast at midnight. And then there’s t
his girl Jacqueline from Boston five slips down. She’s twenty-one. I’m still trying to figure out if she’s for real or just putting on her Desperate-For-Vacation-Friends face. 3.) My surfing—and I’m using the term loosely—is in a state of de-evolution. Not having you next to me is a problem. I’m back to ankle-wading. Wah! It’s okay, though. I’ll keep trying. (Plus, I’m doing my plyometrics and cardio! I just made it through fifty minutes of Xtreme Zumba without puking!)

  Anyhowww...if you want, maybe we could meet up at Coconut Bay? They have that dance club, Pineapple Pete’s? It has pool tables in the back. Pinball and ping pong. Lachie said you don’t like it there. That it’s a resort kiddie bar with under-21 wristbands, tourists and whatever. But I can’t get into the Blue Volcano or any of the places you and Lachie go, so maybe you can make an exception this once. Monday is all-ages night. (You can still drink, though.) Also, probably not, but my mom and step-dad might be there. They’re good about not lurking on me, so it’s not like we’d be chaperoned in the classical sense. It’s a big resort. They’ll probably be in the jazz lounge so you wouldn’t have to meet them or anything. But it might keep the friends thing in check knowing they’re on the premises? ;)

  About last night’s table run. Truth be told, I was having a bit of a hot streak. I’m pretty good, but not usually THAT good. Apparently, I do spectacular things when there’s a fire under my arse. This one snot, I forget his name, something-something-the-third, made a comment about being beaten by a girl. I was pulling out all the stops and not about to lose after that. A little swing of the hips was in order. Something-something-the-third and crew apparently underestimated how much time I’ve had on my hands to shoot pool by myself over the years. (We have a game room back home. I’m also proficient with a dart...I’ll take your freaking eye out...)