All At Sea (6 page)

I’m going for a surf.

Wanna come with?

Tuesday 25
th
February 2.06pm

—North Shore, Oahu—

So I’ve been scratching out some of my own equations here in the sand, and I think I’ve probably been going about it all wrong.

All this, ‘He’s a wildman and none can tame him,’ is probably just driving you into Lachie’s evil clutches, because you think you will be the one for him, and that will make you the most special of all.

Maybe it’s the sobriety talking, but you know who your guy is? You remember Simon? Something-something-the-third’s little brother Simon? You’re going, ‘Him???’

I had a yarn with him last night. He’s a nerdy guy, but he’s going to inherit a multinational, because, as is obvious to everyone who falls into something-something-the-third’s unfortunate sphere, big brother is one incompetent drongo. (
That’s
how it’s used in context. You doubted!)

Simon looks fourteen, but he’s eighteen. He’s funny. He would adore you. You’re going to have to train him, but he will be a gentle and attentive lover. He would be so grateful. You’d be set up for life. He’s going to get all distinguished and entrepreneurial. He’s a winner. Simon is your guy.

Tuesday 25
th
February 2.58pm

—Shangri La Café at Honolulu Museum of Art—

I thought a stroll through the art museum might calm my irritations and clear my head, but I was wrong. Who needs tranquil seascapes and priceless indigenous artifacts when there’s messages to be written about Simon?

Soooo. Simon Rothschild-Pinaud, second in line to the women’s fragrance

throne. Yes, I’ve seen him around.

He’s the one with the thick glasses who cringes when something-something-the-third throws tantrums at the clubhouse pool because Waikiki Yacht carries San Pellegrino exclusively, not Perrier. He’s the one who says nothing when something-something-the-third speaks slowwwwly and deliiiiberately to the apparently all-deaf Filipino-American staff. And when they’ve come back sweating buckets after having hustled down to the Hyatt to fetch big brother’s water, he doesn’t even have the balls to tip them behind something-something-the-cheapskate’s back. So, no, you’ve got it all wrong. Big brother’s going to claim the perfume throne in the end. Incompetent drongo or no, at least something-something-the-third’s not a coward.

But other than that, Simon’s great! Harmless as anything.

He’ll do well enough in life. They’ll find a job for him somewhere in the company and he’ll continue to live fashionably. Poor guy. He thought he was so cool, hanging with the surfer set. When he yelled out: Gnarly! and you slapped his back, I wanted to pinch his cheek. You made him feel right at home, Kody.

However, I did find it interesting that you had no problem exchanging a few beers with our little underage friend. Amelia Beauchamp takes one sip from Lachie’s bottle and you’re across the club like a bullet to snatch it up. Simon gets a pass, though. So very feminist of you.

But anyhowwww, let me spread all my Simon Rothschild-Pinaud cards out here and have a good study. Fawning, cowardly, sycophantic. Distinguished, possibly entrepreneurial. Our kids will be pale in that transparent blue sort of way but brilliant. They’ll go to the best East Coast schools and be able to pronounce words like béchamel and beaujolais at age two.

But it’s the gentle and attentive lover thing that’s really piqued my interest. The idea of being honored. You really think he’s capable of that? With a bit of training, I mean? Because my past experience with a nice yacht club boy didn’t quite go like that.

And again, don’t worry about me with Lachie. If I recall, he’s not the one who put a ring on a sweet girl’s finger only to take off across the planet the next day. I’m sure the future Mrs. Murdock feels so very honoured right now.

Tuesday 25
th
February 3.06pm

—near North Shore, Oahu—

I have never said anything hurtful to you. Ever.

Don’t be a bitch. It’s boring. Don’t be boring.

Tuesday 25
th
February 3.18pm

—Honolulu Museum of Art—

Okay. I was out of line. I was just frustrated with you. It felt like I was in the right but when I read the words back to myself, they looked ugly. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.

But can I ask that you stop trying to sort out what and who is best for Amelia? (I’m not saying that in a mean way, I’m asking politely....) Because you keep doing that, trying to set me on a path that you feel is a good fit for me. I may only be eighteen, but I know what I’m doing.

This friends thing is going to be harder than I thought it would be.

P.S. There’s a piece at the museum called “Surf-Riders, Honolulu.” Color woodblock print. It’s almost a hundred years old. If you haven’t seen it yet, check it out. It’s bitchin’.

P.P.S. Is the surfing invite still open?

Tuesday 25
th
4.16pm

—North Shore Hostel—

Yeah, sure. If you come right now I can borrow Olaf’s car and take you round to a special surfing place. Let’s agree not to talk. OK? Just about surfing.

And I can laugh at you when you pull out all your cool surfer lingo you picked up at that other beach.

Tuesday 25
th
February 8.01pm

—North Shore Hostel—

It’s quiet now. Lachie’s gone next door. We’re going out soon. There is a little street vendor not far from here who does scallops in a wok. He serves them up in this little paper cone thing, which goes soggy, so you have to eat quick. Heaps of salt. Omfg they are huge and burning hot, and just the best.

He’s pretty shitty that we snuck off without him. It was fun though. Like a heist. Him running down the street after us, swearing. Olaf’s pathetic VW puttering along so slow, he nearly caught up with us. He punched me when I got back.

Ahh Lachie. King of Subtle Cues.

You asked me a serious question, and I kind of grunted because I didn’t want to talk about it, and then you got all prickly with me. But it was beautiful and still sitting out there with the water all glassy, just soaking in the sun and not talking. Wasn’t it?

It was ‘rad’. Lol! I almost fell off my board.

The answer is yes. I talk to Fiona every day. She sends me wedding invitation samples and menus and pictures of silver shoes. She wants to talk about who my groomsmen will be. Flowers. Horse-drawn carriages. It’s all wedding all the time.

I know that I have to break it off. I know that, but can’t you see that it also means I can never go back there? It’s my home town. It’s where I’m from. I know every street. I know generations of people there. I think there is genuine affection for me.

And now, for the rest of my life I will be the guy who left Fifi at the altar.

Or I can marry her now and save her embarrassment, then divorce her two years from now. Because I already know she’s not my wife.

It’s like looking at an old dog. You know you’ve got to make the appointment to put it down. It’s just a matter of picking up the phone. Every minute you can find a dozen reasons not to put your old dog down.

Except it’s even more complicated, because one, dogs get old, but the proposal wasn’t an inevitable thing. I made a mistake. I’m impulsive and stupid, and I don’t think ahead about how something I might fleetingly feel at this moment is going to change everything for someone else.

And two, I’ve got to go there to do it. You can’t call off a marriage by Skype. Well maybe some people can, but I can’t. Every day I can find reasons not to book a ticket to Sydney. Like, in about five minutes from now, when I have finished this message, I’m going to be super, super busy playing hacky sack on the lawn with Lachie, and teasing him about his lats, which he will love.

She hasn’t spent any big money yet. I have to do it before then.

I half expect her to turn up here. I have since Christmas. She hints at it. I have this other job I mentioned to you before, and they give me money in a lump sum. I’ve stopped telling her about it, because she always suggests I could use it to buy her a ticket to Honolulu.

I know that makes me a bastard. I can see you thinking I’m a bastard, and part of me really wants to be the guy who really wants to marry Fifi. I don’t know who he is. We crossed paths at one time.

I’m not not doing it because I have any plans of going through with the wedding to Fiona, I’m not doing it because I am kind of murdering someone I used to be. It’s difficult. Everybody liked him.

OK. There’s my pain. You show me yours.

Wednesday 26
th
February 11.03pm

—Waikiki Yacht Club—

I had a good time today, too. A great time. It was nice not talking. We click at the beach, you and me. 

Calling off a wedding is huge. Awful. I can’t imagine. Even though I’m glad you’re not going through with it, I feel sorry for Fiona. She’s going to be humiliated and devastated. You’re definitely impulsive and stupid sometimes (*back-scrolls through Kody messages...*) but you’re not a bastard. You made a terrible mistake. It doesn’t mean you don’t love her or meant to be cruel. Even if it’s just in that familiar way—like the childhood sweetheart thing—you still love her. It’s still a meaningful kind of love. You’re going to lose that forever. You’re going to lose a lot soon, and it’s going to hurt badly for everyone involved.

My pain. Well. I guess you’re referring to my experience with love?

I wouldn’t call it love. I wasn’t affected by it in any life-altering way. Just kind of let down when it ended. It was eleventh grade. He was new, didn’t know anyone yet. His dad took a position with my step-dad’s company and their family came over for dinner. It was Christmas break and we weren’t back to school yet so he hadn’t gotten his bearings about the whole Who’s Who thing of the Mission Hills country club set. He came over to the house on his own for a couple of weeks. We horsed around in the game room, played foosball and darts and whatever. Nobody ever goes down there anymore so we had “the place to ourselves,” so to speak. And then…well. Egh.

Then school started back. :/

He was nice, called me his girlfriend, brought me to a couple of the cooler parties. Then someone made a comment about my mother being a gold-digging second wife with no education and he looked at his shoes, looked around the room, pretended not to hear. After that, when he’d touch me, I’d feel a little sick inside. I just felt like he should have said something, stuck up for me. I stopped taking his calls. I think he was relieved.

We never gelled anyway. When we talked, he’d cut me off when I got on a hot streak about something. He’d interrupt and then never circle back to me. To be fair, I did the same to him. I thought about other things when we were together. You can’t get very far with someone when that’s how you feel about them. It’s not something I ever think about. But you mentioned dating Simon and then seemed like you were asking about it, so there it is. Amelia’s not-so-painful romantic history. Bleh.

So Lachie punched you, huh? In the face? Is there a bruise?

Wednesday 26
th
February 11.14pm

—Rub-a-Dub Pub Coin Laundry & Liquor—

Nah he punched me in the guts. We rumbled for a while. It’s a bloke thing. You girls should try it, because after you’ve punched each other in the guts a few times, everything can go back to normal. Girls can hold a grudge over stupid stuff for years! My laundry beeper just went off. Duds are done drying. Have to take them out before Lachie steals them.

How good is a laundromat that serves bourbon in a can? Why didn’t I think of that?

Wednesday 26
th
February 11.24pm

—Rub-a-Dub Pub Coin Laundry & Liquor—

Anyway, so you’re not a virgin. I’m surprised because you look like a girl who hasn’t been made love to. Maybe you still haven’t.

You will have that one day. I hope you do anyway.

I’m just saying that the way you feel when you first see your wave coming - you want it. You paddle towards it with your whole body, and you crouch up and then you’re coasting along the face of the wave, and it’s still hard work, but it feels great.

It can be a million times better than that, like you’re working so hard that you’re shuddering with the strain of it, and clinging to the other person as if you’re on the edge of a cliff, and exhilarated, and you can let go, and just be a creature. We are all beasts really, but you have to find someone who makes you feel safe enough to be one.

That’s what I think anyway.

Thursday 27
th
February 12.12am