Entwine (2 page)

By far, this man’s jawline was as good or better—sharp, yet smooth enough to want to touch.

She looked up again but thought he saw her, so she quickly took stock of a mother pushing a pram, another small child holding its side bar and stomping along. She looked further up and saw that she had two minutes left before her train really did arrive.

Sarah had never wanted a train to be late before, although they always were with Melbourne’s crazy rail system. Today, she did.

The guys in her lectures and tutes back in university were always man-whores or geeks or already taken. Now, at her first proper full-time job, she only had one man in her team and she didn’t have hopes for him, since she was sure that lunchtime phone call was to his “love”, and that “love” sounded like a man.

Sarah wasn’t greedy. One man would do, and he didn’t have to be the best looking or the kindest, but he had to be right for her. And she couldn’t pick if there would be something wrong with this man leaning against the pillar, waiting for his train, but she hoped that maybe he’d catch the same line as her and she’d get to wonder about him longer.

The third time she looked up she noticed more of him, more details here and there. He didn’t have a briefcase, but he was in perfectly ironed suit pants, leather dress shoes and a light peach shirt, one button undone lower than most businessmen she saw. The shirt’s waist tapered in to hug him at his hips. She figured that he naturally filled out the chest, shaping a perfect V, and the rolled up sleeves showed off the hint of corded forearms that stirred her imagination more. He had a buzz of hair covering his head, just enough to draw attention to the sexy contours of his face and body.

Just then, the lady over the speaker announced the train was arriving and Sarah stood, just as everyone else. She looped her handbag over her shoulder and found her way just behind the yellow line, choosing to walk diagonal, inwards, so that she stood mere metres from the man.

The doors opened, and the people on the platform waited for the people onboard to get off.

Sarah, though, turned to the man, and watched him pull out his mobile, then put it away just as quickly. He looked up, and Sarah’s initial thought was
Quick! Oh my God, pretend you were staring at something odd behind him!
but those silly cover-ups only made people look worse, so she decided to embrace this chance and offer a little smile—but she chickened out halfway and had to drop her gaze to the floor, not even able to hide her smile.

The ground in front of her started emptying, so she waded her way through with the other people desperate to find a seat.

If Sarah had her way she’d clamp her bag under her arm, make sure her heels were steady and then make a run to the nearest two seats free, fling her handbag on the spare one in front of her, and let that man sidestep through the knees of others in the seat arrangement and sit in front of her. In front was always better, because men had long legs. She’d learnt the pros and cons of sitting in front of men on trains before. Many times, smelly men or big men had their legs opened wide, and Sarah had to close her smaller ones between them with little gap spacing. Or, she would have to cross her legs and get a cramp trying to keep her crossed leg bent back, so as not to touch them.

But Sarah’s thoughts … that’s all they were. There were a few seats here and there, but neither Sarah nor the man got any. He could have, but he held out his hand and let that mother through, with the pram and her small child.

Sarah found herself liking him even more. Her last boyfriend had loved the clubs in the city and it was at one of them, not far from here, that he’d kissed his other girlfriend who Sarah never knew about. Or, not until she’d decided to surprise him that night and found her legs around his, his hands cupping under her ass in a section away from the dance floor.

Although this man didn’t sit next to her, he did find a spare pole to grab onto in the train carriage, and Sarah found one opposite him. He once again noticed her, but Sarah hadn’t been looking this time. He must have been doing some staring of his own.

Sarah wondered if this man had been doing the same thing the whole time Sarah had her own game going.

She wondered this as the train took off and they stood almost in reaching distance, both with a hand holding the pole next to them. Sarah wondered which stop he’d get off at.

• • •

THEN

The swing didn’t move for Sarah. She kicked off the ground and drifted back and forward, but she never went anywhere, not really. She even tried to grip the chains until her knuckles turned white. She took a breath, and did the whole countdown thing.

Three. Two. One …

But still, she found she was stuck. Her feet would move, she eventually realised, but it was her thoughts stuck in the one place. They blocked the forest of tall trees with never-ending trunks out past her property fence. The big trees, more like little willow branches, pretended to be something they weren’t. It all looked so delicate. She needed to fly.

If only she could fly.

Sarah steadied her weight at the centre of the swing with the soles of her sandals on the tanbark under her, though that didn’t matter, she remembered later, because nothing moved for her, anyway. Not even the wind. The wind passed her skin like she was in a bubble. The pierce when it moved over her yesterday and the day before during the cool spring mornings was a thing of the past she wanted back.

Before, she hated the wind attacking her when all she wanted to do was jog down to the swings near the forest border and tip her head back, feeling the jolt in her sense of balance. When she swung back, she loved the tip, screwing with where the horizon was meant to stay.

Swinging on the swings always used to give her a rush, just a little push. Like “Here. Here’s what feeling feels like.” Her stomach would tip the first time she kicked off, and she’d have to brace her neck for the force, but then she just moved without moving.

Now, Sarah saw nothing, as if the willowy tree trunks, the pale bark that dotted all the way up high where she had to crane her neck to see, never existed.

Today the trees had thick trunks, non-descript patterns on them.

But what Sarah hated the most were her dad’s blasé actions since that night. She came here to let go of her thoughts, tip back on the swings and let her inhibitions go. She  always loved the feeling that she was falling, even though in reality she’d never actually fall. The rush always made that first moment of her heart stilling worthwhile.

Today, the swing didn’t move for Sarah, and she wondered where she’d have to go and what to do from now on to feel something exhilarating again.

REJECTION

THEN

Sarah was nineteen when Nicholas proposed to her. It was the perfect setup—except for the fact it wasn’t right for her.

The hints were there about how deeply he felt for her, even going way back to the first time they’d kissed on lunch break at school when they were years younger.

Near the soccer oval there were spots favourited for hanging out, for making out, for bitching, and for watching. Nicholas decided to change up their “spot” for the day. He had planned it the night before when it took him until two am to sleep and all day during class. The teachers had reprimanded him, “Nicholas! Earth to Nicholas.”

Sarah later found out his plans but at the time, she was excited to take a break from their friends. There were too many laughs whenever they played with each other’s hands, and at least one friend would make a ridiculous guffaw if they got close enough to pecks on the lips or whispers in an ear.

Nicholas held her hands so that Sarah’s fingers were weaved through his. She watched him, his sandy-coloured one-inch-long hair that left a strip of his neck bare, down to the shape of his school shirt and how it fit snugly over his chest.

There was this old eucalyptus tree on one side of the oval. It had a big trunk that a few of her friends had once got together around, linking hands to fit the circumference. The branches swept way over their heads, enough for privacy on both sides of the trunk.

“Here, babe,” Nicholas said.

Sarah sat and crossed her legs under her. Nicholas sat next to her, closer than usual and, as he did so, he wrapped an arm behind her, snaking it under hers.

“Nicholas,” Sarah said, “when was the first time you wanted to kiss me?”

Sarah wasn’t always so forward, but she’d known him for a year or so now, and only just kissed him at that party a week ago.

Sarah looked up at him. The bright afternoon sun whitened the sky to a haze behind him as she stared, and the branches and leaves of the eucalyptus tree sheltered them, like they were in their own romantic canopy.

“Since the first time I saw you,” he replied.

Sarah smiled, but inside, she wondered if she knew who he was. He always said those types of things actors said in movies, or expressions she’d heard before. The truth was, the first time she saw him, he was peeling a mandarin to eat. She couldn’t even think up a lie to make that sound appealing compared to his response.

“Aww,” she cooed.

“I like you lots, Sarah.”

Sarah stared up at him, and he held her gaze right back. Staring at each other, longingly, it was as if this confirmed they were alone, that right now was perfect. She tried leaning up the slightest to come closer to him, but couldn’t will herself to do more. Her bottom lip trembled the closer she got.

She shouldn’t have been anxious. They’d already kissed plenty at the party, but that had been a week ago and, right now, his intensity was like a thick wall she couldn’t shift.

Nicholas leant in. He was looking at her skin and then, the next second, he was pressed against her lips. Wall = gone. Their lips moved and nipped at each other’s, kissing as hard as each of them could, but in the end, she was too nervous to do more and he couldn’t stick his tongue in.

They went to class after that, and the next day Sarah faked being ill. She stayed home and played games on the Internet, read a whole novel, and started a new season of her favourite TV show.

She couldn’t get the next day off school so she went, saying she still was a bit ill. Each day, she made an excuse that was enough to hold Nicholas back from kissing her again.

It didn’t feel right now he was sober, and now she didn’t have the alcohol from a couple of drinks marring her senses. There was no spark. Take away the party atmosphere and the alcohol and there wasn’t much to him.

They broke up a few days afterwards.

It was a couple of years later, at their muck-up day celebrations after their final high school exams were done when they connected again. They talked endlessly about everything and nothing at all, mostly lost time, and made out on a deck chair amongst other drunk friends. It was at the end of her first year of university that Nicholas took her out for a beautiful dinner.

Sarah remembered it being expensive. Water was the only thing free. Even a bowl of chips to serve one, without sauce, was ten dollars. Nicholas paid for wine, entrée, main, and a dessert for them to share from his own wallet, despite Sarah’s insistence against it.

Sarah didn’t need a guy to pay her way. She didn’t want to feel guilty for it either. But Nicholas seemed so happy taking care of it all, and she had such a great night, she figured she’d pay for them on the next night out.

But that never happened because Nicholas took her for a walk along the bridge over the Yarra River afterwards. At night, the water was black, but the lights shone along the river, lighting the bridge. He stopped in the middle, and Sarah leant against the railing, her elbows hanging off the back as she watched him.

Nicholas dropped to one knee and asked her to marry him.

Sarah was stunned, but she didn’t stay wordless. She should have—it would have been kinder—but instead, she shook her head softly, and bit her lip. A weight was on her. She told Nicholas she wasn’t in love with him like that, and still had to consider if she wanted to marry anyone, ever.

Sarah used to want marriage, but if her dad couldn’t stay faithful to her mum, the most beautiful and kind mum in the world, then what hope did plain old little Sarah have?

Sarah would never divorce her husband, and she wanted to be much happier than her parents had ended up. At nineteen, Sarah couldn’t feel it with Nicholas, and had only thought once what it would be like to marry him. She was drunk, then, making out with him.

She knew she’d end up the housewife, taken care of and loved adoringly. The woman who went out for midday coffee dates with her besties, and came home to dutifully make love to her high-profile husband.

Nicholas was the type of guy to treat a girl right in every single way, and Sarah couldn’t put her finger on why that seemed off for her.

Why would any girl not want what Nicholas had to offer?

They only spoke on the way home when they had to.

“Do you mind if I change the station?”

“Is it okay to turn up the heater?”

Pointless questions, because Nicholas knew what music Sarah liked, and it was a cold night anyway.

Nicholas didn’t contact her after that. She hadn’t expected him to drop off so suddenly—she’d expected some sort of desperate fight for love. Sarah was left oddly cut off, like she herself couldn’t reach
Sarah
.

After some time, she used her Friday and Saturday nights to go clubbing with her girlfriends. She almost always found a guy to hook up with.

Sarah was slim and was fine to let a guy flip off one of her top straps, or inch down her underwear, but she didn’t take off her clothes herself. All she had to do was move the bridge of her undies and the deed could be done, anyway. There was that, and the silly secret she didn’t tell any guy.

Sarah had no reason to be self-conscious—smooth, soft skin; no scars; good hips, and great legs; enough boobs to hold in a guy’s palm—but still, she didn’t feel comfortable enough to look a guy in the eye and take off her clothes herself.