A Trip Abroad

A TRIP ABROAD INSERT 1 Lisa Jonas The color blue reminds me of the last time I f*cked a guy. I was in my senior year of high school, and he was a good friend of my father's. An old white man in his late 60s died while on top of me. I watched his face turn blue and his eyes pop out. He died while his d**k was still inside me, I felt it go soft as he pulled his last breath and dropped dead on my chest — literally. It was quite a sight for the eye. I didn't know what to do. The first thought was to leave him there to be discovered by a housekeeper, but I had watched too many crime documentaries to know that the hotel cameras would catch me walking inside with him. So, I did what no one else could do — I called his wife. I told her the weakling of a man couldn't handle the v****a of a 20-year-old, and he dropped dead on me. She laughed. A hysterical laughter. I was convinced something was wrong with her. But that pretty lady handled it like a Pro. I mean, she had to because Steve was wealthy and famous, hence why I was f*****g him in the afternoon while I was supposed to be studying for my geography test. He was the connection to my dream university in the country — East Bay University in the rainy province of Mpumalanga in a little town called EastBay, typical name, right. It is known for its prestigious law faculty and language department. Nothing is special about East Bay really. The town doesn't even have a McDonald's, but it ranks in the top 5 of the best universities in the country and is known for its strict admission scores. It's 40 points straight or nothing. When the matric results came back in January, I realized I never needed Steve to begin with. But he was a good sport for the weekend. For a child coming from a broken home, I found solace and peace in Steve. But after the hotel nonsense, it was the last time I f****d a man. We don't talk about the first time we f****d a man.... Ever! The blue lights in the club flickered in anger, they swirled around me in dizzying circles. I tried to return my focus to my center, but the music is too loud. The bass and drums from the song are in competition with the loud thud of my heart. The sweaty bodies are closing in on me and my eyes cannot make out where I am. A loss of breath. Distorted sounds and before I can make sense of anything, my head kisses the ground and I hear loud screams before I dive into a dark oblivion where everything shuts down. Lights out.... The only thing I can hear are the huffing and puffing sounds of Steve on top of me. My mind travels back to the hotel, how I struggled to move his body, which was going cold faster than any boiled water. The helpless screams, the fast beating of the heart at the realization of what had just happened. And then the silence follows... I pass by here every weekend when I'm drunk. My body floats on the clouds and I see white, but I never go past the white light, every single time I'm brought back to the noise of the world. A doctor, a paramedic, a nurse... Anyone from health will hover over me. Ask me my name. To tell them the date and ask if I know where I'm at. My friends will burst through the door drunk and try to chastise me. My girlfriend will be teary and mad. "Lisa, I can't live like this anymore," that's what she'll say while nursing tears. It's about her every time. I'll look at her sweetly and affirm her it'll never happen again. That this is the last time. She'll pull in for a kiss, and I'll smell her Ex's cologne on her. The nurse will come in and tell everyone to leave the room and give me space. She'll then slap the living s**t out of me — oh a little detail, the nurse is my birth mother. She never raised me, we reunited after the death of Steve when I moved to EastBay for university 3 years ago, but she thinks she has some kind of hold. "I'm tired of seeing you here every week, Lisakhanya, you need to take care of yourself. I love you, but you cannot continue like this dammit!" Those will be her exact words as she fixes my pillow and tries to feed me something, as if she cares. Don't worry, I'll vomit it all out right after she leaves. It's our weekend routine, which we do every Saturday. Pass out at the club, wake up at the hospital. But... Something is different this weekend. When my eyes make sense of the surroundings, it's not the hospital. There's no nurse hovering over me. No doctor. There's no smell of medicine and pills or even disinfectants. Instead, a smell of dried lemon hits my nostrils. My eyes dart round, the roof is hardwood and so is the floor and the wall — it's a cabin. There's a burning fireplace and for a minute I'm intrigued by the cranking sound of burning wood. The bed is low, almost to the ground, but the mattress is too soft. A dry throat. I need water. A pounding headache. I need painkillers. My legs shoot in pain as I get more familiar with the room, and it's not even a second later when she walks in. I think she's walking back in from fetching whatever because the left side of the bed is warm, I sit up and watch her place the covered bowl on the bedside table and hands me the bottled water. "You will die of alcohol poisoning," she says, staring deep into my soul. I can't handle her gaze so I blur my vision. "Why do you care?" I mumble and open the bottle of water and chug it. She gets into bed and pulls bowl to uncover it. She hands it to me with a fork and grabs the water. "Don't spill on my duvet." I shake my head and accept the bowl of Chinese noodles with bioled eggs — my favourite. She watches me as I dig in the food not caring if she poured rat poison. She takes the bowl and hands me the water with painkillers. I drink without question. She rubs my back until I burp and she whispers, "good girl". The lamp is switched off and the only thing illuminating light in the room is the fireplace. She spoons me from behind and kisses my cheeks while I focus on the burning wood and the sensation brought by her warm hands on me. I call her Shy. I have many questions to ask her but I hold them in, it's not like she will answer them anyway. But it is bugging me that she didn't take me to the hospital. So I ask her. Why didn't she take me to the hospital. "You needed me. Not the hospital. Who was it this week?" She says. My breath hitches and she holds me tighter as an attempt to lock me in and make sure I don't run away again. "Steve..." I whisper. "Oh! sweet darling. I'm sorry." Her soft lips land on my forehead "Breathe, Lisa," she instructs. I drop a long sigh and turn to face her, the tears are burning my eyes. "Tell me what do you want?" She asks. I look at her, my eyes begging her to read my mind. She knows what I need but won't give it to me, she never does. Shy has taken me off the streets when I've passed out before. She has stayed with me until I was sane and yet, everytime, she's never given it to me. I just need to feel something other than the paining regret and sounds of Steve and others that haunt my body every weekend. I need her to give me a new experience, something other than this. Otherworldly. But Shy never does. She holds back. "What do you need, tell me." The words echo again. "I need you to make me feel something different, I'm begging you to give me an experience of something new. Something that'll occupy my brain for a couple of weeks that the haunting voices stop. New memories. New voices... I need to remember something other than when... You know." I drop my head. She pulls my chin up and our eyes meet again. She kisses my forehead. "I cannot be a passing feeling darling. I cannot be an escape for you. That'll hurt me more than anything, this is too precious to ruin." "You too are denying me. Is something wrong with me? Everyone has been rejecting me since birth..." I don't even finish the sentence. She shuts me up with a kiss. It's soft yet demanding and reminding me that she is the older one here. She reminds me of the power imbalance and the fact that I'm only her student. Maybe, I should tell you a bit about Shy. She is married woman. The vice chancellor of EastBay University is her husband. The same man who happens to be my biological mother's highschool lover. It's a chain even I don't have the time to explain. Shy's formal name is Professor Sydney Renea Mkhize and she lectures English Literature. I'm the Only one who calls her Shy.