A Trip Abroad

INSERT 2

*Lisa Jonas*

It was just a kiss. A soft one on the lips and she cuddled me like a little baby after. She pulled me closer to her, kissed my forehead and told me in due time we will move to the next level. I slept in her arms, warmly and full.

This Sunday morning, the weather is foul. It is misty and rainy in EastBay as usual, I can hear the sound of the raindrops. Shy's cabin is by the lake deep in the woods. It's far off from the town and its people. I guess we can call it a great hiding place.

I stretch my arms and walk outside to the patio. I can feel the cold breeze against my skin but I'm too occupied to pay attention to the physical pain the cold is bringing. I think about a lot of things when I am here… who I am. What my purpose in life is. You know, the silly existential crisis we all go through. It's funny to me because on the outside, people think I had the best life. If anything, it was the worst.

I had an abusive father who worked in parliament before I killed him in his sleep. A Mother who was an opera singer and died on the hands of a man she thought was her safety.

It would take a whole day to relay my childhood history. But my dad had many wives.

My biological mom was the first wife but she escaped his claws when I was 2-days old. He promoted his then mistress to wife. The opera singer who I thought was my mother. I never knew he was abusive until he took her life in the kitchen while I was watching. Blood was everywhere… I couldn't do anything.

He said to me Mama wasn't behaving well anymore. And she needed to go.

He was unapologetic about what he had done. I peed on the bed every night from that day on until I was 12 years old. Her gouged out eyes and the intestines soiled on the floor invaded my dreams. He had stabbed her to death with a kitchen knife. I didn't hear her screams when it happened but when I was asleep, they haunted me. I could hear them clearly. The way she begged him to stop, apologised for s**t she didn't even do. s**t she didn't know she had done. How she cried for him to at least let me leave the kitchen. But he insisted that I stand there and watch him harvest her organs. She cried, I know she did but I remember it only in my dreams. And then the silence… The silence scared me. It's when she gave up. It's when she crossed the line and ran to the light as he continued to violate her body. That's where my nightmare usually stops. When the screaming turns into silence.

The therapist told me I was suppressing the event. He said I remember what happened that evening but my brain is protecting me by suppressing the memory. He tried to do hypnosis but I just wouldn't give in. He offered to put me on a controlled dose of psychedelics but I refused. I vehemently refused because I've heard stories about what those can do. The idea of losing control and trusting the next person with information I probably will not remember, isn't something I want to do.

But this morning, the trees are swaying and responding to the blowing winds followed by rain and thunder. I only noticed that she's next to me when she brushed my sides. I'm also barefoot. The floor is cold. Hell, it's even wet.

“Are you good?” She whispers.

I nod in response.

“I made us a cup of rooibos tea. Your breakfast is on top of the bedside table. I thought you'd still be sleeping.”

“The thunder woke me. You didn't have to prepare breakfast though, I could've grabbed something when we got to town.”

“Nonsense… I bought some things last night on the drive here. There's enough food and it would be a crime to not feed you. Come…”

She takes my hand and we walk back inside. I sit on the floor and she brings me the tray with a bowl of oats, toasted bread with scrambled eggs. She also brings tea and a bottle of water.

“Thank you,” I say, expressing my gratitude.

“What's on your mind?” she asks as she joins me on the floor with her own cup. I sigh heavily and glance at her

“Last night it was Steve and today my mom — well, I think I should refer to her as my step mom.” I shrug my shoulders.

“But you know you don't have to do that. She raised you and loved you. According to me, that's worth calling her your mom.”

“But the thing is Shy, she wasn't my real mom. Yes she loved me, took care of me and I actually didn't know she wasn't my mother until I was 15 and my father's then girlfriend insulted me. According to her, I was taking too long to get over the grief. She thought my mom died by suicide, ain't that funny. She wasn't aware that he was an abusive piece of s**t until later when he married her and got dangled on the balcony of the 20th floor on the night of their honeymoon,” I laugh. Shy frowns and I roll my eyes. I'm laughing at the irony of her story, not at the fact that she was abused. But I don't explain to Shy. I just let her frown and I take in spoons of the oats with milk, butter and a drizzle of cinnamon. It's a good bowl. Silence sits in the room and the only sound is from the rain and the cranking made by the burning wood.

“Was she the first girlfriend after your mom?” she asks, finally. The silence was begging to make me uneasy.

I swallow quickly and take a sip of the tea before my eyes land on her — beautiful hazel brown eyes, curly ginger hair resting on her shoulders. The colour of her hair is in perfect contrast with the Bundi red kaftan she is wearing.

“She wasn't. She was number two. But she was fortunate to have escaped. I sometimes wonder where she is, probably moved to a remote town somewhere in South Asia, changed her name to Kenya and lived her life peacefully.”

“You have a funny way of telling stories,” she chuckles.

“It comes with the trauma. Anyway, enough about me and my stuff. You said you have something to tell me.”

She sits up and her face lights up.

“Uhm yes. I've been invited to an academic conference in New York city. It's 3 weeks from now and I want you to go with me. I've talked to Richard and he said it's okay to bring an assistant. And your grades have been great for this semester, it wasn't hard to convince them that it would be beneficial.” She sounds passionate and excited about this

“How long will it be?” I ask.

“The conference will run for 3-days but we'll be in New York City for a week .”

I sigh… and look at her.

“I want to but I'm not sure… New York City? It sounds like a great escape from all this..”

“I'm sensing a but…” she says and I nod.

“I'm a risk Shy. A mental case risk.”

She moves the tray to the side and pulls me. Her hand rests on both my thighs and with a smile, she looks at me lovingly. I feel my insides get warm and fuzzy.

“You're my mental case.”

“Don't be cute!” I say then playfully roll my eyes. She laughs and my cheeks come in contact with her warm hands as she cups my face. She plants soft kisses all over my face, I giggle and then she exhales and brushes my braids back.

“You are not a mental case. And besides, you will be with me at all times. Whenever you feel like you're drifting, I'll be there to catch you, my love.”

“You sound poetic and dreamy and I love it,” I responded with a smile. She rolls her eyes and kisses me on the lip.

“I want you there with me. I can't spend a week in New York with Richard,” she says.

“Your husband, Richard. The vice chancellor…”

“Yes, exactly him. I want to have New York with you.”

For a minute we lock eyes. She wants to have it with me… New York City. The experience of it. She wants to share it with me and that's making warm fuzzy butterflies in my stomach. I nod and kiss her sides.

“Okay. I'll go with you as your assistant.”

“And as my assistant, you have duties to do. Don't think you'll be a cute thing on my side.”

“Got it!” I tell her with a smile.

I wasn't expecting to be a cute thing because Shy’s work ethic is out of this world. She expects excellence in everything she does. It's toxic sometimes, but I think it's her way of coping with things only she knows.

She gives me a kiss on the cheeks and instructs me to finish my breakfast and then take a bath. We'll have to leave the cabin in a couple of hours and drive back to town. Back to the people. Where she and I are not a pair but a student and a professor. Where I have to pass her like we've never shared a kiss in fear we might get busted and have both our careers compromised. But it's worth it. She makes it so…