by S. L. Finlay
Everyone managed to hide their feelings quite well: through the checking in with the airline, the coffee we had to have before the flight (Melbournians love their coffee!) all the way up to saying goodbye before I went through security.
When it was time to say goodbye was when everyone fell apart. We all cried, even my normally stoic father. Tears flowed freely and I caught one of the security staff looking at us. She looked sad to see me go too, which made me want to laugh but I stopped myself.
"But I'll be home before you know it!" I said to no-one in particular and to my family in general. My mother nodded at my words and my sister rolled her eyes like I had said something dumb.
Even through her own tears my sister was sarcastic, "what are you talking about?" She asked, "We'll be fine, just go through those gates and stop your crying!"
I laughed and gave her one final hug, then my mother, then my father. Then I hugged my mother again because she looked the saddest. I told her this when I was close to her ear and she gave a little laugh, the kind of, 'I know I look silly, but I don't care what anyone thinks, my baby is leaving' laugh one would expect from any mother in that situation.
Then I was off. Through the security then finding my gate and walking onto my plane. I was going to America.
CHAPTER THREE
Don't let anyone tell you LAX airport is 'fine'. It's not. LAX is what hell would be like if it were an airport. The airport is huge and hard to navigate. The people who work there have no time for you let alone time to feel bad for the poor foreign girl who talks weird and can't figure anything out.
I had a connecting flight to a smaller airport but couldn't figure out where my bags went, when a woman tried to tell me (first in Spanish) that my bags were on the other side of a barrier. She then got a man who spoke at least three languages (Spanish, English and French) who tried to interrogate me as to why I left my bag behind.
My eyes welled with tears, "I don't know." I told him, "I didn't know I had to get my bag."
"Don't worry – it's just – calm down." He muddled through, losing his stern 'you've been a bad girl' face in an instant when he saw my tears. "It's okay, we'll work this out." He said before standing up and walking towards the back of his office. He had been seated behind a glass barrier when I was told to speak to him, then he'd made me cry and couldn't get away fast enough.
He spoke to a tall black guy inside his office. I couldn't hear their words, just murmuring. I could imagine the guy I had just been chatting to telling the other guy that this girl wouldn't stop crying and could he fix the problem. The black guy shot a look over at me, one which was full of sympathy before nodding and exiting the office via a back door.
The guy who had been interviewing me sat back down on his side of the barrier and gave a nod without looking at me before saying, "Your bags will be here shortly. Thank you for flying with us today."
I thanked the man profusely but he looked like he just wanted to be left alone so I took his cue and took a few steps back.
"Should I stand here? Wait here I mean?" I asked, feeling apprehensive.
The guy nodded and turned to his computer. "Sure. That's fine. He'll be here soon."
I waited for what felt like forever when my bags appeared. The black guy was pushing them on a cart and gave me a big warm smile when he saw me. "You left something!" He called and I laughed like a pleased little girl as he bought me my bags.
"Thank you so much!" I cried as if he were rewarding me with candy after I had been trick or treating.
The man gave me a warm smile and reminded me that when I was in transit in North America, I always needed to pick up my own bags. Now I had them, I would need to take them over there (to where he pointed) and drop them on the carrousel to be taken to my next flight. I thanked him again, despite this all feeling a little silly (the double handling of my bags and needing to move them onto carrousels myself rather than them being moved automatically by the airline).
I followed his instructions, putting my bags on the little belt and heading out the doors to find my next flight.
Turns out I still managed to be late for my next flight despite thinking I was in one place. I arrived right before they closed the gate. Apparently they had been calling me over the speakers. I was met with more impatient American workers and the people on the plane who apparently all had somewhere to go.
That was a thing, Americans who had somewhere to go. Everyone was going somewhere I would find in months to come. As much as this was all very cool to experience a different culture, it was also really annoying that they were always going somewhere and never standing still.
Life is about the journey after all.
When I arrived at the smaller airport, I was exhausted. It was five PM local time (as they say on planes) and I had been travelling for more than a day in total. I was ready for a shower and a nice soft bed.
The ranch owner told me he would send someone who would hold a sign with my name on it. He got the idea from movies apparently and loved it. He had always wanted to do that for someone. I laughed along even though I didn't get the joke. I didn't know then that I would spend a whole lot of time laughing along at jokes that I didn't get when I was working with the ranch owner.
When I was off the plane though and had collected my luggage, I walked through the airport to find someone holding the sign.
I saw the man before I saw the sign. He stood out like a sore thumb in this tiny airport full of over-busy people. He was standing still and projected an air of broodiness that I wouldn't have expected to see here. When I approached him, I had hoped for him to be a little more comforting as the first friendly face I would see after hours of being on the plane by myself, in the air and out of sight of my family and friends.
Whatever I had expected in the way of comfort though wasn't forthcoming. The handsome, broody stranger with dark hair, five o'clock shadow and piercing blue eyes merely nodded when I approached saying I was the one he had been waiting for before turning and walking away from me.
I guessed I had to follow, so started after him with my cart full of luggage. I struggled to keep up as the stranger strode so quickly on long legs. He was tall and muscular. He was the kind of guy women drooled over, only he didn't give a fuck about that. He didn't seem to give a fuck about much, I thought, annoyed.
When we were outside he strode over to a car which I almost hit with my trolley. It was a white sedan and he didn't seem too pleased when I almost hit it. He broke his silence then.
"Are you right there?" He asked in an unmistakable southern accent. These were the accents I so loved, the ones I came here to be surrounded by. I didn't expect the first one I heard to be so rude, however.
When he 'popped the trunk' (as American's call the boot of a car) he took my bags off the trolley without asking and placed them inside before motioning for me to get in what would be the driver's side of an Australian car. I hesitated for a second before I remembered that in North America they drive on the other side of the road to us and that I really wasn't driving the car there. I shook my head and took the few steps I needed before opening the door and climbing into my side of the car while the grumpy stranger got rid of the trolley.
As I waited there, I felt a little funny. I had gotten into this car with a stranger for what reason? Was I crazy? He did have my name though, and I had agreed to come to America to work for a stranger who would send another stranger with a sign to pick me up at the airport, so it wasn't all bad really. Or at least that was what I said to myself.
The whole drive there – and it was a long drive – I fought to keep myself awake while the stranger didn't say a word to me. He didn't even introduce himself so I would have a name to call him which frustrated me. In my head, he was just the stranger. The stranger who had picked me up at the airport, the stranger who seemed rude even if he was pretty.
Well, not pretty. But handsome in that rugged way that I liked. Plenty of Australian men were handsome in just the same way, being r
ugged and everything. But this was different, this guy not only had an exotic edge to those guys but he was also deadly sexy to boot. The broodiness might have added to that. I would have noticed that I was sure if I hadn't been so tired.
After around an hour of driving I gave in to the fatigue and fell asleep. I know it would sound stupid to people who weren't there, but I was sure if he wanted to hurt me that he could, it wouldn't matter if I was conscious or not. I was already under his control since I was already in his car.
I didn't dream – which is strange for me – but instead my sleep then, and for the next few jetlagged nights, was deep and dark. As if I had fallen into a well of my unconscious. One I wasn't going to get out of. Deep and dark and comforting.
We arrived at the ranch late and the stranger showed me to my room in the way only the most disinterested could. He dropped my bags on the bed before turning around and walking right out.
"Wait!" I called after him and he turned, "Don't I get to meet the ranch owner?"
The stranger shook his head at me, his eyes filled with contempt. "No."
"Well, why not?" I asked, feeling like a wounded child. "I have travelled all this way, why can't I meet him?"
The stranger shook his head at me again, "It's late. He will be asleep."
Then the stranger turned on his heel and walked away. Leaving me alone in the room with my thoughts. I felt so isolated in that moment but reminded myself how this wasn't a big deal, how I had signed up to be help around their ranch, not for a holiday camp and I would need to fit into their work day.
As I showered in the an suite bathroom (one I couldn't believe I had! What a luxury!) I thought about how I had gotten myself into this situation. Part of my brain – the crying little girl part which I wanted to pretend didn't exist – was crying out for this to be over, to just get back on that plane and go home. The other part of my brain was telling that part to shut up. I was on an adventure, this is what I wanted.
The adventure had started in an anti-climactic way I reasoned but it would get better. It always gets better.
It's all up from here I told myself as I pressed the big puffy white towel to my body and enjoyed the feel of it against my skin. It felt wonderful and warm on my damp skin and that made me smile. The familiar comfort.
I was getting into my pyjamas, a pair of pink flannel PJs that were so well worn they were getting holes, which I bought with me under the guise of only wearing them a few times and throwing them away, but which I appreciated so much right now as a comfort from home.
I'd climbed into my bed and switched off the light when there was knocking on my door. Confused, I jumped back up again and lazily opened the door.
There was an old man standing there in those long john pyjamas you saw in old movies. This guy could be a cartoon character with the way he looked: all white beard and old time PJs. It got worse when he opened his mouth to talk to me and his voice was so southern I almost thought he was going to offer me fried chicken.
"Hello!" He said happily, "Billy told me you'd come in. Said you wanted to say hello, so here I am!"
Every word he said sounded like it was a little too high pitched, as if his words themselves were happy. It took me off guard but made me smile at the same time.
"Hi!" I said in answer, noting that the strangers name must be Billy. "Yeah, Billy told me you would be sleeping."
The old man chuckled. "No darlin', I never sleep!" He told me. "But maybe we can leave this for tomorrow, because you look like you need to." He told me, looking at my face gravely.
Even after a shower, I must look awful. I knew I felt awful after all the travel.
"Yes. I do." I confirmed. "Perhaps we can talk more tomorrow?"
The old man nodded. "I would like that. Now you sleep well little lady."
He smiled and disappeared down the hall. I grabbed the door knob and closed the door quietly before turning the light back off and getting into bed. I felt one hundred times better after talking to the old rancher. I needed that. I needed to feel welcomed.
And with that last thought of how wonderful it was to meet him and how charming the little old man had been, I drifted into a dreamless jet lagged sleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
My first few days on the ranch were a little strange. Although I was there to do administrative tasks, no-one sat me down and told me which ones I was supposed to do. The ranch owner would leave in the morning along with the other workers and they would be working the ranch all day until the evening when they would arrive back at the ranch for dinner.
There was one woman who worked in the home as a sort of maid/cook/general mother of everybody. She tried to help me, but she wasn't sure what I was supposed to be doing and I got the impression she didn't really want me there anyway. As if this was her ranch and I was an intruder, I would often slink away after she refused my help in the kitchen giving me looks that told me I was being immensely inappropriate thinking I had a right to offer my help.
I found the office – or what should have been the office – on day three, after plenty of sitting around and doing nothing on both day one and two. Flicking the old computer on, I waited a full five minutes for it to boot up. When it did, the icons on the screen were like those I had seen in old movies. Everything appeared in 2D and I wasn't sure how to connect to the internet on this thing.
How could I manage the books when I couldn't work out what had happened before? How could I learn the parts of the job I didn't already know without ready access to internet search engines?
I huffed and decided to corner the ranch owner at dinner, to ask him to make some time to show me how he had kept the books to date before turning the computer off and going to my room to write in my travel journal.
I kept a travel journal and promised myself that I would write in it every day, but wound up writing in it far more often than that. It was my company when I first arrived and I would write every little thing I had done in it.
Bored as hell, I didn't have much else to do. So I wrote, and I offered help where it wasn't needed, and I generally tried to make the best of the situation.
When dinner came around on that third night I made sure I grabbed a seat near the ranch owner, who I had been too shy to go too close to since I had arrived, but who I wasn't going to let myself be too shy around anymore. I was going to make this happen. I was going to make him listen to me.
Sitting there I smiled at him and asked him how his day was. He seemed surprised to see me and had a little chat with me, a very polite little chat.
Billy though cut in to our conversation before I had a chance to bring up the problems I was having. Billy talked to the owner as if he hadn't been interrupting our conversation. They talked about the ranch, I think, using terms I hadn't heard before. They were talking about 'roping' and herd numbers. They were talking about fences and costs. It was all numbers, but I wasn't totally sure what was going on.
I tried to interrupt their conversation for clarification but Billy would bat my questions away with the flick of the wrist, as if I was an annoying fly.
I sighed, sat back in my chair and pushed my food around my plate as Billy took the owner off mid-way through dinner to talk to him about ranch stuff, and to show him things.
It occurred to me how unnecessary I was, if they could just walk away from me before I had had a chance to ask them anything. I brewed over those feelings for a few minutes before I decided enough was enough. I had come here to have an amazing American experience, yet I wasn't having that. I didn't want to be a helper who couldn't help and now I was in-country with a visa, I knew it would be plenty easier to get another job.
I wasn't going to let this slide. I needed to work, even if I was going to do work that wasn't in my job description.
Marching up to the ranch owner and Billy it was my turn to interrupt them. "Hey!" I called when I was still a few steps away and growing closer. When I was close enough to be heard properly I asked, "So what do you want me to do aro
und here? I am not sure what you need right now."
They both looked towards me, the owner with the look of someone immensely surprised to see me there and Billy with the look of someone immensely put out by my presence. It was like my question did more than stepping on his toes, it was kicking him in the shins.
Looking from one to the other I told them, "I am sorry to interrupt, but I have been here three days and have not been working. I just want to be sure you're getting your money's worth from me." The last part of my comment was very much aimed at the owner, whereas the first part was owned solely at Billy, with his grumpy scrawl.
Billy looked as if he was going to put me in my place when the owner held up his hand to him. "No, that's okay little lady. I was just trying to give you some time for settlin' in."
I nodded slightly, I hadn't thought of that and felt a little guilty. "Okay." I said, feeling a little silly.
"Well, I am ready when you are to talk about this." I said, trying to save a little face as I looked from the owner to Billy, pretending not to notice the look Billy was giving me, a look that told me he thought I should be anywhere but here. "But I can see you are busy now. Perhaps tomorrow we could sit down and go over everything?"
The ranch owner gave me a kind smile and nodded. "Sure thing little lady!"
I smiled back and thanked him before turning on my heel to walk away.
I could feel Billy's eyes on me all the way back to my room. Even as I knew his eyes couldn't see through walls, I felt them on me as I relaxed in my room. As if there was this shame following me.
Red faced I sunk into the bed, feeling silly and more like a fish out of water than I had felt to date. The ranch owner had been being nice, giving me some space to settle in to a new home, work, and country and I had thought I was being neglected. How much of a sad sack had I been?