Safe Without You

by Ward, H.

  Cal slumped on her back, stroking her head and neck before slowly drawing himself out of her. He flopped back onto the sand, and pulled Amber across his body. She lay there, breathing hard, her hands flat on his chest, her head resting on his belly. His fingers combed across her head as they lay silently. Clouds floated across to cover the moon, dampening its light, and the breeze picked up, making Amber shiver. Cal tightened his arms around her, drawing her up so that the lengths of their bodies touched. Finally, when their breathing slowed, Cal found his voice, “Please don’t go to Darien, Amber McShane.”

  Journal Reflection 4

  Did you know that in ancient Greece, wrestling was the first sport they added to the Olympics after footraces? The wrestlers started from standing positions, but the most important position strategically involved one wrestler lying on his belly, the other over the top of him. The one on the bottom tried not to submit—they did everything in their power to overthrow the opponent on top, who basically tried to choke them into surrender. And while the contestants were naked, you couldn’t grab your opponent’s junk, and hitting and kicking wasn’t allowed either. Pretty much anything else was fair game though.

  There are some men you just want to run away from, and some you run toward, and some try to force you to submit, and some just make you want to struggle against them so that they have to work really hard to reach you. The physical ways we manifest this interior world are difficult to explain too. Why do we decide to screw this way and not that way at any given moment in time? Does the position we assume when we’re having sex say something about what’s going on in our hearts or in our minds or in our gonads? And the most baffling question of all is: when does fucking become ‘having sex?’ And what elevates the same mechanics to ‘making love?’

  Sometimes I think the position of strength in any challenge is when you choose to submit. I don’t mean give up, or become a doormat—I mean when you make yourself vulnerable. It seems contradictory, doesn’t it?

  I remember going to the dentist the first time I ever had to get a filling. The dentist seemed huge to me, although I think he was about the same size as my dad, but somehow, as I was tilted back in the padded chair, to my ten-year old eyes, he looked like a menacing giant. I was gripping the arms of the chair so hard that my knuckles had turned white, and he could feel the edge of terror threatening to overtake me. I remember him smiling kindly, and patting my hand paternally. “Are you feeling a little scared?” he asked. “Everyone is a little scared the first time they have a filling.” Then he opened his mouth and pointed out his own fillings. “I have fillings. Here,” he said, as he handed me the little dental mirror, “Have a good look in there.”

  Looking back at it, I think he was pretty brave to put his mouth at the mercy of a ten year old with a metal instrument in her hands. I peered into his mouth, and nothing particularly terrible seemed to be going on in there. “See?” he said, “No big deal. If you feel ready to give it a go, I have something that’s going to help you relax. Do you trust me?” I remember nodding, and he gave me a good hit of nitrous oxide. “You might feel a little dizzy or like you want to laugh, but that’s okay. We’re going to get your filling done lickety-split.” And he did—just like he promised. That was the first time I ever experienced an altered state, and I felt so giggly he probably could have done brain surgery and I wouldn’t have cared, but the thing I remember most is that he lived up to his promise—I relaxed, and it seemed to take no time at all.

  He was a smart guy, that dentist. He managed the situation not by forcing me to submit to what he wanted, but by letting me feel like I had some control. He made himself a little bit vulnerable, but the result he got was exactly the one he wanted. But I think about those early wrestlers, too. On one hand they had to trust that their opponent was going to follow the rules and that he wasn’t going to suddenly kick them in the balls while their entire package was exposed. Still, the thing that determined the match in the end was a combination of force and strategy.

  So how does it work with sex and feelings? Do you suck it up and let the person you’re with have a little look inside, or do you struggle against their will, and maybe get choked? Or maybe…you just hit them where it hurts…and run like hell.

  Chapter 4

  “What are you going to do when you get your new plane?” Amber asked as she sucked at a straw stuck into a coconut. “By the way, I think I need some rum in this coconut.”

  “I’m sure we can go to town and buy a bottle of rum, but I thought you were being economical.”

  Amber pouted at the reminder, “Stop harshing my day.”

  “Just saying.” Cal pushed his sunglasses up on his nose, “You said you were down to $378.42 last night. I’m floating you a place to crash and picking up most of our food.”

  “Stop making me sound like I’m a freeloader.”

  “Well, getting loaded is never free.” He lifted up his sunglasses, “You’re getting burnt.” He picked up the bottle and slathered lotion on Amber’s shoulders.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Amber rolled over on her stomach so that Cal could do her back.

  “You can get a bottle of rum for five bucks, if you want.”

  “No, not the rum, what are you going to do when you get a new plane? What happens when you go back to work?”

  Cal’s motion changed from a vigorous rubbing to a slow caress, “I’m not really sure.”

  “How can you not be sure? Do you just wait for clients to call, or is there some kind of scheduled service, or what? Where the heck do you keep your plane?”

  “It’s complicated,” Cal said.

  “Complicated? How can you not know where you’re going to park a new Cessna?” Amber rolled her eyes.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t know, I said it’s complicated.”

  Amber pushed herself up from the sand to a seated position. “This cryptic bullshit is getting old, Cal. I’ve been totally upfront about my unemployed status, my lack of funds, my plan to go to Darien. And all you do is tell me to not go to Darien because you have this idea that there are revolutionaries or drug king pins or some bullshit people running around in the jungles there.”

  “Well, they are. Not in the main part of the park, but along the Colombian border.”

  “And I’m supposed to believe that because you are some kind of mysterious—and apparently not very good—pilot? That’s bogus. I like you Cal, but if you want me to stick around, you need to give up the cloak and dagger routine.”

  Cal suddenly blurted out, “FARC is holding my dad hostage.”

  Amber blinked slowly, trying to process what that meant. “That’s the family trauma you’ve been alluding to?” Amber’s voice was soft and careful.

  “I told you my dad’s a military contractor, right? Well, he was captured in Colombia along with two US Army officers. They were trying to help negotiate a hostage release, and things went totally off the rails. FARC is not the most logical organization.”

  “Shit, I’m sorry. So this has been going on for two years?”

  “They have hostages they’ve been moving around for a lot longer than that, six, even seven years. You’d think after a couple of years of not getting any ransom for them, they’d just think it was more trouble than it’s worth and either let them go or blow their heads off. But they don’t seem to think that way.”

  “So you know for a fact he’s alive? That’s good.” Amber put a gentle hand on Cal’s leg.

  “There was a video six months ago, but one of the other hostages was clearly very sick with some kind of jungle fever. They all looked skinny and haggard, and you can’t fight off infections when your immune system is compromised like that.” Cal rubbed at his jaw.

  “But the army or somebody is trying to rescue them, right?”

  “So they say.” Cal didn’t look convinced, Amber thought. “I shouldn’t even be talking about this,” he said, “But I want you to stay and you’re forcing my hand.”

  �
�I’m not the enemy here. Don’t get pissed off at me.”

  Amber stood up, brushing the sand off her legs. Her simple blue bikini covered more of her than some suits on the beach, but it still showed off her assets. Cal noticed two older men a short distance away checking Amber out, and making lewd gestures behind her back. That definitely pissed him off. “Sit down, those pervs over there are getting off on your ass.”

  “So if another man finds me attractive, they’re a pervert?” Amber huffed.

  “They are when they are fifty years old and practically slobbering on themselves. Stop making them want to go choke the chicken.”

  “The possessive shit is not attractive—it doesn’t do a damn thing for me, Cal.” She eyed him coolly as she wrapped a cotton sarong around her waist. “There—I’ve covered up my ass. Are you happy?” She grabbed her string bag with her valuables. “I’m going to go buy a bottle of rum. You are welcome to come.”

  Cal stayed seated, and watched her go, unwilling to admit that he had been overbearing.

  As Amber stomped down the beach, she felt conflicted. She was sorry about Cal’s father, and could understand how that would put someone on edge, but it didn’t give him the right to order her around, or to act like she was deliberately provoking negative attention. Besides, she thought, what did she really know about Cal? He could be making up all that stuff about his dad. It seemed pretty far-fetched. Then she started questioning the little he had told her about himself. Maybe he wasn’t even a pilot. Maybe those scars were just from a car wreck or something. Maybe Cal was some kind of pathological liar. She remembered reading an article once about how sociopaths can be incredibly charming—and dominating. Her mind starting running away with the ‘what ifs,’ and she started to view everything he had done through the lens of deception and fabrication.

  What Amber didn’t want to admit was that she couldn’t trust her own judgment. When she got up to buy the rum, she had just wanted a moment to digest what Cal had confessed about his father, and to escape her own irritation at his bossiness. She had never intended to put Cal to some kind of test, but as her imagination made her question him more and more, there was an unexpected opportunity.

  A little while later, Cal noticed that Amber was walking back down the beach toward their spot, but she had a guy on each side of her. One was in between them in age, maybe mid 20s, the other a bit older than him, perhaps early 30s. They were good looking and athletic, and their tiny speedo bathing suits and pale skin marked them as European. Amber was laughing in a flirty way and Cal wondered if she was deliberately trying to make him jealous. They looked like they might be brothers, and the older of the two had smoothly rested his hand on the small of Amber’s back. The problem with Amber, Cal thought, was that she carried herself like someone much older. He doubted that the guy walking her down the beach realized that she was only twenty-one.

  “This is Denes,” Amber gestured to the younger of the two men, “And this is Tomás. They’re Hungarian,” she said by way of introduction. “This is my brother, Cal.” Amber stared at Cal. “Denes and Tomás are siblings, too.”

  The two Hungarians stuck out their hands and Cal shook them perfunctorily. “Nice to meet you,” Cal said, in a voice flat with controlled misgivings. He wondered why Amber playing some not very funny game.

  “Cal’s been in kind of a bad mood today, that’s why I went to get the rum.” She held up the bottle. “We just need some coconuts.”

  Denes saw a vendor down the beach and waved at him, holding up four fingers. The man came with four coconuts and a machete and hacked holes in each one on the spot. The coconut vendor stuck straws in while Denes produced money from some tiny pocket in his skimpy swimsuit. Amber uncapped the rum and poured generous shots into each coconut.

  “Here Cal,” she said as she handed one to him, “Maybe this will loosen you up.”

  Cal took the coconut and dutifully sucked at the rum, but he thought Amber was acting childish considering he’d just told her about his dad. Clearly, he thought, she was fixated on what she perceived as him being possessive, and she was making her point about it very clear.

  The Hungarian brothers flopped down on the sand. Denes sat cross-legged, while Tomás pulled Amber back between his legs so that she leaned against his chest.

  “So what do you do?” Tomás asked Cal, trying to be friendly.

  “I work for the DEA,” Cal said, laughing harshly.

  “DEA?” Denes asked, “What’s that?”

  Amber pressed her lips together and gave Cal a piercing look. “It stands for Drug Enforcement Agency. But he’s just making a joke.”

  “Oh,” Denes said politely. “I see.”

  “Cal’s a pilot,” Amber said as she rested her arm on Tomás’ muscled leg. “Small plane charters,” she added. Silently she thought: or so he claims.

  Tomás looked impressed. “Flying must be very interesting. I just teach high school biology.”

  “But the birds and bees are pretty fascinating, don’t you think?” Amber commented, knowing that Tomás wouldn’t catch the implication.

  “Oh yes, flora and fauna are very interesting, I love zoology and botany very much. But you know, I have to teach about cells and eco-systems and all that too.” Tomás played with Amber’s hair with one hand and it was starting to make Cal crazy, along with Tomás’ accent— Cal kept feeling like Count Dracula was hitting on his woman.

  “How long are you staying in Panama?” Cal asked, assessing the threat level.

  We’ve been here two weeks already, and Denes has to fly back day after tomorrow, but I’m staying two more weeks,” Tomás said.

  “Tomás was also planning on going to the National Park, so now you don’t have to worry about me, I can go to Darien with him.” Amber’s lips pursed slightly as she gauged Cal’s response.

  Cal stood up, shoving his coconut at Amber. “I think I’ve had too much sun and I need to get some work done. I’m going to go now.” His voice softened and there was a hint of a question as he looked at Amber. “I’ll see you…later?” Amber’s eyes followed as Cal strode off.

  “Your brother seems…out of sorts,” Denes said.

  “Yes, that’s a good way of putting it, ” Amber replied, her sea of doubt only amplified by the fact that the emotion in Cal’s voice felt real.

  ###

  It was late when Tomás and Denes walked Amber back to Cal’s bungalow. Amber was more than tipsy, although her pair of escorts seemed little impaired. The trio had stayed on the beach drinking rum, and then gone to the inn where the brothers were staying so that they could get dressed. They then took her to dinner where they drank more. Clearly they had some practice drinking, Amber thought, as she leaned against Tomás, his arm around her waist. And clearly she was trying to avoid any self-examination.

  A short distance away from the bungalow, Amber shooed them away, “I don’t want to wake up Cal, especially if he’s not feeling well,” she explained. “Don’t misjudge him,” she said softly, “He’s not always in a bad mood. He has a lot of things on his mind.”

  “Sure,” Denes said, “See you tomorrow,” and he turned and walked away discreetly, leaving his older brother alone with Amber.

  “What about his sister? How is her mood?” Tomás asked as he pulled Amber to him. She could feel Tomás’ burgeoning erection straining against the light cotton of his pants. He began nibbling at her neck and then whispered in her ear, “We could have some fun down on the beach.”

  Amber hiccupped, “Not like this.” She made it seem as if her drunken state was her excuse, “If I’m going to have fun, I need to be a little more sober.”

  Tomás didn’t push, “Okay. There will be time, I think, to have fun.” He smiled and kissed her on the cheek. “Where should we meet tomorrow?”

  “At the coffee bar, around 10. It’s the one painted green, right on the beach.” Amber hiccupped again. “Excuse me,” she said, covering her mouth with a hand.

  Tomás laughed, “I’
ll see you tomorrow.” He kissed her once, hard on the mouth, then turned and left.

  Amber shuffled the short distance to the bungalow, but when she tried the door, she found it locked. She leaned her face against the door, listening for any sound as she tapped lightly. There wasn’t any answer, and then she knocked harder. When Cal still didn’t answer, she pounded at the door as hard as she could, kicking it with one foot.

  “Damn it Cal, let me in,” she yelled. “Let me in right now.” Still there wasn’t any answer. She slumped down to the ground, her back against the door and her head resting on her arms across her knees. A few more minutes passed, and then she heard the faint sound of the tumblers in the lock clicking as the doorknob was turned. She scrambled to her feet, drunken tears running down her face.

  When Cal opened the door she threw her arms around his neck and said over and over, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

  Cal stood there impassively, “You need to grow up, that shit can’t stand.”

  “I didn’t fuck him, I swear, I only drank and had dinner with the both of them. I promise I didn’t fuck him.”

  Untangling her arms from around his neck, Cal simply turned around and got back in bed. Amber sat on the other side of the bed, and scuffed off her flip-flops as she tried to unknot her sarong. She couldn’t make her fingers work quite right and in frustration, she finally just ripped the cloth to get it off. She pulled off her bathing suit, and brushed at the sand clinging under her breasts. “I’m sorry Cal, I started having all these crazy thoughts. I don’t know why I did that.”