Burning Moon

by Jo Watson

  “Yep. Since you left he’s just been moping around. To be honest, I love him, to bits. He’s my best friend in the world, but if I have to endure another night of ‘Lilly this’ and ‘Lilly that’ and ‘Lilly the next thing,’ I might beat him.”

  This was the best thing I’d heard in almost 356 bloody long, depressing, painful days.

  “And I’m not saying this to try and make you feel bad or anything. I mean I know you’ve got on with your life and started dating again—”

  I cut her off immediately. “I’m not dating anyone!”

  Jess looked genuinely confused. “Really?”

  “Absolutely not. What gave you that idea?” I felt angry with her for even making that assumption.

  “Okay, I’ll be honest again. I’ve been stalking you on Facebook…on Damien’s behalf, though. If I don’t voluntarily go to your profile and scan your wall, he steals my phone and does it himself, since you blocked him. And we saw those pictures of you with that guy, that good-looking blond one that had his arm around you. We just assumed you were a couple, you looked like one.”

  I mentally ran through my Facebook photo album in an attempt to figure out what she was talking about. And then I remembered it. That “surprise” blind date, when Jane had taken those pictures and shouted out, in a very not-so-subtle fashion, “Put your arm around her, Brad.”

  I was mortified then, and I was mortified now.

  “I…I wasn’t dating him, well, sort of…just a little…” Great! My nervous stutter made an untimely return. “I mean, we were kind of, but…not really, we only went on a few dates, but I didn’t really like him.”

  “Well Damien thought you did. In fact, it couldn’t have come at a worse time for him. About five months ago he was planning on coming back to South Africa and then he saw those pictures, and, well…”

  I gasped. I couldn’t believe it; Damien had been planning to come to South Africa. I mentally cursed Val for her new obsession with Instagram and this uncontrollable urge she now possessed to take photos of everyone and then post them on Facebook with over ten dozen hashtags.

  I could only imagine what Damien must have thought when he saw those pictures, and if the roles had been reversed, I’m not sure how I would have responded.

  “Why…why was he coming to South Africa?” I finally managed to ask.

  I looked at Jess as she moved a piece of red velvet cake around her plate, which left a thick snaillike trail of icing behind it.

  “He wanted to get you back.”

  “Shit!” I put my head in my hands. “But he’s coming back soon, isn’t he?”

  Jess shook her head. “He’s decided not to come back for a while.”

  Her words stung me. “What? Why?”

  “He doesn’t think he has anything to come back to at the moment. I think that at the back of his mind he was hoping you guys would get back together.”

  Everyone and everything in the coffee shop disappeared. Suddenly I was in the Matrix. The world around me was now just a series of numbers and flashing green dots, blurry images, monotonous droning sounds, and slow-motion movements. I took in the full implications of those words.

  Damien was not coming back to South Africa.

  I would never see him again.

  There was no chance for us.

  It’s amazing what an impact social media can have on our lives. One photo of me—taken at the wrong time, and with bad hair—goes viral for the world to see; a few innocent photos of me with some guy I didn’t even like has the power to stop Damien dead in his tracks. “So where’s he now?” I asked Jess while waving the waiter down. I needed cake.

  “He’s in Japan, but he’s going to Thailand tomorrow, it’s Burning Moon again.”

  FLICK!

  The sound of a light bulb turning on.

  The sound of clarity.

  Brilliant, shiny clarity.

  The same kind of clarity I’d had when I decided to go on my honeymoon alone.

  “Where…where is it going to be?” I was getting fired up now and got up from my chair.

  “Not sure. The map hasn’t gone out yet.”

  “How do I get a ticket?”

  Jess looked at me for a moment before her face lit up. “That’s a brilliant idea. Please, please save me from the torture of having a miserable best friend and, for God’s sake, go and get him. Please. I beg you.”

  “I need a ticket. Can I come with you?”

  “Sharon and I aren’t going this year. But I can get you one.” Jess jumped up and grabbed me by the shoulders. “And please, when you get there, have sex with him as soon as possible—”

  “Jess!” I hissed at her, looking around to see if anyone had heard.

  “Sorry,” Jess said. “But I think if a man goes without sex for a whole year it makes him mad. So go and do something about it! For all of our sakes. Please.”

  “He hasn’t been with anyone this whole time?” My heart melted at the thought.

  “Not that I know of. And we tell each other everything. And I mean everything.”

  I smiled at Jess. “Fine! I’ll do something about it then.”

  “Oohhh.” She playfully slapped me on the arm. “The new and improved, nonprudish Lilly. I like it. You’re a nasty girl.”

  And then her face changed and her expression became serious for the first time ever. I’d never seen her like this before.

  “He’s crazy about you, Lilly. Completely head over heels. I’ve known Damien since we were kids riding our bicycles up and down the street. We’ve been through a lot together and I know him better than anyone on this planet—and that’s why I know you guys are perfect for each other. So go and get him, hot stuff!”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  My mother said something to me once. Well, she’d burbled something to me in a somewhat slurred voice with the half-closed eyes of a mad, drunken woman, while trying to pick herself up off the floor. (It was a delightful sight, which is probably why her words have stuck with me through all the years.)

  “Sometimes in order to move forward, you have to go back to the beginning again.” *Hiccup*

  At the time I’d paid her no heed. I never did. I thought the words were nothing more than the intoxicated ramblings of my liquored-up mother, the actress who talked incessantly but never said a single thing. At the time she’d said it, I thought she was just trying to justify the fact that she was being dragged into rehab for the fifth time.

  But now, holding a ticket to Thailand in my sweaty hand once again, almost a year to the day, I got it.

  The trip had been a very easy sell to my family and friends this time—they practically pushed me onto the plane. Any reservations they had once had about my feelings for Damien were all gone. I strode into the airport feeling happier than I had in nearly twelve months, and then I stopped. There was Annie, leaning against a pillar with a massive smile on her face and a bag at her feet.

  “What are you doing here?” I ran up to her.

  “I’m coming with you.” She smiled at me playfully. “Someone needs to make sure you don’t go missing again.”

  I threw my arms around my cousin. I loved the idea of having company on the trip. We linked arms and walked through the airport together. It felt strange—sort of familiar and yet totally different this time. I was different. For starters, I wasn’t wearing my pajamas, but most importantly I wasn’t scared shitless that my life was falling apart and that I was alone.

  I had learned that life is a game of improvisation—you have to adapt to the unforeseen circumstances and roll with the punches. But I also learned that as you go, you learn to defend yourself. Until you get stronger and faster and better.

  I felt better.

  I managed to get onto the plane this time without causing delays and incurring the dirty death stares of the other passengers. Bizarrely, I was sitting in almost exactly same place as the last time. Annie was nowhere near me, as we hadn’t booked tickets at the same time, but it was very comfor
ting knowing that she was there. As I buckled up, I couldn’t help myself and immediately looked up the aisle in the direction that Damien had been sitting before, on the off (far, far off) chance that fate would have brought him back to me that easily, but she hadn’t.

  I looked around at my fellow travelers. To my left were obvious honeymooners, desperate for a horizontal surface, or perhaps waiting for the toilet to become conveniently unoccupied. Across the aisle from me sat an angry-looking teenage girl and her tired-looking parents. In front of me sat an old couple that appeared to be in their seventies. I wondered if Damien and I would ever be like that one day.

  Everyone around me was settling in nicely now as the plane reached its cruising altitude. Books were opened, iPads were turned on, and TV screens fired to life. But as they were watching their movies and reading their novels, I was playing a totally different kind of movie in my head, over and over again.

  It went a little something like this.

  I arrive at Burning Moon, looking gorgeous, of course, and I immediately go to find Damien, who is no doubt already settled into his favorite moon-watching spot. I walk up to him confidently and call out his name. As he turns, our eyes lock and he smiles at me—that slightly crooked, sexy, sideways naughty-boy grin that is his trademark.

  He is wearing black—a faded, torn, and slightly creased T-shirt. His hair has grown a bit, and it is messy. I smile back at him, and then I run and jump into his arms. We hug and tell each other that we love each other and that we no longer want to be apart. We kiss and it is amazing. The moon slowly starts turning red in the distance and we make love, and that is it.

  Simple. Damien and I would be together.

  End of movie. Roll credits. Applause.

  I played this through a few more times in my mind’s eye, each time adding a little something extra here and there as I went. By the third rerun Damien wasn’t wearing a shirt, by the fourth he was completely naked—followed by several other variations of that scenario, which I’m not sure I should share with you. Just use your imagination…it was a very long flight, okay? But somewhere around the sixth rerun I think I managed to fall asleep.

  * * *

  We arrived in Thailand safely, despite some turbulence during the landing. I looked out the window and the rain was pelting down in thick, heavy sheets and the whole world was wet and glistening. It reminded me of my first night with Damien. I had thought about that night so many times over the past year. I hadn’t wanted to forget a thing about our time together, or about Damien. I’d often imagined him down to the minutest detail, the tiny scar he had on his eyebrow, the cluster of freckles that were sprinkled across his shoulders, the twirling lines of his back tattoo, and the dark depth of his inky eyes.

  The plane came to a stop and I jumped up and grabbed my bags speedily this time, eager to disembark as quickly as humanly possible. My destiny was out there after all, and I needed to go find it and claim it. I glanced behind me to see Annie muscling her way down the aisle. I was so glad she was coming with me. Maybe with a little luck she might meet someone in Thailand and dump that sleazy Trev (confirmed as an abbreviation of Trevvor, with a double V—even his name was irksome).

  The airport was exactly as I remembered it, but this time, as I walked past the guards they smiled at me. No one pounced or took my photo or pointed or stared. I went through customs without incident, but just as I was about to exit, I heard a familiar voice call my name.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Leelee.” The Thai accent was unmistakable, and I knew exactly who it was the second I heard it.

  “Hi!” I turned around and came face-to-face with the three smiling guards from the year before, Ang, Ginjan, and Piti. It was uncanny how all of this was playing out as if it was an exact repeat of the previous year—except this time I wasn’t being dragged off in handcuffs, looking (and I suspect smelling) like a hobo.

  “You come back!” Ginjan said with such enthusiasm that it seemed to be our cue to start hugging each other like long lost friends—which I guess in a way we were.

  “I did,” I said, half squeezed to death in Gin’s surprisingly firm grip.

  “And who this?” They turned and looked at Annie.

  “This is my cousin, Annie.”

  “Annie.” They all sang out simultaneously, as if she was also a long lost friend.

  “Sawadee krap,” Annie said rather clumsily, gazing down at something scribbled on her hand. But it didn’t matter, because they all lit up. “I’ve been learning some basic phrases in the plane.”

  “You know, you become very famous last year after you left airport,” Piti said, and they all nodded simultaneously.

  “Very famous.”

  “Yes, your picture was everywhere, and we all say, ‘We know that girl,’” Ang added.

  Yes, the infamous photo had had a life of its bloody own, even after I’d returned to South Africa. For a whole month it had been plastered across every computer screen, smartphone, and tablet across the globe. From Papua New Guinea to Patagonia, I was everywhere.

  “So you have boyfriend now?” Ang asked me.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “So you and that other guy just become friends?”

  “Which other guy?”

  Ang pointed in the direction of the door. “The one that was just here. The one you with last time. The thin one?”

  My heart started racing—could it be true? I glanced at Annie and she looked back at me with the same startled expression that I must have had on my face.

  “Damien?”

  Piti nodded. “Yes. One with tattoos and dark eyes.”

  My adrenaline spiked and my whole body woke up instantly. “Damien was here?”

  I looked in the direction that Ginjan had pointed, but I couldn’t see him.

  Ang nodded and looked at her watch. “Only five minutes ago. He went through customs and Ginjan and I say to each other, ‘Yes, we know him.’”

  “What?” My shriek startled them, and some other tourists who were standing too close, too. I grabbed onto Annie’s arm and squeezed it in sheer excitement.

  My new set of BFFs looked curiously at me. “This is good or bad thing?”

  “It’s good. Very good!” Annie said.

  “I came here looking for him.”

  Ang, Ginjan, and Piti all looked at me with doe eyes and then said a few things to one another in Thai. Before I knew it, they’d grabbed us both and were dragging us across the airport. I slung my bag over my shoulder; this time I’d packed light.

  “That line take too long. We take you straight to the front. Come, come this way.”

  “This is so exciting.” Annie squealed as we all raced past the long line of people and went straight to the front.

  We all hugged once more and just before Annie and I went through customs, Gin shouted something that made me smile then and still makes me smile to this day.

  “When you get that boy, you must feed him. Too thin.”

  Ang nodded in agreement and added, “Too thin. Too thin. He need sandwich. Or two.”

  If only they knew the punch he packed underneath that shirt.

  Annie and I bolted straight for the door and toward my happy ever after (hopefully).

  “Hurry. Run,” I screamed as Annie fell behind. Clearly adrenaline hadn’t given her the gift of incredible speed, like it had given me. I imagined seeing Damien standing outside the airport in all his black, dark glory, looking as hot and mysterious and deliciously dangerous as I had remembered him every night in my dreams—God, that was a corny thing to admit. But it was true; he was an almost nightly feature in all my dreams.

  I ran out of the airport and was hit by that familiar wall of sticky heat, but this time it was accompanied by rain. I didn’t let it slow me down, though.

  “Oh wow!” Annie puffed behind me, getting drenched. “It’s boiling here, yet simultaneously wet.”

  I immediately scanned my surroundings: tuk-tuks, confused-looking to
urists pointing at maps and trying to decipher the signs, and of course, a few more of those lovey-dovey honeymooners who didn’t care if they could read the signs.

  But then I saw him.

  “There he is.” I pointed and Annie jumped.

  “Where?”

  “There…black hair, black shirt, and…Oh shit, he’s climbing into a tuk-tuk. Fuck! Run!”

  And so we ran as if we were the last runners of a relay race, tasked with carrying the batons over the finish line. We almost tripped over ten people as we went, and Annie ran straight into someone’s suitcase.

  “He’s getting away.”

  And that’s when Annie started screaming. Loudly.

  “Damien, Damien!” She shrieked like a banshee and waved her arms in the air, almost swatting a few people along the way.

  I joined her. “Damien. Damien.” We both yelled, but it was too late, his tuk-tuk pulled off and started making its way out into the congested road.

  Now I’m sure you’re all familiar with another popular theme in Hollywood movies, where someone jumps into the back of a taxi, points, and shouts, “Follow that car!” And then the driver springs into action and the car goes careering forward. Well, this was not like that.

  We jumped into the nearest tuk-tuk, sopping wet, and pointed. “Follow that car.”

  But the driver turned around and looked at us with a decidedly confused kind of a thing happening on his face.

  “Not understand.”

  “Follow. Go after. Chase.” I could see my words were still not getting through.

  Annie pulled out her phone and started pressing buttons frantically. “Google Translate, Google Translate…aha, got it!” She held her phone up for the driver. He read it and started nodding.

  “Yes, yes,” I screeched again. “Follow!”

  Naively I was still expecting a speedy pull off. But no! The tuk-tuk chugged to life and spluttered and shuddered its way into the road—and straight into bumper-to-bumper traffic.

  “We’re never going to catch up to him like this,” I said to Annie.

  “Jump.” She practically pushed me out and we both started running from tuk-tuk to tuk-tuk, sticking our heads into every opening and peering inside—and causing a lot of fright as we went. But no Damien.