And not a single kangaroo in sight . . .
җ
The Professor returned not long after my world-renowned foray into parkour. As I was certain he would, he congratulated me on my “instincts.” I told him that if these were my instincts and I was left to my own devices, Darwin would have used me as an example of natural selection causing a species to go extinct. “Did you live?” he asked me.
“I know that I’m pale, but I thought it was pretty obvious that I survived.” I’m so glad that the Professor understands me and my sarcasm. I’m pretty sure that snarky comment would have caused me significant problems with a lot of other officers. They would have thrown me in the stockade, where you don’t go on patrol and don’t have armed men in trucks trying to run you over. Dammit! Oh, well. I don’t look good in orange anyways.
“Your survival is proof that your instincts were good.” Satisfied with his own answer, he turned to walk away.
Curiosity and, um, envy forced me to ask, “How was your training in Japan, sir?”
The smile on his face when he turned around was one of contentment and joy. “Very productive. Good information. Good food. Good company. I’m hoping to go back real soon.” I hated that smug, good-looking, smooth-talking bastard! OK, I got that off my chest. I didn’t mean it, Professor! Really!
Dejected, I turned to walk away. “Maybe you should go there for your R&R!” he shouted after me. I halted my retreat. “You should have some R&R coming up real soon. It’s cold as hell here in the Hiss. I suggest you take that time when it’s offered and go somewhere warm . . . even if the warmth is in the companionship you find there.”
Not bothering to try and understand what that last comment meant, I started researching what options were available to me for R&R. I considered Tokyo in the hopes that it might allow me to bump into Mayumi Ogawa. The intellectual part of my brain sometimes takes a little while to get into gear. Once it did, it reminded me that Tokyo was one of the largest cities in the world. The odds of running into one particular person who didn’t even know you were there consisted of numbers that cause theoretical physicists to wake up in the middle of the night sweating and short of breath. Plus, I had already been to Japan once. Sure it was just the airport, but I’m pretty sure that I made enough of an impression there that they wouldn’t be falling all over themselves to get me back. I looked at several other destinations that were interesting and exotic. In the end I settled on taking my R&R in Australia.
This was going to be an all new experience for me. I had never really taken a trip without my family. Yes, I had flown all the way to Korea and spent months there, but given the circumstances, I don’t think that counts. I was excited and nervous at the same time. When I get that way, I often tend to chatter somewhat mindlessly for long periods of time. By the time that leave had arrived, even the Professor was ready for me to get out so that he could have some peace and quiet.
I knew a little bit better about what to expect while traveling this time. I still had the iPod that the flight attendant had given me when I had flown over from the states, and I’d put together a collection of magazines and books that I had not read before. It was hopefully enough to keep me awake during the flight and not cause anyone to suffer the horror of my snoring. The plane was going to have a lot of soldiers trying to get away from the war for a little while to decompress, and I doubt that putting them into a murderous rage would do a lot to help them with that decompression. I try to be thoughtful. I don’t always succeed, but I do try.
The flight was blissfully uneventful. No snoring from me, no death threats from others, and no turbulence from the plane. I certainly couldn’t complain, except for the movie that was shown during the flight. I don’t care if a film was a huge blockbuster in the theater, it probably isn’t a good idea to show a movie about an airplane hijacking on an airliner. I don’t have the sense that God gave the common dog ,and even I know that. Despite that relatively minor snafu, I walked into the Sydney airport terminal in very high spirits. I even caught the shuttle to the hotel I was being put up in and checked in with virtually no problem. After unpacking what little I had brought with me and making sure I knew where everything was in the room, I sat down on the bed and realized that I had run into my first problem: I had no idea what I was going to do in this city.
The problem with always taking a vacation with your family, besides the fact that you were on vacation with your family (I had fun, Mom! Still, how many goofy family photos can one person take?), was that someone else had always planned out the itinerary. As a kid, I never had to think of what I wanted to do when we took a vacation. I was told what we were going to do when we took a vacation. Now I was on a “vacation” on my own and had no clue what I wanted to do. It was already sundown, which limited some of my possibilities. I racked my brain for a few minutes, trying to think of what the members of my squad would do. I had heard them tell stories about some of their R&R trips. I had to dismiss some of them because of the physical impossibility of the acts that they described. However, there was often another unifying theme in their stories. So, I put on my boots, checked my hair, stepped out of the hotel, and looked around for the closest bar.
I guess I should point out that I didn’t drink anything besides water and sodas at the time. I had only experienced alcohol once, and that was a sip of communion wine. It had taken me a day to get rid of the taste. Still, since virtually every soldier I spoke to seemed to drink, I figured I would see what all of the buzz was about. I entered the closest bar and found a seat. It turned out to be a sports bar, and there was a soccer match on. I’m sorry. A football match. I almost got thrown out of the bar in the first five minutes because of that mistake. Just about everyone around me was yelling and screaming and acting like they had already consumed a large amount of alcohol. At least that meant that if I had too much I would probably fit in. All of the bartenders and waitresses were incredibly attractive women. That was actually a problem for me. If this was the first time that I was going to drink, I would hate to ask stupid questions and look like a moron in front of a bunch of beautiful women. Of course, since that is the short description of my high school career, I guess it doesn’t make much difference in the end.
The very eye-catching bartender came over and asked what I would like. I figured that I should try the drink that seemed to be a permanent part of the blood of so many of the people that I knew. “I’ll have a beer, please.”
“What kind, love?”
My brain seized up for two reasons. The first was that I didn’t know anything about the different kinds of beer. The second was because I could have sworn that she called me “love.” Was she flirting with me? Then I remembered that I was in Australia and that I was me. No flirtation involved. As for the beer, I decided to play it safe. “Give me whatever you think is the best beer that you serve.” She returned a moment later with a mug full of foamy beer. With steely resolve, I lifted the mug and took a swig of my first beer.
To all of you beer drinkers out there, please do not think that I am trying to insult you, but why? Even now, many years later, I have tried several types of beer and I haven’t found one yet that didn’t give me nightmares and visions of men in a beer bottling plant dumping random things into a vat while laughing maniacally. I’m sure that there is probably something in me that doesn’t quite understand it the way that other people do since beer is such a popular drink. However, that first swig convinced me that, at least for me, I would probably have to be drunk already before I found pleasure in beer.
I was fortunate that my gagging and choking noises were drowned out by the cheers of the football (see, I learned) fans after a goal had been scored. I wasn’t completely hidden from notice, though. I looked over and the bartender was looking at me with a huge, beautiful, and very amused smile on her face. “You don’t drink, do you, love?”
I had to cough a few more times and wipe tears from my eyes before I co
uld answer. “No, ma’am, I don’t. Is it that obvious?”
“Only to a person that has their eyes open.” She chuckled and leaned over the bar to speak to me. I made a concerted effort to look directly at her face and avoid other . . . distractions. Yes, hormones again. Some guys take a while to work through them. “Why are you trying now? I mean, it’s business for me, which is great, but I don’t want you to wind up in any trouble.”
That wasn’t something that I expected. I never expected a bartender to question my drinking. That was when I realized that I had no idea why I was drinking. “I guess . . . well . . . it seems that every time I hear anyone in my squad talk about going out and having a good time, they’re usually drinking a beer or something like that. I just got here, I have no idea what to do here, and I figured that maybe I should try drinking to have a good time.”
The bartender kept looking at me like she was appraising me. I know, because I was still making sure to look directly back into her eyes. After what seemed like an agonizingly long time (at least five seconds!), she spoke again. “You aren’t very comfortable relaxing around people, are you?” With a little shyness, I nodded. “I bet that makes things tough so far from home. I’ll tell you what. Beer obviously isn’t your thing. Let me make you a mixed drink that I guarantee will taste just fine to you and should loosen you up quite a bit.” She went to the other end of the bar and appeared to be very busy with mixing and pouring what must have been a complicated drink. Finally, she walked over to me and set a cup with ice cubes and a dark liquid in front of me. “You will love this. I bet my pub on it.”
With a little trepidation, I lifted the drink to my lips and took a little sip. My eyebrows went up, and a smile crossed my face. It tasted a lot like a coke, but there was just a little more of a twinge to it. I could tell in that instant that I had found a drink I could drink all night long and appreciate the taste, as it reminded me of home. “What do you call this?” I asked.
“It’s a house specialty, love. I’m the only one that knows how to mix it, so make sure that you order it from me if you want another. Drink on it a while and enjoy the match.” With a satisfied smile and what appeared to be a little extra sway to her walk, the bartender walked back to the other side of the bar.
I was about halfway through the glass when I started to notice some changes. I was feeling a tiny bit dizzy. I also felt the urge to move or talk or do anything so long as I was active. I started watching the football match to give myself something to focus on, but I decided that I wasn’t at a good enough angle to see the screen very well. Before I knew it, I was sitting next to a complete stranger that had been vocally complaining about the officiating, but I didn’t care. Pretty soon, I joined him in the jeering. After a few minutes, I realized that my glass was empty and that I had moved myself to a table to join a crowd of cheering and jeering fans. I looked up and found the bartender looking at me with that same satisfied smile on her face. I lifted a hand. She nodded and went to work on preparing me another drink.
A minute or so later I saw the bartender hand the drink to a waitress and point to me while saying something to her. The leggy blonde waitress walked over with an even more pronounced sway than the bartender and sat the drink on the table in front of me. “Thank you so much, beautiful,” I said. Did I say that? “I mean . . . uh . . . sorry! I didn’t mean to . . .”
The waitress let out the most wonderful and musical laugh. “I don’t know what you’re apologizing for, cutie, but I promise that whatever it is, you’re forgiven.” She playfully tapped my nose with her index finger and walked away with that same sway and even a little more laughter. It was one of the few things that could tear the attention of every man there away from the game for a few moments. The sound of a whistle from the television broke our trance, and we all went back to shouting once again.
I was at the bar for most of the night. I watched two soccer matches, learned most of the rules, drank six of the mixed drinks, made friends with a dozen locals, and gave and received hugs from three of the waitresses. I was amazed that I remembered anything given how many of the drinks I had consumed. When I stood up, I was a little shaky but not much more uncoordinated than usual. It surprised me. Most of the bar’s patrons had left for the night, so I was able to walk straight up to the bartender. “Hey, I never heard you give your name.” I also noticed that my speech wasn’t slurred.
Wiping down the bar and some glasses, she didn’t even look up. “Ginger. My name is Ginger.”
I reached out my hand. She set down the glass she had just dried and shook it, finally looking up. “Pup. They call me Pup. I have to know, what was in those drinks? I might want to order it when I get back to the states.”
I should have guessed when she went back to drying glasses and not looking at me. “Coke, lemon, a local lemon-lime soda mixed in, and a little bit of sour.”
I ran all of that through my head, trying to work out the discrepancy. “Which part of that has the alcohol in it?”
“None of it does.” She dried another glass and then looked back up at me. “I could tell it from the moment that I met you, Pup. You don’t need to drink to have a good time. You just need to relax. If I could convince you that you were relaxed, you could enjoy yourself. Sorry for tricking you, love, but something tells me that a boy like you is better off remembering the good times. You’ll get more out of them.”
Everything made a lot more sense now. The only side effect I seemed to have from a night full of drinking was a little bit of shakiness. I wasn’t drunk. I was on a sugar buzz. And Ginger was absolutely correct. I had had one of the most enjoyable nights of my life simply because I hadn’t been afraid to talk to some people or show a little bit of excitement. My confused expression turned into a giant smile. “Ginger, you are an absolute sweetheart.” This time I reached out for her hand, but rather than shake it, I kissed it. She blushed a little and then thanked me. I turned to the blonde waitress who was wiping down the tables. “Dory, I am sorry if I said or did anything to offend you. I hope you realize that your deadbeat boyfriend doesn’t deserve you.”
Dory came over and kissed me on the cheek. “Even when you thought you were drunk, you were more of a gentleman toward me than most of the blokes that come in here. Thanks for listening to me earlier. I think you’re right. I’m going to take your advice and dump that loser and go back to school.” Even when I think I’m drunk, I’m always trying to solve people’s problems. It’s like an illness or something with me.
Ginger and Dory told me to be careful in the Hiss ,and I walked out of the bar feeling even better than when I had walked in. I looked up at the sign and found out that it was called the Ego Boost Pub. I love truth in advertising. And I didn’t even have a hangover the next morning.
One thing that I did have the next morning was a better idea of what I wanted to do while I was in Sydney. Ginger had provided me with a tourism book to help me stay occupied since even I couldn’t be fooled by the fake drink bit twice. I decided that I wanted to go to the beach. I just had to decide which one. Because of my location, I wound up going to Manly Beach. Ironic, huh? I walked along the beach just to enjoy the sights. I had rarely seen the ocean, and one of those times was from an airliner, so I don’t think it counts. I didn’t plan to swim. There were a few reasons for that. First of all, I’m not much of a swimmer. I never have been. Secondly, I was already walking around in shorts. That’s scary enough. Walking around with my shirt off might have constituted a crime against humanity. I didn’t need to be in the ocean to enjoy it. The smell and sounds were a novelty for me. So were the voices. I was being treated to an amazing cross section of humanity. Not only were there the unmistakable accents of the Australians, but there were British, Indian, Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, and even some American voices floating through the air. I began to challenge myself by closing my eyes and seeing if I could guess the nationality of the speaker through their accent. Of course, I h
ad no way to prove that I was right without asking, and something told me that walking around and asking a whole bunch of people where they were from might get the attention of the local constabulary. That’s the cops, for any of you that haven’t been overseas.
The walk along Manly Beach was relaxing and interesting. I allowed my mind to wander to wherever it wanted to go and didn’t concern myself with any kind of danger or worries. After all, that’s what R&R is for. Of course, it also prevented me from noticing a worry. The voices were becoming fewer and farther between, but I figured that maybe it was just getting hot and people were leaving the beach. February is a summer month there after all. I never bothered to look up at the sky. I might have noticed the massive rain shower forming if I had. I was too busy getting lost in my head. Boy, it’s a labyrinth in there!
The first drop made me think that I was getting hit by ocean spray. The second made me think that maybe some kids were playing with water guns. There wasn’t exactly a third drop. Instead, as my mother would have put it, the bottom dropped out! I don’t think that the cloud decided to pour rain on me as much as I think that the entire cloud decided to descend and pummel me mercilessly. I began running without real direction. There was so much rain coming down and getting into my eyes that I couldn’t make out a lot of what was around me. After about thirty seconds of pointless wandering, I was able to make out some window lights. What looked like a shopping center or mall was in the distance and across the street.
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