Destined to Play, Feel, Fly Trilogy

by Indigo Bloome

  ‘Well, well … we must look quite a sight.’

  ‘Indeed we do,’ he agrees as the lift descends.

  We arrive and I sense, given the length of the time we are in the lift, that we must be at the lobby or parking area of the hotel. I nudge closer to him, knowing we are entering the ‘real world’, and my insecurities instantly come back to haunt me. He places me next to a wall.

  ‘Don’t move an inch, sweetheart. Just stay where you are and I’ll bring her around.’

  ‘Her?’ Insecurity rises to fear within the space of a millisecond. I clamber against the wall as he leaves me stranded. The roar of an engine coming to life makes me leap with fright as petrol fumes invade my nostrils. The sound and smell are close enough to touch as Jeremy grabs my hand and pulls me toward the monstrous noise.

  ‘Have you ever been on a bike before?’ he yells as he drags my hesitant leg over the throbbing beast.

  ‘Only a trail bike on a farm when I was growing up,’ I reply nervously.

  ‘Well, hold on tight, babe, ’cause you’re in for one hell of a ride.’ He sounds like a teenage kid who is driving his own car for the first time.

  ‘But I can’t see!’ I scream as he squeezes a helmet over my head and ensures my glasses are correctly positioned.

  ‘You don’t need to see, I do,’ he shouts back at me over the noise.

  The engine growls to life underneath me. He laces my fingers together around his waist.

  ‘You just need to hold on!’

  ‘Do you have a licence to ride this thing?’ I yell in his direction.

  ‘You don’t need to shout. I can hear you now you have your helmet on.’ I hear his voice penetrating the inside of my helmet, straight into my ear. He ignores my question. Uh oh, I realise I have just asked another, and hope he hasn’t noticed.

  ‘Hold on, sweetheart, and try to calm your breathing just a little.’ He could obviously hear my anxiety through the helmet’s microphone.

  ‘Easier said than done!’ As the beast lurches forward, I’m almost left behind. I have no option but to hold on to him as tightly as possible as we swerve around a sharp corner. The wild ride of this weekend is clearly still in full octane swing.

  We stop and start quite a bit for a while and it takes my balance a while to adjust to the unanticipated manoeuvres. Jeremy isn’t talking so I presume he is concentrating on city traffic, which is at least a little comforting. Now that I am on a motorbike, I don’t feel quite so conspicuous in my outfit. And at least I’m not wearing a blindfold. We pick up speed and the ride eventually becomes smooth, making it considerably more comfortable than the jerkiness of before, where I was continually bracing myself for the next move.

  ‘Are you alright back there?’

  As I feel Jeremy readjust his position on the seat, I realise I am squeezing him so tight, he must be having difficulty breathing.

  ‘AB?’

  My grip is so strong; I’m not game to loosen it in case I fall off. My legs anchor me to the bike while my arms brace his waist. My upper body is slamming against his back so there is not a millimetre of space between us. Just as I tell myself to loosen my grip and tell Jeremy I’m fine, the bike swerves to the right and back to the left rapidly. Great, now he is overtaking someone.

  ‘Alexa, can you hear me?’ His voice pounds into my helmet again.

  ‘Yes, yes, I can. I’m okay. Just concentrating on, well, on holding on, really.’ I stammer out the words as we gather more speed. ‘Staying alive’ would have been more appropriate, I muse.

  ‘Are you scared?’ His questions continue to filter through to my headspace.

  ‘What do you think? I never knew you could ride.’

  ‘I’ve been riding for years. It’s great to be finally taking you out for a spin.’

  ‘Well, I’d rather be experiencing the ride with vision.’ I can’t help but point this out. ‘Please be careful, Jeremy. I really need to come out of this alive. I’m in your hands.’

  ‘Indeed you are, Alexa. Finally you are beginning to understand. Settle back and relax into the ride; we are on the open road now.’

  ‘And I don’t suppose you will enlighten me as to which open road that might be?’

  ‘You know that would spoil the fun.’

  At that, he goes full throttle and lets ‘her’ embrace the road at high speed, which does take my breath away.

  Who would have thought I’d be riding on a boisterous beast such as this, in pitch black conditions? Not me in a million years. Once I let myself relax a little, not too much though, I have to admit it is a great feeling. Thankfully Jeremy’s position in front ensures my insulation from the harshness of the wind, which allows me to appreciate the exhilaration and openness of the bike. Imagine if the kids could see me now! They wouldn’t recognise me. Jordan would hardly believe it, but would think I was the coolest mum ever. He’d want to take a photo to prove it to his friends and teacher in Show and Tell, although he’d be more impressed if I was riding on my own. Elizabeth would probably be more concerned for my safety and would ask me if I was scared. I can’t help reflecting on whether male and female gender roles and values are that predictable from birth when assessing risk. I’ve never been able to resolve the whole nature versus nurture debate though it always makes for interesting discussion. I wonder how they are going out there in the wilderness and I hope they are having fun.

  I don’t know where we are going, or whether the ride is itself the destination. No doubt Jeremy has it all sorted out in his plans for our forty-eight hours of togetherness. He is certainly being true to his word when he said he wouldn’t waste a minute of it. So I calm myself down, snuggle into his back and rest my head against his shoulders. The engine’s rhythm between my legs provides a consistent, pleasant, low-level vibration. My other senses are completely soaking up and absorbing the whole experience. It feels fantastic and I am really, honestly enjoying the ride. I hug him a little from my position behind him.

  ‘Jeremy, this is really amazing. I would never have dreamt of doing this and I’m loving it.’ His hand gently pats mine as if to acknowledge my words. I immediately freeze.

  ‘Please, please, please keep both hands on the handlebars. I don’t need to be freaked out more than I already am.’

  He laughs as he returns his hand safely to the handlebar. ‘Okay, fair enough.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I can’t stop myself smiling, just as I can’t deny enjoying the ride. The wind, the speed, the engine, the closeness is awesome … even the blackness is exciting, in a strange, surreal way. I allow myself to submerge in the exhilaration of the journey, not knowing where it will lead me.

  We eventually slow down after quite some time, maybe an hour or so, maybe more. I’m not sure and I’m not going to ask. Jeremy assists me off the bike, my legs slightly numb from the ride, and removes the now-constricting helmet from my head. It’s good to stretch my legs, as they are a little shaky from being in the same position for so long. I’m more than a little self-conscious and adjust my sunglasses nervously.

  ‘Don’t worry, nobody is looking at us.’ He is able to read my discomfort.

  ‘Are you sure?’ The words leave my lips before any filtering can occur.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure. Because I can see and you can’t.’

  ‘Right, point made.’ My nose greedily sucks up the air around us when the fumes subside. There is a real freshness to it. The smell of it, combined with the gentle breeze and birdsong, reminds me of fond childhood memories with my cousins during school holidays.

  I remain standing in place until he reaches out and holds my hand in his and we start walking.

  ‘I can’t believe you never told me you got your bike licence.’ I try to sound indignant.

  ‘There are many things you don’t know about me, Alex. Hopefully that will change over the coming years.’ Years? I think to myself that even when I try to be light and conversational, he manages to insert a hefty undertone and it keeps taking me by surprise. We pa
use as I hear him ask for two skim flat whites, no sugar, and could we have takeaway cups, please. Once again, the lack of consultation is a little astounding. Let it go … I relax my mind.

  ‘Coffee, how perfect,’ I say, thinking it gives me a hint that it must be between 10 or 11, Saturday morning. Or perhaps Jeremy has orchestrated the coffees to make me believe it is morning tea-ish. Stop thinking about time, I lecture myself. You have no control over it so forget it.

  ‘I thought this might be easier for you than a cup and saucer. Be careful though, it’s hot.’ He sounds like me instructing my kids to be careful when I take something out of the microwave for them. He places the container in my hands and leads me to an outdoor table and helps me to sit.

  I raise the cup slowly to my mouth, happily anticipating the aroma and taste, although I certainly don’t need the caffeine to wake up as my nerves are more than fully engaged. Keeping the adrenaline pumping through my veins doesn’t require any additional assistance.

  ‘Great coffee,’ I comment, after taking a long, cautious sip. I am beginning to realise how much of human conversation is dependent on questions or visual indicators. My lack of both makes my small talk sound shallow and superficial. It’s almost as if we are on a first date that isn’t going very well. My conversational flow is dismal and I don’t know whether Jeremy is experimenting with this, or leaving me in limbo deliberately. Maybe my whole conversational style is question-based these days and, given my background, I suppose that would make sense. Perhaps I find it difficult to develop other short-term strategies when placed in an unanticipated circumstance? How strange that I have never noticed this about myself until this moment, when I’m sitting next to Jeremy, with my coffee, in leather, unable to see.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Jeremy finally breaks the silence between us and grounds me back to the present.

  ‘Funny you should ask. I was actually just pondering the idea of how much of human conversation is based on questions, either direct or indirect. And whether I actively engage in real conversations in any other way than asking questions. And as I say the words out loud, the concept horrifies me if it is true. It’s only an underlying thought at this stage, but the more I consider it in theory, the greater relevance it appears to have for me.’

  After my speculating comes to an end, there is an excruciatingly long silence.

  ‘Jeremy?’ Has he left me? Gone to the toilet?

  ‘Are you still there?’ I ask. Shit, I am prattling on to myself like a lunatic and he isn’t even here. I curse my blindness yet again.

  ‘Yes, I am still here,’ he says quietly, taking hold of my hand across the table. ‘I’m really pleased you’re beginning to understand this about yourself. Do you think it is fair that you ask the questions and we don’t ever get to hear about you? Your thoughts? Your feelings? You are so caught up in your professional self it has overflowed into your personal relationships. You are so busy trying to work out everyone else, I sometimes think you forget about yourself. Who you are. What you stand for.’

  I am a little taken aback. Well, that’s an understatement. I am a lot taken aback. ‘You really think I’m like that?’

  ‘Yes, I do. You always had that tendency and it has become more acute with your profession. That is why you are finding it so incredibly difficult to refrain from asking questions this weekend, and letting go, as I knew you would.’ I suddenly feel much younger than Jeremy, psychologically small somehow. Stuck somewhere between the parent/child and doctor/patient relationship. This paradigm is exceptionally uncomfortable for me. I can’t say with any authority how it is for him, although I could calculate a guess.

  ‘How are you feeling, by the way, about not being visually stimulated?’ His curiosity has a slightly analytical tone to it.

  ‘It’s not as if I haven’t been stimulated in other ways …’ I say, trying to lighten the mood.

  ‘No, seriously Alex, tell me.’

  Given he has just provided me with feedback on not being open I decide to answer honestly. ‘It is really, really difficult, as I’m sure you would assume, Doctor Quinn. Harder in some ways than I ever imagined … There’re times when I just feel like screaming at the complete and total frustration of it and there are other times, when I am totally caught off-guard and it’s, well … it is …’ I can feel my cheeks warming.

  ‘Go on.’ He strokes my cheek, gently encouraging more words to flow.

  ‘It’s just so strange being unable to anticipate, well, anything really. No actions, no words, I just don’t know where the twists and turns are coming from or whether we are coming to a complete stop. Conversations can feel a bit like the bike ride for me, figuratively speaking.’

  ‘And the other times?’ I notice I’m fidgeting and almost squirming in my seat. I’m used to being the one asking the questions, not answering them.

  ‘Other times I find myself nervously excited at the thought of not knowing what’s coming next, like when I might be touched or caressed, or even spanked!’ I blush, remembering the exceptionally swift slap on the arse that took me by complete surprise before dinner. ‘I don’t know where all this is leading and I’m really tempted to, well, you know, surrender control … but it is just so hard.’

  ‘I was hoping you would react this way and you’ve gone way beyond my expectations. If you would just trust me a little more, let me in. I do want you to surrender yourself to me this weekend, more than ever before. I want to reveal the true Alexa, the woman who has been hiding behind a controlled façade for way too long. We know the ins and outs of each other better than anyone else on the planet. We have nothing to lose and everything to gain. And frankly, along with discovering a cure for depression, which by the way I hope to achieve in the next year or two, you are my life’s mission.’

  How and when did I become his life’s mission? His words scare the living daylights out of me, as I know what sort of man he is and he doesn’t say such things lightly — ever. Even though his comments are uncomfortable to hear out loud, somehow I sense the truth in them, whether I like it or not. Jeremy has always been able to see straight through me, sense what I’m feeling or wanting before I could put it into words, enabling him to be a step ahead of my thought processes. It seems that this weekend was playing out in the same way. We have never been able to fully let each other go.

  ‘If that is what you believe, then why do I always feel slightly on edge with you, Jeremy? I always have and I can’t believe it’s still happening after all these years.’ A little frustration enters my tone as I continue. ‘Look at me now, completely dependent on you. You know how much I value my independence, how hard I have worked for it, and that is exactly what you have taken away from me. You ask me to let you in, but how much further can I go? How much more do you want? Is this really about me, Jeremy, or is it honestly more about you?’

  ‘Interesting insights, Doctor Blake, to which I will give you one, honest response. You know when you are with me to always expect the unexpected. That is what I give you, that which cannot be controlled. Fear, excitement, anticipation, pleasure, the unknown, trust, surrender, all bundled up together. Somewhere in your psyche that combination proves an intoxicating mix. Why do I do it? Because I know, deep down, you love it, and ultimately it will free you from the constraints and boundaries you have set yourself. Think about it, Alex. If I were not in your life, the very thing that would be missing from it is freedom. Even if you get angry or frustrated with me, it is only ever short-lived, so I am willing to take the risk for the phenomenal rewards.’ He pauses momentarily as his words hit me like a brick. ‘There exists between us the ultimate sexual tension, and honestly, as much as we have tried to ignore it over the years, it will simply not be extinguished.’

  ‘Wow, that is a lot for a blind woman to absorb.’ The power of his words creates insightful paths that branch through my mind and pound in my head as I try to assimilate too many thoughts and emotions at once.

  Could it be true? Do I love it? The
unknown? The unexpected?

  What does he mean by freedom? He keeps using this word …

  Does he honestly believe we are destined to be this way?

  I feel like he is reading me like a book this weekend, coherently, thoughtfully, cleverly and at whatever speed he chooses.

  ‘And rest assured, my dearest Alexa, the promise still stands from last night, and I am still counting.’

  ‘Sorry?’ I say, distracted by the sudden change in topic, still lost in the previous conversation. He repeats his statement.

  ‘I’m sure you remember only too well that I’m an excellent statistician!’ His tone is fully loaded with innuendo.

  ‘Yes, of course, Jeremy, how could I ever forget!’ My response equally loaded. I do remember only too well. The memory makes me squirm in my seat — initially uncomfortable, but amazing recollections.

  ‘What a classic night. One of my sweetest victories and ultimately one of our greatest discoveries about your incredible body …’ Jeremy’s voice trails off as we reminisce and I return to that time in our lives.

  There has always been rivalry between us at uni as to who is best at what subjects and we often place bets with each other. Jeremy and I are both taking an elective Quantitative Methods course and had made a bet — whoever topped the class could choose one thing that the other had to go along with for the night, without complaint. I agreeably shook hands and had thoughts of Jeremy cleaning my apartment naked, preparing dinner, giving me a massage and generally being at my beck and call. Yes, I thought, this is an excellent idea for a bet, even more so because I had topped the class in all of our assignments. It never really occurred to me that I wouldn’t win; after all, it wasn’t his area of expertise.

  The marks are finally announced: Jeremy scored half a mark more than me because he provided a more complete explanation for the final question. I head straight to Professor Jarlsberg’s office to go through the exam paper with him question by question. Annoyingly, although understandably, Jeremy accompanies me, unable and unwilling to hide the grin that looked far too big and wide for his face. No amount of argument or protest will convince the Professor to either increase my paper half a mark, or reduce Jeremy’s, though heaven knows I try. Jeremy’s smirk seems to double in size, if that were possible.