Antipodes

by Michele Bacon

  Driving to the north end of the South Island was a six-hour trek in the RV, and a two-punnet journey for Erin. She’d been completely fine until Takaka Ridge, where switchbacks and steep declines forced her to vomit twice in the span of fifteen minutes.

  Cresting a peak, Erin spotted Golden Bay, stretching on forever. After spying the crescent beach, Erin scanned the horizon for ocean at every turn and didn’t need another punnet.

  Though the caravan park had, indeed, been booked, Hamish inquired about walk-up options. While Pippa and Felicity used the toilet, Erin studied dozens of RVs parked in rows, half-dressed children roaming in packs, and lines of laundry billowing in the wind.

  No longer was she offended by laundry lines because everyone in New Zealand hung their laundry out to dry; it saved heaps of energy, and—like uniforms—if everyone aired their underpants outside, there was no shame in it. Hamish had taught Erin to use a washing machine, and schooled her in the fine art of hanging laundry in the sun.

  Hamish got the last spot—furthest from the water and adjacent to a fence. Felicity negotiated the caravan park’s narrow paths past adults in camp chairs, a small playground, a rugby scrum, and people barbecuing.

  Felicity backed into their spot, and Pippa was off and running, leaving Felicity, Erin, and Hamish to set up camp.

  The sun warmed Erin’s skin as she rinsed her punnets at the spigot and returned them to the caravan for the trip home.

  Last spring break, six months ago now, Erin’s family had spent ten days in Cancun, where Erin admired the glistening ocean from her balcony but had little time to swim. She’d had ten days to complete her AP government project, two research papers, a stack of calculus problems, and two thick ACT prep books.

  This spring break, Ilam’s teachers had bid Erin farewell with zero homework.

  “Do you guys mind if I check out the beach?”

  “Sweet as,” Hamish said.

  “Super low tide today,” Felicity said. “Be back in time for tea.”

  Erin responded to her fellow campers’ happy greetings with quiet hellos. By the time she reached the edge of the caravan park, she was smiling.

  Between the caravans and the beach, a squat building housed laundry, kitchens, a small convenience store, toilets, and showers. On the other side of the building, Erin walked between large rocks to sandy Pohara Beach.

  As promised, Golden Bay stretched on forever. It boasted no cabanas or ocean-side pool. No eager waiters served lunch on the sand. It was a long, flat beach. Full stop.

  As a child Erin had considered tides only when they made for dangerous snorkeling in Hawaii. But when she’d studied the moon—really studied it—she’d learned about proxigean tides. Her classmate from Japan had been thrilled to learn why some tides are extremely high.

  Learning not all tides were created equal fascinated Erin, and here she saw its effects. Tide was very low, so Erin walked a long way out through wet sand and tide pools. Near the gentle surf, she removed her shoes and walked in the shallows. Three months into her journey, she finally dipped her toes in the ocean. She walked along the water’s edge, gazing from the ocean to the beach to the mountains beyond. Pippa and her new pack climbed among the rocks that separated the beach from greenery.

  Inhaling crisp New Zealand air, Erin enjoyed her vacation—a true vacation, from her life.

  She pulled out her phone to see who was online. Marama and Jade hadn’t posted all day. Erin checked on Good-Time Girl and, to her utter chagrin, recognized her own ass in the last snap from a few days earlier. She’d captioned it Everyone is doing it, so why don’t you?

  Gloria was Good-Time Girl.

  Erin scrolled back and caught glimpses of Gloria’s life orbiting her own: pics from Castle Hill last February and a shot from Satellite Club several weeks ago. Gloria’s July skiing trip had been to Queenstown; Erin now recognized the scenery.

  All the pieces fell into place, and Erin understood why she and Jade and Marama were friends and why Hank climbed with her—was climbing with her this very instant. How could Erin ever compete with that?

  For these hours, she needed only to breathe. She inhaled the scenery until teatime.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  After tea, Felicity and Pippa pulled out their books. Without a television, Hamish also resorted to reading. Life on holiday looked a lot like life in Christchurch.

  Erin pulled out her phone. “Felicity, I’ve been meaning to play something for you. It’s one of my favorite recordings of Jacqueline du Pré.” Erin flicked through her music to find the song she wanted. “I am truly happy not to be playing cello, but I could never live without listening. Here you go. Chopin’s ‘Sonata in A.’”

  Felicity closed her eyes when the piano gave way to du Pré’s dulcet timbre. She held her breath through sections of the second movement, and Erin understood that Felicity understood Chopin’s anguish. She heard music the way Erin heard music.

  When it ended, Felicity was quiet for several minutes.

  “Thank you for sharing that, Erin.”

  “Thank you. For letting me quit cello. I really love listening, but I’d become a slave to it. I feel … free, somehow.”

  Felicity grasped Erin’s hands briefly. “I’m glad you’re free.”

  Getting there, at least.

  When the darkening landscape prohibited entertainment, with no candles and no lights and no television and no electronics, the foursome gathered around a fire pit.

  Felicity, Hamish, and Pippa shared stories of their previous trips here and elsewhere. Their current plan was to stay at Golden Bay until it got crowded or they got bored.

  Pippa asked, “Where is the Southern Cross, Daddy?”

  Everyone looked up.

  Hamish spun in a circle to get his bearings, lit on the crux, and pointed Pippa toward the Southern Cross. Erin followed Hamish’s right arm toward his fingertips and out into space.

  There it was, her night sky.

  “Oh!” Erin couldn’t help herself. The sky was replete with stars, more than she’d ever seen. She’d found true darkness. A thin sliver of moon lent no threat to the dark of night, and the stars went on forever.

  Erin’s astrophysics professor had lectured at length about light pollution, but Erin could always see constellations just fine. Now she understood: the night sky wasn’t spotted with stars; it was lousy with them. The universe had texture.

  Thank you, New Zealand.

  The whole messy spring and painful adjustment to life in Christchurch had brought her here, to a night sky full of stars. She could have lived her whole life—captaining the swim team, fifth chair cello, working her ass off day and night—and never, ever experienced this.

  Hamish said, “Southern Cross isn’t that miraculous. Smallest constellation there is, actually.”

  Erin knew that. “I’ve always loved the night sky. I studied astrophysics last summer, but I’ve never seen the universe like this.”

  “From the underside, you mean?

  Sort of. “It’s truly dark here. So many stars. It’s hard to wrap my head around them as suns, with planets orbiting, and moons orbiting the planets. It’s … it’s a lot.”

  Erin spun in a circle, gazing at the night sky. Finally, she felt grounded. Here was her place in the world, staring outward at everything that was possible.

  “Are you okay?” Pippa whispered, and Erin laughed.

  “Pippa, I haven’t felt this okay in years. Maybe ever.” Outside. Surrounded by stars. With nothing to do and nowhere to go. “I’m sure we can see Saturn tonight.”

  Pippa said, “Or constellations.”

  “Maybe. I never studied the ones down under.”

  “We could make some of our own. They’re not real, you know.”

  Pippa got it. Constellations weren’t real, just as relationships weren’t real. Ben was real, but he and Erin were just a passing fancy. He never actually belonged to her. Maybe the only real Erin was the one without him, the Erin who belonged to herself
.

  The family lay on a blanket to stargaze. Hamish had some guesses on official constellations, and Pippa tried to make animals by stringing together the brightest stars.

  When they ran out of guesses, they drank in the universe in silence. The peace was glorious. Erin spotted Uranus and thought she’d found Neptune, but Saturn was the real prize. Of course, she couldn’t see its rings without a telescope, but she’d seen them before. She trusted herself to remember exactly how they looked.

  Later—who knows when?—they opened the caravan windows and turned in for the night. Listening very hard, Erin could hear animal noises.

  She felt small in a very nice way. She was snug in her caravan, and right that second, there was almost nowhere else she wanted to be.

  She hadn’t felt that way in forever.

  Grampa held his new telescope steady as Erin searched the sky for Saturn.

  “Got it,” she said.

  “You sure?”

  “I am twelve.”

  Her Grampa let go, and for the first time, she saw Saturn’s rings, clearly separate from the planet itself. “Can you imagine if it were as close as the moon?”

  “Nope,” Grampa said. “If it were as close as the moon, we’d be in trouble.”

  “The rings?”

  “Not quite. But the moons would be a problem.”

  “I wish we had multiple moons,” Erin said.

  She could stare at Saturn forever. It seemed otherworldly, like something out of science fiction. Though she was seeing it with her own eyes, she could hardly believe it was real.

  “Saturn is helium?” Erin asked.

  “And hydrogen,” Grampa said.

  “It’s getting chilly for me,” Grandma Tea said. “Erin, mind if I try out your cello?”

  “Go for it,” Erin said, her eyes firmly affixed on Saturn.

  “Can I bring you two anything?”

  “Ice cream!” they said in unison.

  Tea said, “It’s freezing out here.”

  “It’s summer,” Erin and Grampa said before erupting in laughter.

  Grampa eyed the moon through his smaller telescope. “Full moon tomorrow night.”

  “I know! But the moon will always be there. I’m all about Saturn. This is amazing.”

  FIFTY-SIX

  Felicity and Hamish took their morning constitutional in light rain, and Pippa headed for the beach, leaving Erin in the caravan alone with Pippa’s guitar.

  Please, fingers, don’t fail me. It had been a long time—a very long time—since she’d played. Turns out when you have a knack for strings and embark on intensive cello lessons, you can’t play guitar anymore. There just isn’t time.

  She played a little, warming up her fingers after years of neglect. Guitar was more intimate than cello.

  Strumming chords and fingerpicking, Erin was eleven years old again.

  Her grandparents had been devout James Taylor fans and had filled their cottage with his music. James Taylor’s voice was pure, and his music was beautiful, thoughtful, and personal.

  “Sweet Baby James” had sold Erin on guitar. When Grandma Tea sang, whole scenes materialized in Erin’s imagination.

  Sadness welling within her, she reverted to the Red Hot Chili Peppers and tried desperately to conjure up some muscle memory for “Under the Bridge.” She’d played it a thousand times. It had taken her ages to learn, but it was in her brain—in her fingers—somewhere. She picked through the rough parts of the beginning.

  It took her an hour, but she found it again. God, she loved playing guitar. Making music using her own fingers was personal. The music felt like it was hers. She could make her own music or accompany songs or pick up almost any song she wanted.

  She’d forgotten that amazing feeling.

  Somewhere between intensive cello and intensive swimming and intensive summer courses and an intense relationship, Erin had lost herself. She had stopped knowing what she wanted. She no longer knew what made her happy.

  Still strumming, eager to find the notes, Erin’s tears flowed. And if that wasn’t a song, she didn’t know what was.

  The guitar in Erin’s hands was friendlier than her cello. She didn’t need sheet music, or a director, or an orchestra; it was just her and the guitar. She could sit on the floor or sling it over her shoulder and walk away with it—if it ever stopped raining.

  “Is that you?” Felicity climbed into the caravan, spotted Erin’s tears, and pulled up a chair. “What’s the matter, love?”

  Erin couldn’t admit she didn’t know who she was, let alone what really made her happy. She was lost.

  Erin said, “I used to play this song for my grandmother. When I was young. Sometimes, when it was raining at their cottage, we would sit on their screened-in porch for hours. She was so patient with me. She never expected me to be anything larger than myself.”

  Felicity nodded.

  “She died,” Erin said. “My grandfather, too. He died just before Christmas.”

  “Is that why you came to us? Out of grief?”

  “Not exactly.” The emotions bubbled within her. She stared at her fingers and strummed.

  “In May, my whole life fell apart. I had these dreams, and they just … weren’t going to happen. So we tried to fix it. You wanted to host a student, and …” Erin drew a deep breath and her face contorted into an ugly cry. “My mom made me come. I didn’t want to, but it was a solution. And now, I don’t know. I loved Grandma Tea more than anything in the whole world, and she’s gone. I don’t know who I am anymore. I loved playing guitar, but I stopped. And sitting here, playing, it’s like I’m meeting myself again.”

  Felicity’s wrapped her arms around Erin and rested her chin on the crown of her head.

  “And I’m so sorry about what I said in Queenstown. I was really proud of my performance, but then I talked to my mother and I wasn’t and … I’m so sorry. You have been so kind. And you listen to me. And …” Sobs heaved out of her.

  Felicity held her close and let her cry.

  “Hank says to always do what makes me happy, but I don’t know what that is anymore.”

  Felicity held her at an arm’s distance. “Hank is a bit hedonistic, but he’s not wrong. Now that you’re looking for happiness, you’ll find it again.”

  Erin wiped her eyes and nodded. “I thought I was growing up, you know? Adults can’t just swim all summer and play guitar all winter. I started to move toward adulthood—great medical school, great job, great life—but instead of growing into my adult self, I’ve lost myself completely.”

  Felicity hugged her again. “You go looking, Erin. I’ll get tea.”

  Felicity selected dishes while Erin picked through tunes.

  Pippa came in to change her clothes. “I love hearing you play, Erin.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Haven’t you been outside today?” Hamish asked.

  “Not yet. But it’s about time I had a walk.”

  “Tea first?” Felicity asked.

  _________

  After simple sandwiches and crisps—which Erin still referred to as potato chips—it started pouring. Pippa engaged the family in the world’s longest game of Uno. Hamish danced a little jig when he won, and Erin begged off a second game.

  “I’m off on a walk.”

  Felicity said, “Still raining, love.”

  “I know. I think I might like a walk in the rain.”

  She had nothing on her mind, no destination, and no motive. And that was perfect. The wet hills were calling her name.

  Mud squished around her sandals as she walked away from the ocean. Muddy grass was no problem, but soon her shoes couldn’t grip anything and her palms landed in mud. Determined to make it, she clawed her way up the hill, grabbing at a rock that looked suspiciously like a rocket.

  Scrambling uphill was simpler when the ground was dry. And she needed tramping boots.

  Erin laughed as she slid down the hill.

  After five tries, she changed course
and returned to the beach. Spring break was long; the mountains would keep.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  Her penultimate full day in Pohara, Erin woke to an empty caravan and an urgent text.

  Litha: 9-1-1 Call ASAP.

  Erin walked through drizzle and morning greetings to find a quiet spot on the rocks between the caravan park and the beach. She loved this view.

  Drawing a deep breath, fear welled in Erin’s stomach. What could be so urgent? Maybe someone had died. Maybe it was juicy gossip. Or Lalitha was pregnant. Or Ben had gotten someone pregnant.

  Erin held her breath and called her friend.

  “You can come home!” Lalitha boomed.

  “Uh, hello?” Erin said.

  “Waterson let me keep my phone on deck during practice, just in case you called. So, it turns out the Quigleys—the parent Quigleys—were having a nasty divorce, and the dad was in California and the mom brought them here, and the courts forced her to return to California. So they’re gone! And you can come back. And I will gladly relinquish my captain’s mane to you.”

  “Li, I—”

  “You did the thing! You have the championship. Now you can have a captainship and we can finish our senior season together!” Lalitha screamed, “We’re getting the team back together!”

  Swimming with her girls. Her sun-drenched solo bedroom and huge tub. Her Fiat.

  Her schedule.

  Her cello.

  Her empty house.

  “I can’t,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “I said I can’t, Li.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t? Mitchell said you can come home any time. You did the thing! Come home! Come swim with me!”

  Erin missed Lalitha, but she was on the cusp of something bigger. New Zealand was changing her—or revealing parts of herself she didn’t know existed.

  “I love you, Li,” she said. “I need to stay. I want to stay. I’m … unwinding, I think?”

  “Is this about Hank?”

  “It’s about me, Li. I need to be here right now. I have some things to figure out.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Serious. I’m working some things out right now.”