Antipodes

by Michele Bacon

  “Did I tell you someone was herding cows in the road when we drove down to Queenstown? It was hilarious.”

  Hank said, “Yep. Happens a lot, especially in the wop wops.”

  At Hokitika, they turned inland toward Hokitika Gorge and Hank said, “Solid ninety minutes in the car, and you haven’t chucked. I’m impressed.”

  “There’s still time.”

  Hank parked in a tiny lot and checked his watch for the ten millionth time. “Two hours, that’s it.”

  “I’m not in a rush. Are you in a rush?”

  He said, “We have one more stop, and we can’t be late.”

  That deadline was a shame, because the gorge was, in fact, gorgeous: impossibly blue, still water pooled between boulders in a forest of evergreens. Mountains loomed all around as if this gem were here just for them.

  “We don’t have time for both swimming and hiking. What’s your pleasure?”

  She’d had enough hiking at Arthur’s Pass. “Let’s swim.”

  “Down to your togs, then!” Hank ripped off his shirt, jumped off a boulder, splashed into the water, and screamed. “Dicey! It’s frigid.”

  Erin stood at the water’s edge for an eternity.

  “Come on in!” Hank said. “It’s like ripping off a plaster: best to do it all at once.”

  “I’m not falling for that.”

  “Come on. I did it for you!”

  She ran toward the water and cannonballed two feet from him. Her head broke the water and she screamed, “Jesus!”

  “Nope, still Hank.”

  “It’s freezing!” She pulled herself up onto a cool rock.

  “You prefer the hike, then?”

  “Not now. Now I’ll freeze no matter what we do.”

  “Back to the truck, then?”

  She wrapped up in her towel while Hank dove underwater a few times. Hopping into the truck would warm her up for sure, but they’d only just arrived. And she knew Hank had other ideas. “It’s a long drive for a quick peek at a blue gorge.”

  She peeled out of her suit and dressed in dry clothes.

  Hank rubbed his hair and trunks with her towel. “It’s a short walk, really. Let’s go for it.”

  _________

  From the swing bridge, the electric blue water was mesmerizing.

  “How is it so blue?” Erin said.

  “It’s glacial water, for one. The rock flour makes it opaque.”

  She hadn’t noticed it was opaque, didn’t even care when she jumped in—that’s how compelling the blue was.

  “I feel like your country is constantly playing a game of one-upmanship with itself.”

  He laughed. “It’s a South Island thing. If you come back, we’ll take you to the North Island. It’s a whole different story: cities and ten-lane highways and crowds.”

  “I think. I think I might be a South Island girl.”

  “I certainly hope so.” He kissed her for a long time. “Warming up?”

  “Starting to. Back to the car?” She raised her eyebrows.

  His watch. “We’re nearly out of time. Let’s make our last stop, and then maybe some time in the car?”

  Erin couldn’t imagine anything more pressing than pressing their bodies together. She locked her arms behind his neck. “Let’s just stay here. Right here. South Island. Gorgeous gorge.”

  He pulled back. “Nope. We need to finish the story, and it doesn’t end here.”

  Hank pulled a pair of socks and a jersey from the backseat. Wearing them, she tucked up into a ball and warmed up. A half-hour later, they drove through the quaint town of Hokitika and parked near the shore. Hank leapt from the car, grabbed his blanket, and dragged her onto the beach.

  “Here we go.” He spread out the blanket and lay on his belly, facing the water. “Quick. Quick!”

  Erin stretched out next to him and followed his gaze, over shadows cast by tiny sand hills and onto the water. The wind had picked up, so whitecaps broke near and far. The sea appeared green and black, and broke into white frothy caps. An inch above the horizon, the orange sun threatened to take a dip.

  Oh.

  Sunset was like a larger-than-life rainbow, without the green … unless she counted the sea’s deep green. Erin and Hank lay in silence as the sun dipped its toes into the ocean and slid in.

  The sun had set over the ocean trillions of times. While she’d lived intensely in Wheaton, waves had crashed onto this shore. Waves crashed, mountains loomed, shells washed in and out with the tide. Since before she was born. Since before anyone was born!

  The gorgeous sunset would repeat tomorrow and the next day, regardless of where she was and what she was doing.

  She whispered, “Sunrise over the ocean. Sunset over the ocean.”

  Hank said, “The Tasman Sea, but you get the idea. No matter where you go, or what you do, I hope you will remember spending the longest day of the year with me.”

  “Thank you.”

  As darkness descended around them, Erin rested her cheek on her hands, facing Hank.

  “Naked swim?” he said.

  “Can we do that?”

  “Course we can do that.”

  Near the water, they dropped their clothes and ran into the chilly sea. For an hour, they frolicked, naked, under a crescent moon in the deep charcoal sky.

  “Thank you for giving me the day,” Hank said.

  In neck-deep water, Erin wrapped her arms around Hank and kissed him as if it were the last time. “I’ll never forget this.”

  Erin wanted it to be true. In less than twenty-four hours, she’d be gone—for a while, at least. And she desperately wanted to hold onto the part of herself she’d found in New Zealand.

  Forever.

  SEVENTY-EIGHT

  The next morning, Erin found Felicity in her bedroom.

  “Felicity?”

  She looked up from her book. “Yes, love? How was your day with Hank?”

  “Wonderful. Just—it was amazing. How was your day?”

  “Great. Pippa ran with her pack all day, naturally. That’s how summer is: see her for brekkies, see her for tea, and she’s off the rest of the day.”

  “I love that,” Erin said. “My summers were like that, a long time ago.”

  Felicity smiled. “And I got heaps done in the garden. I was thinking you’ll miss the feijoa if you don’t come back in January.”

  “Feijoa?”

  “It’s the tree beside the swing set. Lovely fruits.”

  Erin stared at Felicity, trying to convey with her eyes everything she couldn’t yet say.

  “What did you need, love?”

  Erin stared at the blue carpet that now felt like home. How could she leave?

  “Erin?”

  Ear-in.

  “I was wondering whether you would give consent for me to get a tattoo.”

  Felicity paused. “How do you think your parents would feel about that?”

  “That’s the thing. I want one to remind me I don’t need to follow their path. I have to go back for now, at least. But I don’t have to continue the rat race. I don’t have to push myself into things I don’t particularly enjoy. A tattoo will help me hang onto the peace and headspace I’ve found here.”

  Felicity took two deep breaths. “You know, tattoos are harder to hide on swimmers.”

  Erin swallowed hard. “I’m not sure I care about that.”

  “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “Well, I have already thought about my mother and, you know, the rest of my life. I could hide it on my butt, but then I’d never see it. And the whole point is to see it all the time. Below my navel, in the bikini area, is certainly an area she wouldn’t find it but, you know?” Erin blushed, thinking of Hank. “Someday, someone else might find it and it’s not for them, either.”

  Felicity nodded. “When I was on my O.E., I went out with this bloke. I was in England. His name was something royal. Charlie? George? It hardly matters anymore. Anyway, we were getting … intimate.
And his knickers were black with the name Amy in pink cursive all over them. Bad time to discuss it.”

  “No!” Erin might miss Felicity—being Felicity’s daughter—more than she’d miss New Zealand itself.

  Felicity said, “So, not the bikini line. Good decision. Where, then?”

  “I was thinking of getting it wrapped around my middle finger, where almost no one would see it, but I would, every day.”

  “Under your ring?”

  “Yes.” Erin twisted the ring so its diamonds scattered sunlight across the ceiling. What if Claire confiscated the ring when Erin landed? All these months gone, and Claire had never mentioned it. Erin felt confident in her case for keeping it.

  “Legal age of consent in New Zealand is just sixteen. I couldn’t stop you if I wanted to.”

  They held each other’s gaze for a long minute. Erin whispered, “Do you want to stop me?”

  “I don’t.” Felicity’s smile was kind. “I think you’re a different girl than the one who landed here almost a half year ago. You’ve shown your true self. I agreed to take care of you and provide for you, and even in the beginning I was going to do that. But, over these last five months, you’ve impressed me. You are a smart young woman. You’re choosing your own way and making decisions that, frankly, I didn’t expect when I met you.”

  “So you think it’s a good idea.”

  “Nope. I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’m delighted to be tattoo-free. But I trust you. I trust that this is the right decision for you. I trust it’s what you want. And it’s your body.”

  “Thank you.”

  Felicity pulled out her bookmark and returned to her novel.

  “Felicity? Could you drive me?”

  SEVENTY-NINE

  It hurt more than she’d expected, and she was grateful for choosing something small. Her tattoo artist, Jo—a tiny woman with one arm bare and one tattooed—warned that finger tattoos didn’t always have the staying power of tattoos on other areas of the body.

  “You’ll need an artist to touch it up every few years.”

  Erin was adamant: it had to be under her ring.

  Jo recommended Erin get the tattoo on her right hand, since a wedding band might force Tea’s ring to her right hand.

  Erin had nodded her agreement, but as the needle pierced her flesh over and again, she almost wished she’d let Jo talk her out of it.

  Almost.

  Two hours later, she admired her right hand. New Zealand’s islands ringed her middle finger; no matter what happened, they would be part of her forever.

  EIGHTY

  Hank picked up Erin after her last tea with her kiwi family.

  They wound up naked on his sofa again, and an hour later retired to his hammock in very little clothing.

  “You never taught me the butterfly.”

  “We need to do it in a pool.”

  “Sounds naughty.”

  They giggled, and Erin realized how much she would miss his smile, his deep brown eyes, his hands.

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “You can teach me when you come back.”

  “I mean, I don’t want to go, ever.”

  “Life goes on,” Hank said.

  “All the time.” Erin expected a shooting star to punctuate the moment, but the deep starry sky didn’t change. “I hope to be back soon enough. I just feel so good here, especially when I’m with you.”

  He kissed her forehead. “I know what you mean. You make me feel good.”

  “You make me feel … like myself. Like it’s okay to be myself.”

  They dissolved into warm kisses, their hungry bodies entangled.

  Between kisses, Erin said, “I got a tattoo this morning.”

  He pulled back. “You’re joking.”

  “Nope. I did it.”

  He was almost giddy. “Well, what is it? Where is it?”

  She bit her lip. “Maybe you should go looking for it.”

  “Sweet as.” He kissed her navel and up her torso, between her breasts. “Well hidden, eh? I’ll keep looking.”

  It took him an hour of stimulating searching to find it.

  EIGHTY-ONE

  Pippa bawled at the airport. “You’ll always be my sister.”

  Erin, who had never wanted a sibling, was suddenly losing one. She kissed Pippa on the head.

  “I’ll try to come back as soon as I can. If I come back for college, we’ll see each other all the time.”

  “Yeah!” Pippa said.

  “And you’ll move back in with us?” Hamish asked.

  Erin looked from Hamish to Felicity. “If you’ll have me.”

  Her words hung in the air for an eternity before Hamish spoke. “You’re part of our family, Erin. And you’re welcome back any time.”

  Erin nodded.

  She hugged them all, and the whole family had wet eyes.

  Hank’s eyes were dry when she got to him. Erin whispered, “Thanks. This has changed my life.”

  “I hope your life is happy,” he said.

  Felicity snapped a picture of them together and promised to email it.

  Erin stood back with her phone to snap photos of Pippa and the rest of the family. Hank snapped a photo of Erin with them.

  “Could you take a video?” Erin asked.

  “Of what?”

  “Just start rolling.”

  He touched the screen and Erin turned to her family, hugging them again. She told them and how grateful she was, and that she’d miss them.

  Hamish said, “It’s been good. For all of us.”

  Felicity said, “I’m so proud of you.”

  Erin took three steps back and waved. Hank panned from Erin to her family.

  “I love you!” Pippa yelled.

  Hank touched the screen again. “Got it.”

  After one final hug, Erin walked toward the scanners.

  There’s a difference between knowing you’re loved and feeling loved. Erin’s little video would go a long way toward making Erin feel loved every time she watched.

  She placed her bag on the belt and waited as security personnel escorted an elderly man in a wheelchair. Staring at her hands, Erin spun her grandmother’s ring and moved it toward her knuckle. She loved how her tattoo made her feel: strong, self-aware, and truly independent. At last, Erin felt she belonged to herself.

  Actually, that feeling had always been within her; she just had to come to New Zealand to rediscover it.

  And that feeling was hers, forever.

  —LOGUE

  Erin dove off the dock and swam underwater, the lake water a cold comb raking her hair. She propelled herself onto her canvas raft and relaxed her muscles.

  Music danced across the water, so they’d be leaving in an hour. Erin rested her arm over her eyes and soaked in the warmth. Basking in sunlight, Erin imagined herself at nine.

  Nine-year-olds had more freedom. Nine-year-olds had more fun.

  She still needed to pack, but her luggage could wait. For now, Erin reveled in her own happiness.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Unlike Erin, I loved New Zealand years before we met. Before moving to Christchurch, I conducted heaps of research. I knew about the 2010/2011 earthquakes. I knew everything would be smaller, the pace would be slower, and my life would be different in myriad and unexpected ways. And it was. And it was fabulous. I would move back again in a heartbeat.

  Also, Vogel’s bread is the best bread.

  I’m sure I idealize and romanticize my life in New Zealand, and I’m fine with that.

  There exist a few discrepancies between Erin’s Christchurch and actual Christchurch:

  I created Ilam High, but Ilam Primary is real. It is the most wonderful school I’ve ever known. Ilam’s faculty and community welcomed us during our scant year in Christchurch, and I cannot thank them enough. I miss that community.

  There are no direct flights from California to Christchurch, but Auckland airport wasn’t part of Erin’s story.

&nb
sp; To the best of my knowledge and view from Google Earth, there are no docks on Lake Taharoa.

  There is no cell service in the hills of Pohara. And many other places in New Zealand. It’s glorious.

  The Roxx is now closed. Go climb outside.

  To suit Erin’s calendar, I altered New Zealand’s tides, phases of the moon, and planets visible in the night sky.

  Like Seattle, Christchurch is awash in rainbows. They weren’t part of Erin’s story, but have been a dazzling aspect of my own.

  Stay strong, Chch; my heart beats with you.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My favorite cartographer created the map of New Zealand featured here. Thank you, Karen Rank.

  I, too, had a New Zealand relay team. Thank you Jill Wellman (who’s the perfect neighbor), Vienna Galagher (whose friendship surprised me), Donna Blakely (whose entire family is a joy), and Annie Horton (who anchored me). I miss you all.

  Without other people performing their jobs spectacularly, I could not do this job I love. Thanks to everyone in my community, but especially Jennifer Anaya, Tessa Boutwell, Nancy Broaders, Tetiana Dunets, Nicole Frail, Natalie Jacqua, Andrea Somberg, Karlee Taylor, and Sylvie Taylor.

  My critique group keeps me in line. Thank you Kristina Cerise, Elisabeth Fredrickson, Mary Jean Lord, Meg Pasquini, Peggy Sturdivant, Ruth Teichroeb, and Lauren Ziemski.

  Though I learned the word sublime from my favorite sixth-grade teacher, I didn’t truly understand the concept for nearly twenty-five years. Darleen Carey, thank you for every invaluable lesson, especially the importance of editing with red pencil.

  Early readers provided guidance. Thank you Katie Anthony, Alison Bazeley, Donna Blakely, Heather Booth, Anique Drouin, Gretchen O’Connell, Sarah Quigley, and Renita Stuart. And very special thanks to Kylie Jabjiniak, whose insight was crucial.

  I’m grateful to finally have colleagues. Thank you, Cupcake Writers; you are lovely and amazing.

  Without a timely writer’s residency at Chez Cerise, I could not have made deadline. Merci.