Dear Isaac,
So, as you know, we decided to treat ourselves with a cruise around the Pacific. You know, to see all the islands before they became completely submerged by climate change. We booked online and from the website, it all looked pretty terrific. And it was definitely affordable. The price included all your meals, entertainment and some drinks coupons. An amazing value.
As you know, we left Sydney harbour on Thursday morning, waving goodbye to You, Shaz and the children. We all stood out on deck as the ship went through the Heads and out into the open sea. And at first, it was fantastic: great service, lovely people, etc. etc. But then, once we crossed the International Dateline, everything changed. The crew became very surly and uncooperative. I remember the night they cancel the show. This was a show I'd really been looking forward to. A sort of raunchy circus production with magicians and singing in the main auditorium. Anyway from that point on, the quality of the food deteriorated noticeably. Put it this way: the buffets became less opulent, less fresh. Complaints were made but it didn't seem to make a lick of difference. It got to the point where the crew became downright unfriendly and uncooperative. One morning it became apparent to us they had all disappeared deep into the bowels of the ship, locking themselves away behind a series of steel doors, so that it was only us, the passengers wandering around, trying to understand what was going on and why we'd been abandoned.
And then we went into the fog. It was a very thick and white fog. You would go out on deck and stand at the railing. And you couldn't see anything. Just a solid wall of white, the ship completely enveloped, as it pushed onwards. And it was cold as well. Too cold for that part of the Pacific Ocean. Being so close to the equator, it should have been hot. Balmy. Anyway, We'd stand at the railing and look down, and you couldn't even see the water. Nothing. It was like standing on the edge of a mountain. A mountain covered in low hanging cloud.
Your father and I mainly talked to the Canadian couple and the couple from Western Australia. As you might well imagine, we were all quite concerned. We'd meet up in the main dining hall and assess the situation. We couldn't contact the outside world. Once we'd gone into the fog, none of our devices worked anymore. This went on for six days. Can you imagine? Six days completely cut off from the world. I'd look out the porthole and there was nothing out there. Solid white. It was very disorientating. You had no sense of time passing. Finally, when your father had enough- you know how your father can get when he is pushed- he and Mr Dwight found and bailed up a porter. We demanded some answers! We got nothing. No information. Evasiveness. More open hostility. "Go back to your cabins", snarled this horrible little man. A man who, only days before, had been so friendly. So nice.
The restaurants and the buffet stations were all empty by the fifth day. Picked clean by the scavenging passengers. We-your Father and I- found a box of crackers and some cans of tuna. Much to my shame, we concealed it from the others. We had no idea how long this would go on for. We had to look out for ourselves.
The next morning we came out of the fog into bright sunlight. On the horizon, we could see what turned out to be a coastline comprised of very tall, very imposing limestone cliffs. Mr Dwight had a very good understanding of geography and he was completely confused. This continent had no business being in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. It certainly wasn't the American coastline. Anyway, the ship turned and for a time we followed the shore, running parallel to these endless cliffs. Then, at noon, we docked. It was very hot and there was no one there to meet us. We were all very hungry. The ship's gangplank automatically extended and aligned with a natural cave opening in the cliff face. Then a polite announcement to 'abandon ship' was broadcast over the PA followed by a siren. It was repeated again and again. "Abandon ship. Abandon ship," the voice repeated. This was not at all what we'd been expecting. We thought it would be all lovely white sand beaches and palm trees waving in the balmy breeze. This is more like the coastline of....I don't know.....Africa. We talked about remaining on the ship but there was no food left so that seemed like a pointless idea. We decided to leave. Carrying our luggage, we went along the gangplank and into the mouth of the cave. We trudged along in the dark for a short time. , a keyhole of light grew in size until we came out into a vast canyon, a natural amphitheatre.
A group of very tall....people.....were waiting for us. As we drew closer, we could see just how tall and unusual in appearance these individuals were. On average, they were almost double our height. They had a long, muscular limbs and thick, semi-translucent skin so that you could just make out the organs that kept them alive. It was a shock to be standing in front these beings and truly comprehend the difference in scale. We all felt like a group of toddlers compared to them. And I say 'beings' and not 'human beings' because they certainly weren't human. That was obvious from the start. They were aliens. For what seemed like a long time there was silence. Then Mr McAndrews from the Gold Coast nominated himself as the group's spokesman. He stepped forward and demanded to know what the hell was going on. We had paid good money for this cruise and there was no mention of this.
These Beings did not open their mouths to speak. They put words directly into our minds without sound...and not only words. Images and symbols. It was quite overwhelming at first. Until you got used to the sensation. It felt like your own thoughts had been crowded out, forced into submission. We actually saw this concept visualised as a series of diagrams. A human brain inside a box. The key to open this box in the palm of hand. The hand belonging to one of these creatures. The hand closing, fingers with five joints becoming a fist. Some of the passengers fainted. Others vomited and dropped to their knees. I had to lean again your father for support. Mr McAndrews started hitting the side of his head, demanding that they 'get out'! We were told that our lives, as we had known them, were finished. We saw more diagrams of what lay ahead. What role we would play. These images unfolded like an instruction manual. It was like seeing the future. Some tried to run back to the ship. They brought back word that the gangplank had been withdrawn and the ship had already set sail, leaving all of us stranded.
We soon learnt the name of this alien race. They were called the Tralfamaphamians. That afternoon they transported us to a very clean and orderly internment camp. We had to stay there for several days while we were interviewed and sorted into groups. A few of the passengers from the ship tried to resist and others even tried to escape. They were quickly rounded up and returned to the camp. The punishment was swift and unpleasant. The Tralfamaphamians were a very peaceful race but, as we soon learnt, it was best not get on their bad side. One of the escapees was flogged in front of us. The sonic whip cut through the flesh of that poor man's back like....a hot knife through butter. Muscle and skin came away with the ease of a well-cooked pig on a spit. Images of this disciplinary action were fed into our minds like the evening news. He only lived for another couple of days after that.
They took us off and put us to work. Behind the cliffs were snow capped mountains and a desert. At the edge of this desert stood a city. A vast place of citadels, public squares, private homes and apartments, parks and theatres.
We spent the rest of our lives in their opulent apartments and homes, cooking and cleaning and taking care of Tralfamaphamian children who were, at the age of seven, our size. The longer we served them, the more we learnt about our captors. We came to understand that the Tralfamaphamians were more graceful, stronger, more intelligent than we could ever hope to be. Their culture, their society, their technology: it was all far more advanced than ours. You came to miss hearing voices. Human voices. As the Tralfamaphamians couldn't abide the sound of human voices, we were required to learn sign language to communicate with each other.
We were their pets. Their valets. Their slaves. We watched the Tralfamaphamians enjoy their lives from the wings. We scurried beneath their feet and we did as we were told. The low hum of their thought chatter existed in our minds at all times. There was no rest from it. Not even when you slept. It got so you lost track of who you were. This communication was broadcast down from the head of each household. We were all 'tethered' to him or her. Us humans, the smart ones at least, realised it was better just to let go, to allow it to happen. If you fought....well, the penalties were unpleasant. But, if you towed the line, your life really wasn't that bad. If by some miracle this letter manages to reach you, what I'm saying is, this life of servitude hasn't been that bad. when they capture you, my advice to you is, don't resist. It won't take long for you to realise that the Tralfamaphamians deserved a dominant position in the universe.
Your father passed away last Christmas. I am still working every day. It's difficult to know what has happened to the rest of the world. I......
I was stirring, waking up, the plane cabin coming woozily into focus as I lifted my head. A dimly lit tube lined with people and TV screens playing the same three or four movies. Please forgive me. I never usually dream in this much detail. And never on planes. I could literally count the number of convincing, detailed dreams I have had in my life on one hand. And furthermore, I never explain my dreams to other people. Not in any great detail. Anyway. God. Wow! That was....I mean, I was really there. On that ship. In that woman's life. I was that woman. Anyway, the flight attendants were pushing the food and beverage carts down the aisles. It was a discount airline so they were discount flight attendants. Lamb curry or chicken? They asked. Tas opted for the curry. I went with the chicken. Hot food in a small disposable tray. Plastic cutlery.
We landed three hours later, the engines roaring in reverse on a foreign runway. We walked along the access skyway into the main terminal. I could feel the humidity. The 'Tralfamaphamians'. Is that what they were called? The name popped into my head as we walked through the new extension of the airport. I couldn't exactly remember. Anyway, the baggage claim came next followed by immigration and customs.
Our holiday was good. It was fine. A resort on the coast. A pool. A bar fridge in our room which was restocked every day. The local beer tasted better here even though I could find the same beer at home in the imported beer section. Crisp white sheets. Air conditioning. The decor modern. A picture of carp swirling around each other on the wall. Tas complained she was too plump for the two-piece bikini she'd bought obliging me to provide compliments. Which I did. We had a week of sun and cocktails. A week of grilled jumbo shrimp. It was nothing remotely challenging. When we'd been younger we would have taken local transport to cheaper, more down-to-earth locations. The kind of place where young surfers and fire twirlers hang out. Backpacker beaches. We were of an age where this didn't seem appealing anymore. Right outside the resort restaurant they had these large, white statues. They were all in the same pose. Their heads bowing slightly, these solemn figures were about 4 metres in height and they held bowls from which water slowly cascaded into a long infinity pool. At night these statues were under lit by spotlights. I'd look up from my deck chair and instantly start thinking about the dream on the plane. Why I'd been dreaming about aliens....I don't know. I hadn't read any science fiction since high school. Nor did I enjoy science fiction movies or tv shows. Frankly, I found them either too immature or too formulaic. And why had I assumed the character of a middle-aged woman in the dream? Why had it seemed so natural? I could clearly remember the city we'd lived in as slaves. The oversized architectural structures, the baroque details of those structures, the walls covered with hieroglyphic language. The fountains in the main square. I remember that woman's entire life-a life spent in servitude. The holiday week went quickly. We had some excellent meals in the resort. We thought about going into the little town one night but decided against it at the last moment. We had sex twice. We saw five magnificent sunsets.
Before I knew I was back home. Back in my cubical. My hand moulded around the mouse on my desk which controlled the cursor on my screen. I worked as an insurance claim adjuster. It wasn't the most exciting line of work but I knew it inside and out by that point. And there is a comfort in familiarity, isn't there? The money arriving in the joint bank accounts on a regular basis. Taz was back at her job in the city. In other words, the routine had been established. Even my tan was beginning to fade. I had a picture of the resort as my screen saver.
How was your holiday? asked Bryce. I told him it was great. I told him it exceeded our expectations....blah blah blah. But then I complained a little bit about the cost. And while I was at it, I complained about how quickly the time had gone. And I finished off by complaining about how strange it was to be back here, sitting in my cubical, in the office. How my only reprieve from all this was the weekend. How the weekends were little islands of peace and tranquillity. How I swam across the five days of work, not unlike a sea of shit, barely making it to Friday afternoon. Was this my life? I asked Bryce. I mean seriously?
Bryce still had his smile fixed in place but his eyes looked unsure. Unsettled. I could see that. He had not bargained on this level of detail in my response. I was still talking, twisted around in my seat, my take away coffee from earlier forgotten and having gone cold, my elbow on the keyboard, pressing down on the 'Z' key, sending a trail of 'Z's across the word document I was working on. I just kept talking without an end in sight. And poor Bryce was caught in this one-way conversation. You could plainly see he was desperately trying to extract himself and that he was berating himself for instigating it in the first place. I just kept going, talking, explaining and over-explaining everything about the holiday until Bryce backed out of my area. I continued to behave like this in my office. In fact, my behaviour intensified. I cornered people and annoyed them talking endlessly about the holiday, the holiday, the holiday. It got to the point where people stopped smiling and they just looked at me, their mouth hanging down with dismay. The stronger ones would say "You have told me all this before". The weaker ones would make excuses. Eventually, my boss called me into his office and told me to cut it out. To keep my personal life at home.
A few weeks later, Tabetha told me she was also having problems gearing back into her own work routine. She was having the same kind of problems I was having. We talked about it for about two hours and drank a bottle of terrible red wine. We decided to book two tickets for another vacation. Immediately. We didn't tell anyone. We didn't bother to go back to work the following morning. We packed out little rolling suitcases and the big one. The taxi took us to the airport. After jumping through the usual hoops, we were in the air. When I checked my emails I saw one there was one from my boss. I replied, telling him that something terrible was happening to a family member in the United Kingdom. A grandparent....No, a parent who was teetering on the edge. I kept things vague. Let them fill in the details, I said to Taz.
We went back to the same resort. They didn't give us the same room but the staff seemed happy enough to see us again. Why were you back? They asked. We didn't really have an answer. I don't know, I said. And then I laughed. Anyway, it felt natural to be back in the resort. I don't know why but everything was backwards. The resort felt like our home. In returning to our real lives, it felt we had travelled to a strange country. A place which was dull and didn't feel quite right. A place where the locals weren't too interesting and the culture was a bit of a disappointment. But anyway, we were back and that had been remedied. After a week it was like we were part of the staff. They were our extended family. We did nothing but swim, lay in the sun, sleep, eat and watch movies on the cable channel. Tasman was happy and so was I. we were happier than we'd ever been. At night I sat on the veranda and watched geckos run along the walls and ceiling of the balcony.
A month in the resort had put a huge dent in our shared accounts. More than I had expected. But as long as we paid, the staff smiled and greeted us and made us breakfast and cleaned our rooms. We just kept on going, day after day. In fact, it was the same beautiful day over and over again. But then one morning I found myself standing at the reception counter, embroiled in a silly argument with the manager whose smile had vanished. I kept swiping my card and it kept saying 'Decline'. I laughed and tried another card. Decline. Decline. Decline. I laughed again and shrugged and scratch the back of my head. This was all very inconvenient. I told the manager everything was fine. That I'd be right back and that this situation was ridiculous. I went back to our room and locked the door. Tasman was outside by the pool and when I stood out on the balcony, I could see her through the screen of foliage. I lay back on the king sized bed and looked up at the ceiling. A short time later there was a knock on the door. A quiet respectful one at first. The knocking continued, becoming more insistent. And the phone kept ringing.
So, as you know, we decided to treat ourselves with a cruise around the Pacific. You know, to see all the islands before they became completely submerged by climate change. We booked online and from the website, it all looked pretty terrific. And it was definitely affordable. The price included all your meals, entertainment and some drinks coupons. An amazing value.
As you know, we left Sydney harbour on Thursday morning, waving goodbye to You, Shaz and the children. We all stood out on deck as the ship went through the Heads and out into the open sea. And at first, it was fantastic: great service, lovely people, etc. etc. But then, once we crossed the International Dateline, everything changed. The crew became very surly and uncooperative. I remember the night they cancel the show. This was a show I'd really been looking forward to. A sort of raunchy circus production with magicians and singing in the main auditorium. Anyway from that point on, the quality of the food deteriorated noticeably. Put it this way: the buffets became less opulent, less fresh. Complaints were made but it didn't seem to make a lick of difference. It got to the point where the crew became downright unfriendly and uncooperative. One morning it became apparent to us they had all disappeared deep into the bowels of the ship, locking themselves away behind a series of steel doors, so that it was only us, the passengers wandering around, trying to understand what was going on and why we'd been abandoned.
And then we went into the fog. It was a very thick and white fog. You would go out on deck and stand at the railing. And you couldn't see anything. Just a solid wall of white, the ship completely enveloped, as it pushed onwards. And it was cold as well. Too cold for that part of the Pacific Ocean. Being so close to the equator, it should have been hot. Balmy. Anyway, We'd stand at the railing and look down, and you couldn't even see the water. Nothing. It was like standing on the edge of a mountain. A mountain covered in low hanging cloud.
Your father and I mainly talked to the Canadian couple and the couple from Western Australia. As you might well imagine, we were all quite concerned. We'd meet up in the main dining hall and assess the situation. We couldn't contact the outside world. Once we'd gone into the fog, none of our devices worked anymore. This went on for six days. Can you imagine? Six days completely cut off from the world. I'd look out the porthole and there was nothing out there. Solid white. It was very disorientating. You had no sense of time passing. Finally, when your father had enough- you know how your father can get when he is pushed- he and Mr Dwight found and bailed up a porter. We demanded some answers! We got nothing. No information. Evasiveness. More open hostility. "Go back to your cabins", snarled this horrible little man. A man who, only days before, had been so friendly. So nice.
The restaurants and the buffet stations were all empty by the fifth day. Picked clean by the scavenging passengers. We-your Father and I- found a box of crackers and some cans of tuna. Much to my shame, we concealed it from the others. We had no idea how long this would go on for. We had to look out for ourselves.
The next morning we came out of the fog into bright sunlight. On the horizon, we could see what turned out to be a coastline comprised of very tall, very imposing limestone cliffs. Mr Dwight had a very good understanding of geography and he was completely confused. This continent had no business being in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. It certainly wasn't the American coastline. Anyway, the ship turned and for a time we followed the shore, running parallel to these endless cliffs. Then, at noon, we docked. It was very hot and there was no one there to meet us. We were all very hungry. The ship's gangplank automatically extended and aligned with a natural cave opening in the cliff face. Then a polite announcement to 'abandon ship' was broadcast over the PA followed by a siren. It was repeated again and again. "Abandon ship. Abandon ship," the voice repeated. This was not at all what we'd been expecting. We thought it would be all lovely white sand beaches and palm trees waving in the balmy breeze. This is more like the coastline of....I don't know.....Africa. We talked about remaining on the ship but there was no food left so that seemed like a pointless idea. We decided to leave. Carrying our luggage, we went along the gangplank and into the mouth of the cave. We trudged along in the dark for a short time. , a keyhole of light grew in size until we came out into a vast canyon, a natural amphitheatre.
A group of very tall....people.....were waiting for us. As we drew closer, we could see just how tall and unusual in appearance these individuals were. On average, they were almost double our height. They had a long, muscular limbs and thick, semi-translucent skin so that you could just make out the organs that kept them alive. It was a shock to be standing in front these beings and truly comprehend the difference in scale. We all felt like a group of toddlers compared to them. And I say 'beings' and not 'human beings' because they certainly weren't human. That was obvious from the start. They were aliens. For what seemed like a long time there was silence. Then Mr McAndrews from the Gold Coast nominated himself as the group's spokesman. He stepped forward and demanded to know what the hell was going on. We had paid good money for this cruise and there was no mention of this.
These Beings did not open their mouths to speak. They put words directly into our minds without sound...and not only words. Images and symbols. It was quite overwhelming at first. Until you got used to the sensation. It felt like your own thoughts had been crowded out, forced into submission. We actually saw this concept visualised as a series of diagrams. A human brain inside a box. The key to open this box in the palm of hand. The hand belonging to one of these creatures. The hand closing, fingers with five joints becoming a fist. Some of the passengers fainted. Others vomited and dropped to their knees. I had to lean again your father for support. Mr McAndrews started hitting the side of his head, demanding that they 'get out'! We were told that our lives, as we had known them, were finished. We saw more diagrams of what lay ahead. What role we would play. These images unfolded like an instruction manual. It was like seeing the future. Some tried to run back to the ship. They brought back word that the gangplank had been withdrawn and the ship had already set sail, leaving all of us stranded.
We soon learnt the name of this alien race. They were called the Tralfamaphamians. That afternoon they transported us to a very clean and orderly internment camp. We had to stay there for several days while we were interviewed and sorted into groups. A few of the passengers from the ship tried to resist and others even tried to escape. They were quickly rounded up and returned to the camp. The punishment was swift and unpleasant. The Tralfamaphamians were a very peaceful race but, as we soon learnt, it was best not get on their bad side. One of the escapees was flogged in front of us. The sonic whip cut through the flesh of that poor man's back like....a hot knife through butter. Muscle and skin came away with the ease of a well-cooked pig on a spit. Images of this disciplinary action were fed into our minds like the evening news. He only lived for another couple of days after that.
They took us off and put us to work. Behind the cliffs were snow capped mountains and a desert. At the edge of this desert stood a city. A vast place of citadels, public squares, private homes and apartments, parks and theatres.
We spent the rest of our lives in their opulent apartments and homes, cooking and cleaning and taking care of Tralfamaphamian children who were, at the age of seven, our size. The longer we served them, the more we learnt about our captors. We came to understand that the Tralfamaphamians were more graceful, stronger, more intelligent than we could ever hope to be. Their culture, their society, their technology: it was all far more advanced than ours. You came to miss hearing voices. Human voices. As the Tralfamaphamians couldn't abide the sound of human voices, we were required to learn sign language to communicate with each other.
We were their pets. Their valets. Their slaves. We watched the Tralfamaphamians enjoy their lives from the wings. We scurried beneath their feet and we did as we were told. The low hum of their thought chatter existed in our minds at all times. There was no rest from it. Not even when you slept. It got so you lost track of who you were. This communication was broadcast down from the head of each household. We were all 'tethered' to him or her. Us humans, the smart ones at least, realised it was better just to let go, to allow it to happen. If you fought....well, the penalties were unpleasant. But, if you towed the line, your life really wasn't that bad. If by some miracle this letter manages to reach you, what I'm saying is, this life of servitude hasn't been that bad. when they capture you, my advice to you is, don't resist. It won't take long for you to realise that the Tralfamaphamians deserved a dominant position in the universe.
Your father passed away last Christmas. I am still working every day. It's difficult to know what has happened to the rest of the world. I......
I was stirring, waking up, the plane cabin coming woozily into focus as I lifted my head. A dimly lit tube lined with people and TV screens playing the same three or four movies. Please forgive me. I never usually dream in this much detail. And never on planes. I could literally count the number of convincing, detailed dreams I have had in my life on one hand. And furthermore, I never explain my dreams to other people. Not in any great detail. Anyway. God. Wow! That was....I mean, I was really there. On that ship. In that woman's life. I was that woman. Anyway, the flight attendants were pushing the food and beverage carts down the aisles. It was a discount airline so they were discount flight attendants. Lamb curry or chicken? They asked. Tas opted for the curry. I went with the chicken. Hot food in a small disposable tray. Plastic cutlery.
We landed three hours later, the engines roaring in reverse on a foreign runway. We walked along the access skyway into the main terminal. I could feel the humidity. The 'Tralfamaphamians'. Is that what they were called? The name popped into my head as we walked through the new extension of the airport. I couldn't exactly remember. Anyway, the baggage claim came next followed by immigration and customs.
Our holiday was good. It was fine. A resort on the coast. A pool. A bar fridge in our room which was restocked every day. The local beer tasted better here even though I could find the same beer at home in the imported beer section. Crisp white sheets. Air conditioning. The decor modern. A picture of carp swirling around each other on the wall. Tas complained she was too plump for the two-piece bikini she'd bought obliging me to provide compliments. Which I did. We had a week of sun and cocktails. A week of grilled jumbo shrimp. It was nothing remotely challenging. When we'd been younger we would have taken local transport to cheaper, more down-to-earth locations. The kind of place where young surfers and fire twirlers hang out. Backpacker beaches. We were of an age where this didn't seem appealing anymore. Right outside the resort restaurant they had these large, white statues. They were all in the same pose. Their heads bowing slightly, these solemn figures were about 4 metres in height and they held bowls from which water slowly cascaded into a long infinity pool. At night these statues were under lit by spotlights. I'd look up from my deck chair and instantly start thinking about the dream on the plane. Why I'd been dreaming about aliens....I don't know. I hadn't read any science fiction since high school. Nor did I enjoy science fiction movies or tv shows. Frankly, I found them either too immature or too formulaic. And why had I assumed the character of a middle-aged woman in the dream? Why had it seemed so natural? I could clearly remember the city we'd lived in as slaves. The oversized architectural structures, the baroque details of those structures, the walls covered with hieroglyphic language. The fountains in the main square. I remember that woman's entire life-a life spent in servitude. The holiday week went quickly. We had some excellent meals in the resort. We thought about going into the little town one night but decided against it at the last moment. We had sex twice. We saw five magnificent sunsets.
Before I knew I was back home. Back in my cubical. My hand moulded around the mouse on my desk which controlled the cursor on my screen. I worked as an insurance claim adjuster. It wasn't the most exciting line of work but I knew it inside and out by that point. And there is a comfort in familiarity, isn't there? The money arriving in the joint bank accounts on a regular basis. Taz was back at her job in the city. In other words, the routine had been established. Even my tan was beginning to fade. I had a picture of the resort as my screen saver.
How was your holiday? asked Bryce. I told him it was great. I told him it exceeded our expectations....blah blah blah. But then I complained a little bit about the cost. And while I was at it, I complained about how quickly the time had gone. And I finished off by complaining about how strange it was to be back here, sitting in my cubical, in the office. How my only reprieve from all this was the weekend. How the weekends were little islands of peace and tranquillity. How I swam across the five days of work, not unlike a sea of shit, barely making it to Friday afternoon. Was this my life? I asked Bryce. I mean seriously?
Bryce still had his smile fixed in place but his eyes looked unsure. Unsettled. I could see that. He had not bargained on this level of detail in my response. I was still talking, twisted around in my seat, my take away coffee from earlier forgotten and having gone cold, my elbow on the keyboard, pressing down on the 'Z' key, sending a trail of 'Z's across the word document I was working on. I just kept talking without an end in sight. And poor Bryce was caught in this one-way conversation. You could plainly see he was desperately trying to extract himself and that he was berating himself for instigating it in the first place. I just kept going, talking, explaining and over-explaining everything about the holiday until Bryce backed out of my area. I continued to behave like this in my office. In fact, my behaviour intensified. I cornered people and annoyed them talking endlessly about the holiday, the holiday, the holiday. It got to the point where people stopped smiling and they just looked at me, their mouth hanging down with dismay. The stronger ones would say "You have told me all this before". The weaker ones would make excuses. Eventually, my boss called me into his office and told me to cut it out. To keep my personal life at home.
A few weeks later, Tabetha told me she was also having problems gearing back into her own work routine. She was having the same kind of problems I was having. We talked about it for about two hours and drank a bottle of terrible red wine. We decided to book two tickets for another vacation. Immediately. We didn't tell anyone. We didn't bother to go back to work the following morning. We packed out little rolling suitcases and the big one. The taxi took us to the airport. After jumping through the usual hoops, we were in the air. When I checked my emails I saw one there was one from my boss. I replied, telling him that something terrible was happening to a family member in the United Kingdom. A grandparent....No, a parent who was teetering on the edge. I kept things vague. Let them fill in the details, I said to Taz.
We went back to the same resort. They didn't give us the same room but the staff seemed happy enough to see us again. Why were you back? They asked. We didn't really have an answer. I don't know, I said. And then I laughed. Anyway, it felt natural to be back in the resort. I don't know why but everything was backwards. The resort felt like our home. In returning to our real lives, it felt we had travelled to a strange country. A place which was dull and didn't feel quite right. A place where the locals weren't too interesting and the culture was a bit of a disappointment. But anyway, we were back and that had been remedied. After a week it was like we were part of the staff. They were our extended family. We did nothing but swim, lay in the sun, sleep, eat and watch movies on the cable channel. Tasman was happy and so was I. we were happier than we'd ever been. At night I sat on the veranda and watched geckos run along the walls and ceiling of the balcony.
A month in the resort had put a huge dent in our shared accounts. More than I had expected. But as long as we paid, the staff smiled and greeted us and made us breakfast and cleaned our rooms. We just kept on going, day after day. In fact, it was the same beautiful day over and over again. But then one morning I found myself standing at the reception counter, embroiled in a silly argument with the manager whose smile had vanished. I kept swiping my card and it kept saying 'Decline'. I laughed and tried another card. Decline. Decline. Decline. I laughed again and shrugged and scratch the back of my head. This was all very inconvenient. I told the manager everything was fine. That I'd be right back and that this situation was ridiculous. I went back to our room and locked the door. Tasman was outside by the pool and when I stood out on the balcony, I could see her through the screen of foliage. I lay back on the king sized bed and looked up at the ceiling. A short time later there was a knock on the door. A quiet respectful one at first. The knocking continued, becoming more insistent. And the phone kept ringing.
