Ten days to go:
‘How much money do you have?’
‘Dad, that’s my business. I’ve got enough.’
He pulled out a pen and paper to illustrate for me the impracticality of my plans. ‘You need 3 meals a day and a bed every night. Each meal is minimum $15. That’s $45 already gone per day. Extra expenditures, another $30 minimum per day. A room per night is minimum $60 per night. That’s already $135 per day, times that by 7 and that’s $945 a week. Then you’ve got fuel on top of that and that’s $50 a full tank. That’s $1000 a week. How much do you have?’ I stared into my breakfast bowl. I wasn’t going to let him and his numbers intimidate me.
‘We’re camping and backpacking. On a budget. I have enough.’ Dad stood up over me.
‘These numbers are the facts, Debra!’
‘No! The only fact is how much I have! All what you’ve said are your interpretations!’
Dad held up a threatening finger. ‘I will not lend you any money. You need to learn hard way of the absurdity of your actions.’ Indignantly, I poured myself some more milk.
9 days to go:
‘Debra…’ Mum started. I looked up from my sandwich. Why is it always when I’m eating?
‘You’re going to be in unfamiliar places with people you don’t know…’
‘Yeah, that’s the idea.’
‘And you’re going to be out of money…’ again, with the money. ‘…please don’t dance for it.’
‘What!’ I half laughed.
‘Oh, you laugh now. But people get desperate for money and do silly things. I don’t want you to think that because no one knows you there you will have the freedom to dance and strip for money…or even sell yourself for it.’
My jaw fell loose. A tomato slice dropped to my plate.
‘I just wanted to say that. Ok. I’ve said it.’ and she left the table. I chewed slowly.
8 days to go:
‘Debra…’ this time I was watching TV. ‘Really, you’ve got to think about your integrity. It’s already bad enough that you’re running away with this boy you’ve just met. Your cousins and aunties all think your father and I are bad parents for letting you go-‘
‘You’re not ‘letting me go’. I’m just ‘going’ and you can’t stop me.’
‘-so for you to become a dancer-‘ her voice was wavering and I was getting angry.
‘Is that what you think of me?’ I snapped. ‘Is that how you think you raised me?’ Mum started to say something but I cut her off.
‘You think I’m going to STRIP for money? You don’t think that I have the ability to get a proper job if it comes to it? You think I’m INCAPABLE?’ my voice grew louder and I rose to my feet. ‘Is that what you think of me?’
Mum sputtered and started back-pedaling. ‘No, no I didn’t mean that you would. I just wanted to at least say something so you know it’s unacceptable!’
‘Who do you think I am!’ I raged. I wanted to continue shouting, demanding what had I ever done to deserve such credentials from my own mother. My eyes brimmed with tears of fury. ‘Whatever. We’re not having this argument. It’s ridiculous and embarrassing for both of us.’ I held Mum’s gaze to let her see my hurt and anger then retreated to my room.
Five days to go:
‘Debra. You’re too romantic.’ Mum broke the silence. I crossed my arms and huffed through my nostrils. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I called on my Zen patience to get me through whatever nonsense she had to say. ‘I’m afraid that you’re thinking that this Knight boy is going to be ‘the One’. He could break your heart. What if you guys get into a fight along the way and break up? And you’re stuck in the middle of the country? How are you guys going to figure things out then? You can’t get away from each other!’
The bloody ‘what-ifs’. Everyone always focused on the worst possible ‘what-if’ scenarios. Sure they can happen…with that attitude.
‘What if we get along? What if we have the time of our lives and fall in love?’ I icily challenged. ‘I’m prepared to take the risk, Mum. There’s an equal chance of anything happening. I’d rather risk being unhappy travelling with Knight than stick around and KNOW I’ll be unhappy here. I’ve got nothing to lose.’ We were both surprised at my calm. It settled me in my confidence and unnerved Mum.
Four days to go:
In the sanctuary of my room, I laid out all the things I was preparing to leave with. My clothes were neatly sectioned into different categories. Short sleeve, long sleeve. Pants, shorts. Warm clothing. Light clothing. Ventilated clothing. Rain-proof clothing. Quick-dry clothing. Pajamas. Underwear. I pinched my chin. Was it too much? Then I turned my attention to the floor where I had all my ‘hard’ camping stuff. My big-ass backpack, compact cooking pots, utensils to eat with, compass, Swiss army knife, the little burning-thingy to screw on top of the gas-thingy, the gas-thingy, some other recommended shiny thingies I bought at the camping store… I frowned. I was out of my depth.
There was a knock on the door. I tensed up. Aunty Jenny peeped in. I jumped in surprise.
‘What are you doing here?’ I went to hug and kiss her hello. Aunty Jenny was my favourite of all the Aunties.
‘Oh, you know… just thought I’d drop by and see how you were going…’ her unnatural manner gave the game away.
‘Dad called you over.’ She nervously paced my room, touching random things, pretending to inspect them.
‘No! Why can’t I drive an hour and ten minutes across town to see my favourite niece?’ I raised an eyebrow.
She let out a defeated sigh and sat on my bed. ‘Alright, busted. Just tell me what’s on your mind. I’m not taking sides. I’m here to listen.’
To my amazement, she actually did. My most talkative Aunty stayed silent the whole time I spoke. And I was surprised at what I chose to talk about. I didn’t whinge about my unhappiness. I didn’t rage on about my parents. I didn’t even gush about Knight. My soliloquy was about ME and discovering MYSELF. How am I supposed to figure out anything if I’m constantly surrounded by people telling me what to do and what I should do? How am I meant to challenge and surprise myself if I’m told everything that comes around the corner? How can I possibly grow if I’m stimulated by the same surroundings, the same people and the same perspectives? When I finished, Aunty Jenny reached for the tissue box. She was crying. I was confused.
‘I was exactly like you when I was your age, but I took the path your fa-‘ she caught herself, ‘-everyone else chose for me. It’s a good life. It’s stable. But none of it was MY choice.’ She sniffed. ‘Go. You have to.’
She hugged me tight and wished me all the best. On her way out of the house I heard her snap something at her brother in their mother tongue and slammed the door on her way out.
Three days to go:
You won’t believe this. the post office can’t find my package!
Knight’s tent, backpack, boots and sleeping bag were sent down by his mum from Queensland a week ago and were nowhere to be found. I called Knight.
‘What does that mean then?’
‘It’s a registered package, but they can’t find it. Apparently it was scanned in a few days ago at the post office and put into the delivery van. Since then…nobody knows…’
‘How essential is it to have them?’
‘If we want to go camping they’re pretty essential…’
‘So... we’ll just keep our fingers crossed?’
‘Don’t worry, babe. We still have a few days left. It might show up.’
Two days to go:
Deb and Knight’s farewell party.
‘Wow, Deb! That’s your new boyfriend? He’s hot.’
‘What! He’s heading to Thailand!? My dream! He’s the ONE!’
‘Deb, I sure hope you’re making the right decision. You’re pretty damn crazy for doing this…’
‘You’re going to have so much fun! I was chatting to Knight before and he’s so into you.’
No package.
One day to go:
6 SMSs of well-wishes from friends. No package.
Date of departure:
‘I’m sorry, babe. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.’