*****************************************************************
Title: Tales from an Unknown Corner
Chapters: 01-02 (of 20)
Author: Dai_wakizashi
Universe: Tfauc
Summary: Journey of a troubled young man looking for a path and
people around him, who, at times, give shape to his journey.
Codes: MF, FF, MFF, oral, anal, toys, petting, romance, drama
Status: in progress
Revision: 2.0
Web Sites:
ASSTR- /~dai_wakizashi/
SOL- http://storiesonline.net/home.php
EWP- http://www.ewpub.org/ewpub.html
Discussion Forum:
http://www.ewpub.org/messageboard/viewforum.php?f=76
*****************************************************************
STANDARD DISCLAIMER
This piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment. It
contains material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature. If you are
offended by sexually explicit content or language, please DO NOT
read any further.
All characters in this story are fictitious; any similarity to any
persons, places, individuals or situations is purely coincidental.
The author does not necessarily condone or endorse any of the
activities described in this story.
This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without
the written permission of the author, Dai_wakizashi
(dai_wakizashiAThotmailDOTcom).
This story may be freely distributed with this disclaimer
attached.
Copyright (c) 2003-2004 Dai_wakizashi. All rights reserved.
*****************************************************************
TALES FROM AN UNKNOWN CORNER [Tfauc]
CHAPTER - 1: A Little War Game
_I don't need this shit!_
My anger was slow to rise but it sure was making steady progress.
The same old argument... same discussions... it's always been the
same thing.
_What the fuck I was doing in this God-forsaken place?_
_Helllooo! That's what I do for a living. It's my job. This is
where I work._
But it wasn't as simple as that. It never was. At the back of my
mind, I knew that. I couldn't even say what I thought. Just,
"Yes, Sir. I understand your concern. Yes, Ma'am. I know you are
worried, but there is nothing to worry about."
_Well... that didn't work this time, did it?_
How could it? All my explanations, and counter-arguments to
placate them and still... they sounded hollow! Even to my ears.
I stepped in my office cabin, slamming the door shut. I felt like
tearing something to pieces. As I stood fuming there, my gaze
systematically going over items in the room, categorizing them
for suitability, my mind was still busy with the telephone call
and the source of my anger.
There was no way I could make them understand or convince them.
Not with last week's attack.
_Shit! That's never happened before._
Oil rigs, and production stations were almost exempt from all the
attacks; private sector stuff, but especially the foreign
investments. With last week's attack that changed. Everything
changed. Nobody knew the rules of the game anymore, or if this
was an entirely new game. My parents knew that as well. If not,
they must have realized the change in trend after that attack.
Why did I expect them to understand anything? They were parents!
Of course, they were worried. Especially after this last
incident. It was in the papers. Previously, it was soldiers
ambushed, government officials attacked, civilians in government
service killed. Now, an oil rig was attacked--private foreign
investment. I didn't want them worried, but unless I packed and
returned home, there was no way I could get them off my back.
That was unacceptable. They had tried to run my life before, but
not to this extent! That left several options; cut off my contact
with them, or read them the riot act. Full confrontation; they
could take it or leave it.
_Is it time... to burn my remaining bridges?_
I didn't want to contemplate that. Not now. It was too early for
that, and a plunge I didn't want to take. Their health was not
what it used to be, and I didn't want to be the cause of
something else--as if I didn't carry enough with me! However, in
my current frame of mind my anger was taking over me. I was
dangerously close to releasing my fury, unchecked, on whoever
happened to be in my way, parents or not, and the temptation to
do something like that had never been so great as now.
I was trying to cope with it myself, trying to understand this
new development; not that there was much to cope with it. After a
while you get used to it, and don't think about it. And that was
all there is to it. Nothing more, nothing less. You keep your
eyes open, and carry on. Sometimes, there was a mild adrenaline
rush associated with it, feeling alive, and pumped up. On very
rare occasions I didn't care much, one way or another; when I was
too tired to keep the anger burning, and my demons were visiting
me, trying to invade the emptiness inside, but they were few and
far between.
_Damn it! Enough is enough. Don't you understand? I need some
breathing room! I don't need this shit from you. I already have
enough on my mind._
I was almost tempted to say these exact words on the phone, to my
dad and mom. Jeeez!!! I don't know how I managed to keep my
temper in check. I was sorely tempted to utter those very words
to make them understand...
_My job. My life. My decision. End of story! End of argument!
That's the way things are!_
But, I knew that wouldn't help. They would never understand or
accept it. They were worried sick, and in panic. They would have
gone off the deep end. But, I had had enough of all the quarrels.
How could they know what it was costing me every time I had to
take their worries into consideration when I had to make a
decision? When the hell was I going to be able to live my fucking
life? When? It wasn't just frustrating, it was driving me nuts!
And, it was very tiring, psychologically draining, as if I didn't
have enough problems keeping my sanity. As if... as if I didn't
feel like burning all my bridges.
_Don't! Don't go there! Therein lay madness!_
_If I hadn't called them..._
But that was wishful thinking, wouldn't have solved anything.
Worse, they would have been even more worried. Now, I understood
what fighting with one hand tied meant.
_Fuck! I've been fighting with both hands tied! It's been like
that since the day I arrived here, three years ago. Uphill fight
all along. Every bloody week the same question: "When are you
going to leave that place and find a job here?"_
The problem wasn't finding a job back at home. I didn't fit in.
Not there. Not in a 9-to-5 job, where people had regular
schedules, regular lives, and socialized. There wasn't anything
that could keep me busy, or challenge me to drive myself as hard
in that world. Besides, I didn't want to be caged in an office,
with harsh fluorescent lighting, stupid office politics, petty
jealousies and the gossiping. I had too much excess baggage. I
had too much hurt and pain. I just wanted to be away, far away
from anything that had been familiar, away from the hurt and
pain, anything that reminded...
I knew that. They knew that, even if they didn't understand it.
And, there was just too much emptiness inside me. What little
warmth left inside me was within a protective shell--too fragile
to be exposed to the ravages of the past. I didn't know how to
deal with that. So, I filled the emptiness with anger, to keep
the pain, and hurt at bay. I wasn't angry at people, or the
world, although from outside, it probably looked like that--
_Wasn't it what some friends said at the time; "Why are you so
angry?"_--I was angry at myself. It was the only thing that kept
me moving. Smoldering inside me, always under tight control, and
never allowed free reign, unless provoked. But, keeping busy
helped, using up all the untapped energy of my anger.
_Don't you get it? I have a job. One that I enjoy. Better yet, it
keeps me busy, so I don't dwell on... past... history. It keeps
me away from the pain and hurt. OK?_
_Do I have to spell it out?_
_You want to hear it?_
_OK! Here we go. Repeat after me, until you've got it crystal
clear. I don't ever wanna set foot back there, not even at my
beloved beach. Got it? It's history. I don't want any part of it.
I just want to forget it all, forget it ever happened, erase it
from my memory._
There was no way I was going to say it. Hell, they knew it. Well,
parts of it, anyway. They saw some of it happen, but we never
talked about it. Why talk about it? It happened in plain sight of
most everybody. They just didn't know about the details... they
didn't need to. Some things were better left where they are.
Sometimes, saying "better leave some things where they are,"
hurt.
The point is, it happened. They were willing to act as if it
never happened... but of course, they never really understood it,
did they? They thought it would blow over. I once thought as they
did. Otherwise, why did I tell them it was a temporary job when I
signed the contract. I thought it would be a matter of months,
and I would be back. I thought I wouldn't be able to stay far
away from that beach--my beloved beach--or for that matter any
beach, and the sea for so long. Just a little bit of a time-
out... to regroup.
But I did. I was here. It had been three years, and I didn't see
an end yet. Sand, and rock, and dusty wind beneath an angry sun,
and knee deep in snow, in icy cold. There was a stark beauty in
this desolate, empty expanse, but I seldom noticed that beauty;
perhaps only on those rare occasions when my subconscious drew
parallels between this empty expanse and the emptiness inside me.
Most of the time, I didn't care much for the place. It wasn't
home, never going to be one, and I wasn't looking for one.
Winters were more bearable; the cold numbing me, and my senses,
giving me a brief respite from dwelling on the emptiness inside
me, or my anger, or all the other hurtful things I tried to keep
at bay. The hypnotic quality of the softly falling snow, slowly
covering the rig with a white blanket; the sound of engines and
heavy machinery muffled by the large flakes that kept falling
like confetti, drifting down like Autumn leaves on an October
afternoon. I would stand outside my cabin, and watch it for hours
on end, finding some kind of peace in the serenity of the scene--
if only for a while. Still, it was nothing like my beach, like
that particular shore. At times, I missed my beach, any beach,
something fierce. Those times, how I wished I could say, "I
hardened my heart and forged on."
_I just don't know how much of a heart I have. I don't even know
if it would pass for one, or be called as such._
As my gaze kept looking for something to expel my anger and
frustration, sadness filled me at the realization of how lonely I
felt. Abandoned, even by the people who were supposed to...
_Can it ever get lonelier than this? If they aren't willing to
listen, if they aren't willing to understand what I feel, what I
want._
_Just leave me alone, let me do what I want!_
And yet, I had to comfort and reassure them.
_Why? Somebody, tell me why? It's their fucking job, not mine!
Who's the parent, who's the child, anyway? Why in God's name they
don't leave me be? Why do I even bother to talk to them when
their minds are set?_
"Filial piety!" my inner voice whispered.
"Fuck off! I don't need this shit!" was my response.
I could taste my anger, bitter like bile...
"There!" my eyes said, locating something I could direct my anger
at.
I reached to pull the big cardboard (with a bunch of 9-by-13
pictures taped on it) from the wall, ready to tear it into
pieces. Finally, I had something to take out my anger on. But,
when I realized what I was holding, I just couldn't... suddenly,
I lost my steam.
My eyes went over each picture; scenes from my beach at different
seasons at different hours of the day. And, an empty spot for a
missing picture--part of the past that I was still trying to put
behind me. It had been there for a short while, until the color
was indelibly etched in a small corner of my memory, burning
bright as my anger at myself... my failure.
These were the pictures that--every so often--kept me breathing,
when I wanted to recall the cool morning breeze rich with iodine
and salt. They accompanied me from location to location, from
mountains to deserts. They were the only reminders that there
was, somewhere, a cold blue sea, spread like a satin sheet early
in the morning... the feel of wet sand under my feet, as I took
my afternoon run along the shoreline, cutting through the gentle
waves that swept in and out. The blue waters of an ancient sea...
rich in legends, and myths... keeper of secrets, and lost souls.
I didn't dare touch them. I'd never known when I would need their
company. I gently placed the cardboard back on the wall. These
pictures helped me remember the happiness. Whenever the anger
started to overwhelm me, they had been there. Whenever I dared to
check on that little warmth; to make sure it was still there, or
to stroke and nurture it--like an infant--they had kept the
demons at bay.
_I left behind, enough... more than enough._
_Why is it easy to recall painful memories, when I have to work
to recall the joyful moments?_
As I pondered that, something else swept those thoughts aside.
_Why do I remember so much of everything, good or bad?_
The deadly silence of the cabin offered no answers. As usual. I
knew I wasn't going to sleep. I checked my watch, and it was
getting close to midnight. I decided to go to the bar cabin. I
was off-shift for the next 36 hours...
_Nope... make that 29 hrs._
_Shit! That's what I need! As if all that happened was not
enough. 29 hrs of doing nothing but brooding._
But, before I could get back to brooding, I needed to make
another call.
_I hope he's not asleep. It's been a long time... since college.
How in the hell did he survive the attack? If I hadn't seen his
name in the paper, I wouldn't even know he had been there._
It took me a while to get connected, but I reached him. After
wishing him a fast recovery, we went over the incident. I
listened as he told me what happened. My anger returned. It
didn't take longer than fifteen minutes to get the necessary
details. As I put the handset down, my mind was already
contemplating who was going to be the victim of my wrath among
the assholes in the management.
_Fucking lying bastards! Assholes! Never mind the fact that it
was another company that got hit this last time. We've been
saying this was coming, for 2 months already. They even tried to
hide the details of the attack. They still haven't arranged
protection for some of the installations. What if one of the
unprotected stations was hit..._
Competitors or not, most companies exchanged information on
general security and safety. There was no way they didn't know
the exact details of this attack. They must have had gotten all
the details, but they had downplayed the whole incident as an
unfortunate happening. Several wounded, including one foreigner--
that was by mistake--and three dead; two of them engineers, and
the last one a student from the college--barely 19 years old.
_Jesus Christ on a fucking crutch! What a waste... 19 years old.
Slaughtered like sheep._
Our rig was protected by a team of 30 heavily armed soldiers.
However, the other facilities, like the production stations
(where the oil was being collected), didn't have anything like we
had, only patrols sweeping the area. I wondered what the
management would do when the engineers in the stations got to
hear the story I'd just been told.
_Those bastards better get their fat asses in gear, and do
something before it's too late... before something similar
happened to us... if they don't want to be hit by accusations of
gross negligence._
I needed to think about this carefully, but I was too angry to
think clearly. No wonder my parents were scared. If they had
known the truth... Well, parts of the attack were in the
newspapers, but the details were sketchy, or completely wrong.
However, one thing was obvious whatever way you looked at it; the
whole ball game just changed!
* * * * *
I walked into the bar cabin, and after closing the door, scanned
the room looking for a quiet corner. It was almost empty. One rig
hand was nursing his beer on a stool, and a grizzly driller was
standing behind the bar drinking some mixed stuff. Rig move time,
when most of the off-shift personnel enjoyed some drinks. The
driller had 24 hours off, his counterpart taking over. I hated
that period of a few days. I wasn't involved in any of it. The
idea of going to town for a day or two at the office didn't
appeal at all.
I picked up a can of Coke, and moved to the other side of the
cabin; the entertainment center, with the TV, and the stereo. It
was empty, and that suited me just fine. Finding a comfortable
chair by a small table, I sat down. I wanted to ease my anger and
cool off, before I got back to thinking about my options; with my
parents and with the company. Well, I wasn't worried about the
company. If I became too much of a headache, they could easily
pay my severance, and cancel my contract. At this moment, I
didn't give a damn about the money or the job.
_When the time comes, I'll cross that particular bridge._
But, I wasn't going to let them fuck the few people I cared
about. Most of them sitting at this moment in those stations.
They were not friends, not really, but colleagues, some of them
good people. I didn't have friends here.
_That's a joke! You never tried to make friends with anybody
here!_
_Yeah? Well, we both know why, don't we? So shut your trap! I
don't need you bothering me with your stupid comments._
While I was lost in thought I didn't notice someone walking over.
I heard the scraping sound of a chair being picked up. Then it
was placed on the other side of my table. The rude interruption
forced me to look up. It was the driller, and he sat down
opposite me. Filling up two shot glasses from a bottle of whisky,
he pushed one glass across the table, saying, "Drink up. It's
celebration time. Rig move."
I hated rig-moves. It was always messy, and it took almost all
day to get the camp cabins moved and hooked up with electricity
and water.
_I would be better of at the office in town for a day._
I wasn't feeling like company, especially at this moment. I knew
this guy. Big bear of a man, hard working, and sharp. He spoke
very good English for a German. He had to, as everybody spoke
English to varying degrees of fluency. He usually dropped by my
office for reports, and discussed ongoing operations, and other
details. I never socialized with him--well, almost with nobody--
so I was a bit ticked off and surprised that he sought my
company. I always kept to myself when I was off-duty. Everybody
knew that, and the new arrivals learned fast. Here, I could have
that, but not when caged in an office somewhere in a city.
_Loner! Not a very good reputation!_
_Yeah? As if I give a damn. Shut the fuck up!_
I pushed back the glass. "Thanks, but I already have a drink," I
said, pointing to my can of Coke.
He picked up his glass and downed it, and set his eyes on me,
giving me an appraising look. I returned his gaze trying to make
him understand I would rather be left alone. Ignoring my look, he
filled his glass, and pushed the other glass back to me, urging
me to take the drink. I was getting seriously ticked off with his
attitude. I picked up my Coke, and sat back, telling him with my
eyes to get lost. He wasn't drunk at all, I could see that, but
he was ignoring the signals I was giving him that he wasn't
welcome at the table.
_What an asshole!_
I shook my head internally.
He downed his glass, and setting it on the table gave me a look.
"I heard you had a long phone call. Third call to home this week.
Problems?"
_What the... It's none of your fucking business. Why don't you
fucking get lost and leave me alone, instead of butting your nose
into my personal affairs?_
I chose to ignore the question. "I registered the time. I'll pay
it... as usual."
Long distance personal calls were always charged.
Laughing, he said, "Hell, son. I'm not worried about the phone
cost."
Resentment flared up at his use of _son_, and I didn't even
attempt to hide my displeasure--you could hardly call it
displeasure, it was downright anger. There was no way he could
mistake my look. He didn't even flinch... the _cocky bastard_!
That made me more angry. Everything that had accumulated since
the phone call was slowly coming up for a nice boil. I hadn't
expelled even a bit of my anger up to now, only suppressed it.
I was starting to enjoy the feeling of it simmering, so I chose
to let it come out to the surface very slowly. It was such a
sweet sensation, like a good red wine that you roll on your
tongue, savoring the different flavors of spices, appreciating
the rich texture, noting all the little details about the whole
experience. It was warming my insides with its heat, and I wanted
to feel its searing heat when it boiled over.
"I think you should take a deep breath, and then take a sip of
the whisky. That will ease your nerves," he said softly, taking
me by surprise.
He knew very well I wasn't nervous, but angry. But, after his
pointed remark, I took a moment to go over why he said what he
said, the way he said. I realized I was contemplating violence
against this guy... in anger. I should have known better. I don't
usually direct my anger at people, well, not exactly... I don't
use violence in anger. They are two different things. I do use
angry words against people when they have it coming, but I rarely
used violence when angry. Now, I realized I was letting my anger
control me, instead of the other way round. I had let my guard
down, not expecting an immediate danger. But, danger lurked in
the most unexpected corners, and came out in different shapes...
like anger.
_Has it been that long that I have forgotten the most basic
lessons?_
Trying to collect myself, I thought off that beach... _my
beach_... the water gently lapping between my toes, washing away
the sand... a soft, cool breeze slithering across my chest,
caressing me, giving me goose bumps where my skin was wet. As I
felt each gentle sweep of the sea lap at my feet, I let it suck a
piece of the anger that was welling up inside me. I could feel
the heat inside me cooling off bit by bit. I didn't want to let
it go, but I realized that this guy could make me do something I
would regret.
With a cold voice, I said, "I don't remember inviting you to the
table."
He gave me a long curious look, then filled up his glass. Nodding
at my glass, he said, "I think you'll like it."
I took a sip from my Coke, watching him finish his glass and wipe
his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.
"What are you brooding about? The attack last week?" he asked,
when I didn't respond.
I shook my head with an impassive face.
He gave me a quizzical look. "You're not scared of something
happening here, are you?"
I almost laughed at that bit, the corner of my mouth barely
curling...
_If I did care about it I wouldn't be here, now, would I?_
Suddenly I was saddened by that thought...
_Do I really not care? When did that happen?_
_Shit! I don't want to go there. That road leads to madness. I
have other things to think about. If this asshole would leave me
alone, maybe I could..._
"I thought not," he said, perhaps catching my amused expression,
before he continued. "I was talking with the Captain, this
evening."
That would be the 30-something soldier who spoke some passable
English.
When I didn't respond, he continued, "He was impressed with your
shooting. He told me you went with a few of his guys for target
practice in the afternoon, after your shift."
That was the only fun thing here to do to kill time. Nothing but
rocks... and tin cans to shoot at. I wanted to see if I still had
it after my time in the service, a few years ago.
"Do you carry?" he asked.
I shook my head again.
_Why should I? Do I need it? I'm not as good with a pistol as I'm
with an automatic rifle. What good is a pistol against
Kalashnikovs?_
"I heard from your colleagues that it was easy to get a carry
permit, and a pistol. I know some of them carry."
_Shit man! You don't know what you're talking about._
I couldn't ignore this comment.
"It's a couple hours work to get a regional carry permit and a
handgun, but it's not worth it. In fact, you'll be making a
target of yourself. If they know you're carrying, they'll try to
get you. Probably when you're on a deserted section of the road,
just to get your gun. And they would know who's carrying. The
crew are all local people, and it's hard to keep a pistol a
secret," I told him. "Besides I'm not good with a pistol."
"And you trust the protection we have?" he asked, now that he got
me talking. "Did you go with them to see how good they are, or
how good you are?"
_Oh, this is rich! This guy has ideas!_
I shrugged my shoulders, instead of answering.
"You know, I know that military service is compulsory in this
country, so you must have been in the service," he commented.
"Yeah, I was. Nothing special. I know which end the bullets come
out," I replied with another shrug.
That drew a short laugh from him, that turned into a chuckle. "As
I said, the Captain was impressed, and that makes me worry about
them. Are they any good?" he asked, meaning the soldiers
protecting the rig and the camp.
Instead of answering him, I decided to rattle his cage. I was
annoyed that he had drawn me into a conversation, when I wanted
him to leave me alone.
"You asked me if I was scared... I'm wondering if you're scared?"
I asked.
"Of course, I am scared. There may be very little chance of
anything happening here, so I'm not worried... much! But, things
happen. I've seen it happen at other places."
"You don't have to worry about it. This is not _other_ places.
They might attack, and shoot people, and blow up things, but
they're very careful about who they shoot."
"What do you mean?"
"They don't shoot foreigners... ex-pats... That's bad business.
They have their political wings active in several countries
across the continent, and they will lose any support there if
something happens to a foreigner here. Their offices will be
closed, and any political activities will be stopped. They
wouldn't risk it. They never have. On the other hand, my
colleagues and I... well, let's just say we are fair game... in
fact, the intended target."
"That's bullshit," he flared.
"How long have you been working in this country?"
"Seven years."
"Then I suggest you get your head out of your ass, buy a
newspaper and read about the facts. It started first, by
targeting the police and military personnel. Five years ago that
changed; it escalated to include the government officials and
facilities. There were isolated incidents of attacks to private
sector facilities, but nothing serious. Two years ago, it moved
onto teachers, doctors, and other civilians in government employ,
and more attacks to private sector facilities. This last six
months, it's any civilian. Mostly however, the engineers,
technicians are killed, not the crew workers; the bunch of us
that come from the big cities, not the locals. And, when they
have targeted any private companies, especially the foreign
companies, they always made sure no foreigners were harmed."
There wasn't any reason to mention that one foreigner was wounded
by mistake during last week's attack.
_Shit happens when bullets start to fly. The other three hadn't
been that fortunate._
"So that's why you were brooding... and that's why you're angry
with me? Because I'm a foreigner?"
"You believe that!" I exclaimed with an incredulous tone, losing
my composure.
After giving me a long look, he said, "No. You resent me, because
I came to sit without being invited."
I couldn't resist a quip. "You've got that right... pops."
His eyes flared for a moment, at my response, _pops_, before he
chuckled, perhaps remembering how he called me _son_. He took a
moment to fill up his glass, then giving me a deliberate look, he
said, "I like you, sonny. Come on, drink up!"
I knew he was goading me with his _son_, and _sonny_, but I
wasn't going to take the bait. However, he was getting under my
skin. I tried to calm myself, visiting the beach, remembering the
warm evenings with a cool breeze when I enjoyed a Bacardi-Coke,
while I took sips from my Coke. Then, my mind got busy with
another thought, and not the first time. Why did I recall
memories so vividly, as if they were frames out of a filmstrip?
But, this was more than that. It was a living, breathing
experience. I could still recall the taste, the smell, the
color... almost all the senses associated with each memory, each
time I did take a stroll in the past, choosing a moment, a place
or an incident. It was my curse.
He was not going to let up on me, so after a few minutes of
silence, he broke it with another question. "What is it that you
practice, late in the afternoons?"
_What the fuck are you talking about now?_
When I didn't respond, he elaborated. "I was checking the crown
on the derrick, a few days ago. I usually have my binoculars with
me when I go up the derrick, and take a look at the surrounding
area when I'm finished. It's 120 feet up, so gives a good field
of view. I saw you practicing. It didn't look like karate or
anything."
_There's no fucking privacy in this place!_
"It wouldn't. Karate is Japanese."
"So what is it?" he asked.
"It's something Chinese. Tai Chi Chuan."
He filed this little bit somewhere, and then switched topics.
"You were on another rig, as a student, couple of years ago."
That would have been 4-5 years ago, when I was doing my industry
training with another company. I didn't remember seeing this guy
around that time.
_How the fuck does he know me?_
"You had a run-in with one of the ex-pats, a tall Dutch guy," he
continued, after a pause, to refresh my memory.
_Tall Dutch guy... that describes most of the Dutch guys._
I jogged my memory...
_Yeah! I remember that stupid asshole. Thought he could run
shotgun over me, just because I was a student._
Seeing the recognition in my eyes, he leaned on the table and in
a conspiratorial tone, he said, "Yeah, I heard the story. He was
a serious pain in the ass, and stupid to boot."
I knew the German and Dutch guys didn't like each other;
something that lingered from history, but nothing serious. After
all, the rig floor was a dangerous place, and everybody depended
on each other doing their part and doing it properly. If not, you
could end up either crippled or dead, but when the shift was
over, they wouldn't socialize together, and formed their own
cliques.
"And you're not saying that because he's Dutch?"
"Sonny, let's get one thing straight. When it's work related,
there's no place for politics and bullshit. That was work
related. He didn't know his job, and he had given a hard time to
most of the contractors, but especially to us. It was bound to
catch up with him. It was funny to hear it happen because of a
student. That's all."
_You fucking, asshole! Patronizing, ignorant son of a bitch. I
should take your head--_
I'm not sure how, but I managed to clamp hard on my anger, when
it flared again--dangerously so. For a short while, I let myself
feel the cold breeze of the early morning by my beach, while I
contemplated my response.
"You know you're very good," I said with an icy calm and
deliberation.
I could see he was confused by my remark and tone, and I thought
I caught something like unease on his part. After a momentary
quiet, he said, "I know my job."
His slight hesitation confirmed my suspicion, and I drew a bit of
satisfaction from the knowledge, and now, it was time to let him
have a piece of my mind!
"I wasn't talking about how good you are at your job," I replied
flashing him a cold smile. "You're very good at insulting people.
First, you intrude. And then, you insult; with that quip about
how funny it is that the guy got what was coming to him from a
student. What you imply and meant was, 'a lowly student,' and
_that,_ is not a compliment!"
"Sonny, I didn't intend to insult--" he was saying, when I cut
him off, before he could continue further.
"That's enough of _sonnies... pops_!" I said softly, emphasizing
my words. My voice might have been soft, but there was nothing
soft in my delivery; a veiled threat--a promise of repercussions-
-was very much present. "You wanna revise _that_?" I asked,
giving him a cold stare. If my eyes could shoot icicles, he would
have been already laying in a pool of his blood on the floor.
_You must be really thick. You don't get any hints, do you?_
For a moment, I gave serious thought to giving my anger free
reign. I knew better. That was when I noticed my fingers on my
left hand were rigid, like a blade, in anticipation of something.
I flexed and let them loosen up, and took a sip from my Coke.
_Violence is not a solution. It's a last resort, and even then,
there usually is very little justification for it... most times!_
As I remembered those words--they carried the same solemn warning
as they had had, years ago, when I had heard them the first time-
-I tried to let go of my anger. I just felt tired. I put my Coke
on the table, and took off my reading glasses, laying them down.
I could feel the beginnings of a headache coming, so I massaged
the bridge of my nose, eyes, and temples. When I was finished
easing the tension I felt, I turned my gaze back at him. He was
watching me like a hawk, and behind his calm eyes, he seemed to
be appraising me.
"You have _fire_, lad. I noticed that about you when you first
arrived here, three years ago. When I heard who had signed on, I
kept my eyes open--after that run-in you had had... Do me a
favor, down that glass, and talk to me," he said gently, urging
me to reconsider with a soft expression on his face.
_I don't like this stuff, what they call whisky... Johnny fucking
Walker. He can walk the hell away from me for all I care._
While waiting for me to make up my mind, or respond in any other
way, he filled his glass.
_Fuck it! You wanna play, then let's play, pops! And maybe...
just maybe, my runaway mind won't bother me when I hit the bed
tonight... and maybe, I'll be able to sleep... I might even thank
you tomorrow--if I'm still drunk!_
I took the glass and downed it.
_Shiiiit!!! That's worse than I remember. What's this stuff
anyway? Broken glass, or are you using tungsten carbide inserts
from the used up drill bits?_
As soon as I put my glass down, he picked up the bottle and
filled it again.
_Bastard! You have 80 pounds over me, and a couple of inches._
With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I remembered Sun Tzu's
eternal words on choosing the place and occasion for battle--and,
that feeling had nothing to do with the spreading warmth from
this shit I just downed! To gain time, I lit a cigarette.
_No reason to rush it and get drunk like an amateur, is there?
I'm not going to hand it to you so easy, pops. You're going to
work for it!_
He downed his glass, and set it on the table, waiting for me.
_Forget it! I'm not going to let you set the pace. You wanna get
drunk, go ahead, be my guest._
After I took a long drag from my cigarette, I took a long swallow
from my Coke. He didn't fill up his glass yet, just stared at me,
waiting, challenging. When I ignored his challenge, he went back
to _sonny_.
"How old are you, sonny? 22-23?"
"24."
"You ain't gonna let me set the pace, are you?"
_Very astute, pops._
I was almost starting to like this guy, but not yet. Quickly
checking my watch, I did some mental arithmetic. "I reckon you
have about 17 hours off-duty time. Plenty, for whatever you have
in mind."
That earned me another chuckle and an amused look. He sat back
for a few seconds, looking at me, seemingly mulling something in
his mind. Then, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the
table. "Most guys your age would try to up the ante, relying on
their youthful stamina. You didn't even give it a second thought
to chase it with Coke. Nobody I know, young or old, would dare do
something like that when they are being challenged."
Ignoring his comment, I picked up my glass, and deliberately
finished it in a few swallows, slowly, taking a drag from my
cigarette in between sips. Putting the glass down, I picked up
the bottle, and filled both our glasses. The point was made, so
he didn't try the 'down the glass' act. He got off his chair, and
went to the stereo, going over tapes and CDs. Choosing one CD, he
put it in the player, and set the volume low--we could hear the
music, but keep a conversation.
I didn't recognize the song. The melody and the voice of the
singer sounded disturbingly familiar, but I didn't have the
patience to dig in my memory to recall the name, or the tune for
such a trivial thing. It would eventually come on its own time,
especially if there was a song that I knew on that CD.
When he sat down, he said, "You know, you never answered my
question."
"And what question might that be?"
"Are _they_ any good?" he asked, returning us back to the subject
of protective detail.
"What makes you think I would know something about that?"
"Why do you evade a simple question?" he countered, in a
businesslike manner.
This was off-duty time, and I didn't have to answer any
questions. But, there really wasn't such a thing as 100 percent
off-time on a rig, not on serious business. Security constituted
one such. I could still evade it; after all this was a personal
assessment, and we both knew that I didn't qualify as a security
expert, not in any way. I chose a middle ground.
"Most of them are young and scared, but it's the healthy kind of
scare. They won't slack off during guard duty. Quite a few of
them have seen light action, so they know what they might be
facing."
"So you trust them?"
"I stated the facts as I saw them. I didn't imply anything else."
_They aren't bad. Not at all. Just young. Most of them. Younger
than I was when I did my short spell. They'll probably be able to
do what they are supposed to do. I'm not concerned about that.
I'm concerned about mistakes, accidental shootings, and that
usually happens at night. Sometimes shit happens, there's no
avoiding it. I just need to be a tad bit more careful._
"Shit, son. What's your problem? If you don't trust them, why are
you not scared?"
"It's a four hour trek to the mountains, at a good running pace.
The army will respond with helicopters in 45 minutes at the max.
I don't think they'll attack in this area. They don't have an
easy escape route."
"And they had an easy escape route in last week's attack to that
rig?" he asked, to which I nodded.
"But we are moving closer to the mountains."
When I didn't respond, he got pensive.
"You don't carry, you don't trust the protective detail; yet,
you're not scared."
I took my glass and nursed on my drink, while contemplating the
situation.
_What's your problem, pops? It's not that I'm not scared. I just
don't dwell on it. I could be hit by a truck tomorrow, or have an
accident on the rig floor, or die in a plane crash while getting
a ride back home. When your time is up, it's up. Although I
reckon, it will be a very long time before I get my ticket
punched. If my curse is what I think it is!_
"Is there something that scares you?" he asked.
_Huh? What kinda question is that? Everybody is scared of
something. I hate snakes._
"Snakes."
"Snakes?" his eyebrows went up quizzically. "I figured, you're
scared of living."
_I don't like the sound of that. Not at all!_
"And how did you arrive at that?" I asked, the distaste at his
quip clearly visible on my face. I filled my glass and his, while
waiting for him to answer my question.
"As I said, when I heard you signed up, three years ago, and ever
since then, I've kept an eye on you. The few people I talked to
about the run-in, all told me that you were a good kid, and fun
to work with. When you arrived, the first month, you were ill at
ease. But, you had a fever burning inside you. You worked hard,
but didn't enjoy it. No, I don't mean the work! The place. I got
the feeling you'd rather be elsewhere. But, you kept at it, and
over the months, settled into a routine. But, you never
socialized much, always keeping to yourself. Once a week, you
called home. It usually annoyed the hell out of you, and I did
catch glimpses of anger hidden behind it. Now, the last several
months, I just see anger after the calls."
"And your point is?" I prompted him to continue.
"My point is, you exercise a very strong control over yourself.
Over your emotions, and perhaps thoughts."
_Bullshit! If I did, I wouldn't have that emptiness inside me...
a big fucking black hole. I wouldn't work so hard trying to
forget the past--_
"Sonny, I may be lots of things, but I'm not blind. You were
ready to resort to violence a while ago. And I know, you didn't
give a second thought to consequences... like losing your job or
criminal charges. You're not the type to shy away from
violence... when it becomes necessary. Yet, you chose to rein in
your anger, and took it under control. It was as if somebody had
just turned a switch off. You're a ticking time-bomb."
"If you think so, what the hell are you doing standing close to a
ticking bomb?" I asked pointedly, but with deliberate calm.
He ignored my question.
"You're a hard worker, and have many skills. What are you doing
here? You can easily find a job elsewhere, where you'll be much
more happy. Two of your friends already resigned, and they needed
the money. You don't seem to care or need the money. So, it can't
be what's holding you here," he said.
"It's the job."
"It's just a job, like any other job. Unless..."
When he didn't continue, I rose to the bait to see where he was
going with that.
"Unless?"
"Unless, it's all that you've got."
_Jesus! You're a dangerous man, pops. I underestimated you._
Instead of giving an answer, I shrugged noncommittally.
He took a sip from his drink, but his eyes never left my face for
a moment. "You know, I've been working in this country for seven
years now. I know there are some very nice vacation spots. I
never took the opportunity to take a vacation at one of those
beautiful beaches," he said in a conversational tone, changing
the subject swiftly.
I was wary from the sudden shift, and perked up, which he noticed
immediately. To distract him, I finished my glass, and filled it
up. The bottle still in my hand, I waited to fill his half-empty
glass. Taking the hint, he downed his glass with an amused smile,
and set it down for a re-fill. That done, I lit another
cigarette, offering him one and lighting it.
After he took a drag, he responded, the amused smile never
leaving his face. "Very good, sonny, very good. Was it from _Art
of War_?"
_Sheeesh! If I'm not careful, I might get to like you. You're one
cool customer, pops._
"Sorry, pops, it's something else. From a Japanese book."
He raised an eyebrow. "I figured you would be sticking with Sun
Tzu."
"Most of the time. But, a single school of thought doesn't give
you flexibility."
"Like any single martial art style, or weapon," he finished, as
if reading my mind, before moving back to the previous subject.
"I've seen the pictures of the beach you have in your office.
Beautiful. Is it a vacation place or your hometown?"
"I was born inland."
"You like the sea, perhaps any place near water?"
I shrugged.
"And, yet... you choose to work here," he said with a
contemplative tone. After a pause, he gave me a long look, and
continued with a soft, almost sympathetic voice. "When did you
burn your bridges, sonny?"
I wasn't expecting the question. Not at all.
_I-I-I... I didn't burn... any bridges... except..._
_I have so few of them that are still standing. I wish... I
hadn't, that one time..._
_But sometimes, I wish... I just wish I could burn all... then,
there won't be anything to stand in my way. I would be free to
make my own path. And, I wouldn't have to fight every fucking
inch of the way to make my own decisions._
_But... that's besides the point. I don't burn bridges. I learned
that lesson the hard way. Once was... more than enough!_
Calming my shot nerves, I replied, "I don't burn bridges."
But in my mind's eye I could hear the words, "not anymore," even
if I hadn't uttered them. The thought burned my insides like acid
eating away, like a flame burning bright, like the color of her
dress in...
_One stupid mistake! One failure! How did I let her--_
I didn't want to dwell on it. Not any more. And definitely, not
now. I had learned that lesson. It was in the past, and had to
stay there. My thoughts went back to that beach, my beloved
beach.
_At least, that's one anchor in my life. It doesn't matter if I
did burn the bridges or not. That place will be there for me,
always; bridges or no bridges._
As I ran through the whole gamut of thoughts, my ears pricked up
at the melody that was playing...
_Is... Is that Chris de Burgh playing?_
_Who listens to Chris de Burgh these days? And, this song is..._
_Oh, God, no! Not now! Not that one!_
I tried to tune the melody out, but it was insistent. I couldn't
switch it off. Worse, it was taking me to places I rarely visited
these last couple of years.
_We never danced to that one song. Just because she was dressed
in red at the time, and it felt... Well, it felt kinda awkward,
as if making a statement. And she... the feel of her fingers on
my arm... so hot, almost branding me, as we stood watching other
couples. Clinging to me, as if she would never let me go. Ever.
And I never thought I would let her._
_Well, we know different now, don't we?_
I felt the same heat as I had then, and I couldn't help but
instinctively glance at my arm, expecting to see the hand that
caused the sensation. That momentary slip into past filled me
with an uneasy chill. I downed my glass hoping it would warm me
up, and reached for the bottle to re-fill it.
"If you haven't burned any bridges, what are you running from,
why are you running away?"
"I'm not running away. I was looking for a place, and I believe I
found it here."
"Your place is where a home is, where your heart is. And I see
that your heart isn't in this place."
I didn't have to respond to that. I watched him take a sip from
his glass, and then a long drag from his cigarette. He exhaled
the smoke slowly, his expression contemplative. As if coming to a
decision, he leaned closer with his elbows on the table, and
asked, "Does the missing picture have something to do with all
your anger?"
Sitting back, he continued. "I saw it the first time I was at
your office. It was sticking out like a sore thumb among the
pictures of that beach. A few weeks later, it wasn't there
anymore. My guess is she hurt you."
Instead of answering his question, I chose to respond to his
previous comment.
"It's not a matter of place or where home is or where your heart
is. It's a question of time."
"You mean you're taking time-off until you decide to do whatever
you want to do?"
"Nope. I'm not talking about time healing wounds. Time has no
bearing, none at all on healing wounds."
What I had said, to a large degree, was true. Waiting for my
wounds to heal played only so much in my decision to stay and
work in this place. There was so little left inside me, I didn't
know if any healing was possible. He pondered what I said, while
I caught the ending notes of _Lady in Red_.
For some things, you could be late and miss the chance. For other
things, you could be too early, as they hadn't ripened for
picking. Timing was... is... of the essence. Always has been. I
should know. It formed the most basic tenet of my training. In my
case, I had been... a heartbeat too early... and too late... for
_her_. The cost... I didn't want to think about the cost.
What's more I was scared of... living an eternity.
It sounds like an exaggeration or a complete fabrication, but it
was neither. The point was brought home by the death of that 19
year old student a week ago. He had been at the wrong place, at
the wrong time, like I had been, once, several years ago. And
yet, I had survived it. Maybe it was luck, but I had survived
several scrapes since then. When I thought back to those times,
_charmed_ didn't even come close to describe it--I'm not adding
the last three years to all that, because nothing major happened,
but somewhere along the way, the ball drops on the red instead of
black, doesn't it? It just never happened!
I felt cursed with the Methuselah syndrome. Intellectually I knew
that was impossible, and it was more like the ignorance of youth,
talking with a big mouth. However, that never changed the way I
felt about it. That didn't mean that I was completely unaware of
my mortality. The point is, I wasn't overly concerned about it. I
never understood that part about me. Was it because I was some
kinda sociopath? But, sociopaths never felt anything. I felt... I
feel, more than I care. No, I just wasn't obsessed about my
mortality. Death came and claimed young and old without any
discrimination. Here, in this place, it was part of daily
reality, and I've just grown used to it. That was what it was. If
I worried about it every waking moment, I wouldn't be able to
function. So I ignored it. This place reminded me that I was
alive, despite the emptiness inside me, which at times, made me
feel like I was dead inside--perhaps, it was a subconscious need
of affirmation... of my existence... that, I wasn't dead.
Did I care if something happened? Yeah. I did. I was careful. I
never took risks. Was I suicidal? I didn't think so. I knew I
didn't want to die.
_Not in this Goddamn place! And, not by the hands of a fucking
sixteen year old toting an AK-47. Not when I still miss that
beautiful beach and the sea!_
Since the very first day I discovered the sea, I was irresistibly
drawn to it. Yet, I was here. Only rocks and sand and desert sun,
desolate, empty of life. And water was life, where life sprung
first.
"We are given a certain amount of time, and what we do with it is
up to us. Sometimes, we miss chances, opportunities. It's no use
crying over spilt milk; brood over past or worry about future.
You have to be always in the moment and in the place. Not to miss
life itself and what it offers to you," he said, taking me out of
my reverie.
_Really? I guess, you're not a student of history, pops. History
is what teaches us the lessons, so that they aren't repeated.
History and past is what makes us, shapes us. I agree, there's no
use to worry about future, except be prepared for any
eventuality. And to your other point... Being in the moment... I
think I know someth--_
Suddenly, my breath caught in my throat, when his words really
percolated through my train of thought, reminding me of something
else, forcing me to reconsider and reflect on what he said. I
didn't agree with some of it, but still, I liked it, especially
the last point. To my regret, I realized it left a sour taste. I
just couldn't shake the feeling that up to now, all the offerings
had been bitter, even though I knew better than that.
_Being in the moment... Is that the problem? Wasn't I in the
moment? Why is that? Why couldn't I be in the moment? That's what
I was supposed to have learned in my training. It was all about
timing and being in the moment. Am I so lost to forget even the
basics?_
I wanted to think about this, but I was getting agitated, and
quickly downed my drink, re-filling and downing it again, letting
the warmth spread. Slowly, I washed the taste with my Coke, and
lit a cigarette. I took a second shot at the problem.
_Why was I not in the moment?_
I didn't have an answer.
_OK! Let's try something else. What did usually happen when I was
in the moment?_
Every time I was in the moment... I collected detailed sensory
data... sorting them, categorizing them, analyzing them, acting
on them, and... I filed all that sensory input for later
reference.
_Shiiittt! They made up all my... recollections. My memories!_
_Fuck!_
That's why my recall had always been so vivid. That's why some of
the memories hurt so bad, as if it was the first time I
experienced them. I didn't dare look at him. His last point
sounded so simple at first, and I liked that simplicity, that's
why I latched onto it. But, it was more than that. This wasn't a
simple fatherly lecture about the challenges one faced in life.
That short trip, as I worked around the idea, had been
fascinating. My head was spinning with the implications.
_What kind of a path did you set me on, pops? What kinda ride are
you taking me on?_
I pondered on that little bit I had worked out. In the end, most
of it came in bits and pieces. There were gaps but...
_In a way, you're right, pops. This job is all I've got left. It
kept me busy enough, so I didn't have to think about much,
especially about the past. And, it kept me so physically tired
that I could sleep at night._
I've known it all along. I just hadn't looked at it from that
perspective. I didn't want to be in the moment, because it would
add to the collection. And, I didn't want to have more painful
memories in a growing list of recollections. I had more than I
cared to carry around.
_If that's what you meant by being scared of living, perhaps you
have a point you old grizzly bear. Perhaps, you have a point,
after all._
I picked up the bottle and after checking his glass to find it
half-empty, I topped it up, and filled mine. I had some stuff to
think about, and I knew it would take time to find some more
answers. Time, I had. Plenty.
_If nothing happens in the meantime!_
_I'll cross that bridge when the time comes!_
I felt relaxed. With a small smile--the first warm one, since the
start of our conversation--I raised my glass.
"One last night-cap, pops?"
"Sure, sonny. Why the hell not?" he replied with a laugh.
* * * * *
CHAPTER - 2: Encounter and Requiem
"Sonny?"
I opened my eyes, blinking them to clear my vision.
"You better get a cup of coffee and a cigarette. This will take
more time. I'll call when we're ready," said the driller.
_Yeah? Why didn't you say so? Like an hour and a half ago? All I
heard was, "We'll be ready in ten minutes."_
It wasn't his fault. Sometimes, when something went wrong, it was
followed by a flood of other problems. There's nothing you can do
about that but deal with it. It just took time and effort, but
when you've been on your feet for 30-something hours, even a
minute delay seems like an hour. They had been busy with the
high-pressure lines and the pumps for the last two hours. The
pipes kept freezing or leaking. Then, one of the pumps broke a
piston. We had a standby pump, but if something happened with
that, we would be caught with our pants down. Not a good thing in
the middle of a critical operation. By the time both pumps were
checked and operational, the lines had frozen again. In the
meantime, I had been standing in the cold, expecting to get on
with the operation in the next ten minutes. I could have gotten
at least a catnap. But, that's the way things went.
_You never know when Murphy would come for a visit!_
I chuckled at the thought. The strange sense of humor that was
prevalent among the drilling bunch had grown on me from the first
day I had stepped on a rig floor as a visiting student. And, I
never lost it, even through my anger. I didn't feel like a
chuckle let alone laugh--I was just too tired--but I could still
appreciate the humor. Without that I wouldn't have lasted here
this long. You can't run on empty or on anger only. I was dead
tired. I just wanted to find a warm bed and crawl inside. Every
joint was stiff from not moving and I was cold to my bones. It
wasn't that cold, perhaps -8 C, but the lack of sleep, and the
tiredness took its toll. I didn't think a cup of coffee or a
cigarette would help. I've been going on that for the last seven
hours, taking ten minute breaks every two hours or so. I just
needed the sleep.
Instead of answering, I nodded, and tried to loosen my muscles.
That done, I took a couple of tentative steps to test my legs. I
had been leaning back against a wooden panel with my knees locked
stiff and trying to sleep on my feet. Well, you wouldn't call it
a sleep. I was resting my eyes, and had been following the
progress with my ears; listening to the banging of hammers, and
yelling and shouting. I walked down the stairs, and headed to the
kitchen. Once inside, I grabbed a couple of chocolate bars from
the fridge and a jar of honey. I needed some sugar. Filling up a
large mug with coffee, I added five large spoonfuls of honey,
stirring the mix. That was a trick I learned from the German
driller. I used to dump 10-15 lumps of sugar to my coffee. I was
young enough not to feel the effects of too much sugar, but it
wasn't a healthy thing to do--young or old. Honey was a much
better replacement. However, that was my only concession.
Chocolate bars were non-negotiable, when I didn't have something
to eat. If I hadn't forgotten to arrange some egg sandwiches and
soup with the cook for the late night operation, I wouldn't have
to settle for chocolate bars.
Back at my office cabin, I ate the bars, chasing them with the
coffee, and lit a cigarette, keeping an eye on the rig floor from
the open door. A few minutes later, I was feeling much better.
The chair looked inviting, but if I sat, I wasn't sure I would be
able to get back on my feet--not even with the assistance of a
forklift--so, I kept pacing the small space. By the time I
finished my coffee and half way through my second cigarette,
there was a sharp whistle. When I looked at the rig floor, I saw
the driller signing me, "We're ready!" Putting out my cigarette,
I left the cabin, and headed for the rig floor at a brisk pace.
_Here we go. Come on, Murphy! Why don't you take a fucking hike
and let us get on with it?_
* * * * *
Two and half hours later, I was sitting in my office. The casings
were in place and cemented, and the crew was busy making the
preparations for drilling the next hole section. There was some
more work to do, such as changing the blow out preventers, and
slipping and cutting the drilling line, and preparing the new
mud, while waiting on cement to set. All I had to do was type in
my report and fax it to the office. Easier said than done. I
could hardly see the characters on the little five inch orange
screen of the IBM portable. With a sigh, I put on my glasses and
started to peck at the keyboard. Half hour later the information
was saved and printed out. I checked my watch and was surprised
to find it was already 5:30. Just then, the driller walked in.
"Shit son, why do you keep your door open? It's cold in here," he
said.
I always kept the door open and the heater off when we had a
night operation going on. Otherwise, I had to take off my jacket
and the thermal coveralls every time I stepped inside--pain in
the neck. What's more, it was easy to catch cold if you moved
between cold and warm frequently. Besides, cold kept me awake
when I was tired.
"Trying to stay awake, chief," I said tiredly.
"Report ready?"
"Yep."
"You look like hell, son. Catch some shut eye," he said taking
the printout.
That was a nice idea, but not practical. In two hours time I
would be on the phone, talking to the Operations guy back in
town, going over the morning report. I was starting to feel perky
again. That's what usually happened when I reached a threshold
with all that coffee, sugar and nicotine. However, in a few hours
time, I would be down--and I mean, really down. But, that was OK.
I could catch 4-5 hours sleep, do the handover to my counterpart
who will be arriving around lunch time, and then hit the road. I
had a flight back home late in the afternoon. There was nothing
special going on until late evening, when they would start
drilling again, so my counterpart would have no trouble picking
up where I left off.
"Later, chief. I just need some coffee, and a smoke. I can sleep
after the report."
He gave me a disapproving look. "You're going to run yourself
into the ground, kid, if you keep that up."
"Well, I know somebody who can scrape me off the floor," I
quipped with a grin.
"Where is the fun in that? I'd rather wait until the rig move,
and drink you under the table," he retorted.
That had been couple of months ago, when we were both off-duty
during a rig move. It had been good. No, it had been better than
what happened a year ago, when we had had our first encounter.
After that little episode, things improved, and we had developed
a certain rapport. I still kept to myself most of the time, and
we weren't close, but there was a rapport. A few months ago,
during another rig move, we didn't have to parry, and just went
straight for the bottle. It had been fun, both of us letting off
some steam, and trying to relax, taking some time off from the
demands of the work, and other responsibilities. In the end, I
had to concede defeat, before I lost my mobility to make my way
back to the bed on my own. Back in the cabin, I had taken a few
aspirins and chased them with four big glasses of water, so that
next morning I wouldn't feel like a dish-rag. It had helped, but
not much. I had to wear my shades all day long to keep the
blaring sun away, and he would snicker every time he saw me
rubbing my temples.
"Shit, pops! You know how to hurt a guy."
Despite my response, I was looking for a repeat of the drinking
bout. It had been a nice diversion.
"Well, if you get your head out of your ass, and keep to your
lessons, you wouldn't give me the opportunity, would you?"
"Ouch!"
"Come on, let's get a cup. It's freezing in here."
"I'll be right behind you, chief. I want to get rid off the
thermals," I replied, standing up.
His office was usually very warm. After he left, I changed into
jeans and a shirt, and checked the thermostat in the bedroom to
make sure it wasn't too cold or hot. I wanted to have a decent
four hours sleep at the minimum. I set the heater in the office
as well, and closing the door, I went to his office. While he was
busy with his paperwork, I quickly updated my handover notes for
my counterpart, and then we faxed our respective reports to our
offices.
"When is your flight?" he asked, as he took a sip from his cup,
relaxing in his chair.
"Late in the afternoon."
"Going to your parents?"
"Yeah, for a few days, and then I'll pick up my car and hit the
road."
"Somewhere nice?"
"I don't know. Somewhere along the coast I guess," I said, my
thoughts going to that beach.
_I might drop by there for a few days. It will be empty, with
only a few year-round residents. I want to see it again. I want
to know if it's still there for me._
I realized--and not the first time--I had mixed feelings when I
thought about that beach, _my_ beach. I had always believed that
it would be there for me, but sometimes, there was an uncertainty
associated with that belief, making me uneasy, however much I
tried to ignore it. I had too many good memories in that place,
and at times, when uncertainty crept in, I was scared I would
lose one of my anchors--perhaps my only anchor. It was time to
put the theory to test, and know for sure if that beach was still
my beach. I also wanted to check out a few towns along the coast,
where they had good bars, and perhaps, some chicks getting away
from the big cities for the weekend or some tourists. In some of
those places, there were always tourists, summer or winter, and
it wasn't winter yet, _just_ mid-October. Here in this place, it
was getting below zero at night, but day-time it was a
comfortable mid to upper 20s. It would be slightly milder in the
west coast, where my beach was located.
_If it's too cold for my taste I can always drive down to
somewhere along the south coast. It's always warm there._
"When are you heading to town?"
"Around two. Depends on when the other guy arrives. I need to go
over a few things with him."
"You ain't sitting in the office until your flight, are you?"
_Heh! You know me well, pops!_
"Nope. I want to get a haircut, and get this wild growth on my
face trimmed. Then, some shopping for Sis; a nice silver
necklace."
He nodded in agreement. "They have some good stuff in the town. I
bought a pair of gold earrings for my daughter." After a slight
hesitation, he asked, "Any reason silver?"
"She likes antique looking stuff, plus when she tans, she really
has a tan, so the silver looks much better."
"Strange girl. Most women would go for gold."
I laughed. "Yeah, I know. But, she already has enough of that,
and doesn't wear it much. We went shopping the last time I was
back home, and I saw her look at silver necklaces. They weren't
as good as what they have here, handcrafted, so I stopped her
from buying it."
"She's also patient enough to wait," he quipped.
"Well... It's not the same thing if she buys it herself, or
receives a gift from her brother, is it?" I retorted.
"You have a point there," he chuckled. "So, she knows you'll be
bringing a gift."
"She's not really expecting something, but you know how women
are. I think she sensed what I was planning."
He let out a groan. "Tell me about it! It gets worse when you're
married. In a few years, they get to know everything."
We carefully avoided my parents as a subject matter. It wasn't
because it was a sore point. He just knew I didn't like to talk
about them, and he had seen the change--the telephone calls--it
had gotten better. I had gone back home at the first opportunity
last year. They had tried, but when I didn't respond, and refused
to be drawn into any discussion, they eased up. After a few days
of subtle prodding, they stopped all together. It hadn't been
easy; for any of us. But, I guess they sensed the distance that
was growing between us, and realized they were running the risk
of pushing me away. I should have done that long ago, but I had
too much respect for them, and didn't want to hurt their feelings
at the time. This time, I just gave them the cold shoulder when
they got insistent. It was better than a full confrontation, and
that was the end of it. Over time, the uneasy peace turned into
comfortable coexistence. I guess they had seen the subtle changes
in me. At least, they could see that I wasn't so sullen, or my
anger and hurt wasn't as obvious as before, and I kept visiting
them more often despite my frequent travels to various places. I
did a lot of sight seeing, and told them about the places I had
been to, and they probably realized I was starting to enjoy life
to a degree. They still worried about what might happen, here,
but there wasn't much any of us could do about that. To have some
peace at the home front helped a lot; I didn't have to be
preoccupied with what was going on there all the time.
By the time our conversation came to an end, the sky was lighting
up. I stepped out for half an hour to watch the horizon change
color. That was one of the rare things I enjoyed. How the dim
stars slowly disappeared from view, as the dark mass took on a
lighter hue, the distant end looking like somebody lit a slow
burning fire. First a pinkish tint, that slowly turned red, and
the few clouds changing from orange to a translucent silver
color, to eventually white, before the sun showed its face. The
ground was still hard. It would take several hours before it
would heat up and soften. I could almost hear the soft groan--the
sky finally waking up from its deep sleep. I just let the
feelings wash over me, as if floating somewhere beyond the
horizon, getting warmed up, even though it was below zero as I
stood in front of the cabin, without a jacket. I didn't stay long
though. Once the sun was up, my sleepy eyes would start to hurt,
and I knew I would hardly be able to keep them open.
When I stepped in the cabin, it was time for the morning report.
The telephone wasn't working. Damn! We had to use the radio. At
least, we had the reports faxed before the telephone quit on us.
Sometimes that happened. Either the relay stations had problems,
or our microwave antenna failed. When that happened, it was a
pain in the neck to dictate the report over the radio, and then
we still had to go through the details.
"You better go first, son. You need to get some sleep," he said.
"Thanks, chief," I said. Then, I saw the opportunity to get back
at him, and with a wicked smile, I asked, "You sure you don't
mind sloppy seconds?"
He let out a long, rumbling laugh, shaking his head. "The coffee
must have helped more than I thought. You've been hanging with us
too long, son. Save that energy for your vacation and the chicks,
will you?"
The drilling bunch was a bawdy group. There were rarely any women
around, so the jokes were always off-color, if not downright
dirty. I guess it was no different than any other industry where
women were a rarity.
"Whatever you say, pops. I'll be good," I retorted.
"I don't doubt that; just don't do anything I wouldn't do," he
replied with a knowing grin.
He had once told me a story about one of the guys he had in his
crew. An electrician, about 20-21, and recently married, working
a schedule of four weeks on and four weeks off. After two tours
of duty, the electrician requested his tour to be shifted a week-
-before or after his current schedule. When he was asked the
reason, the guy couldn't give a satisfactory answer, so Pops had
refused the request. After another tour, the electrician had made
the same request. After a lot of prodding and pushing, the
electrician explained his _little_ problem--with a lot of
embarrassment. Every time he got back home, his wife was having
her--well, I don't have to spell it out, do I? You get the idea--
It was funny as hell, but Pops understood the situation, and
granted the request, making the young man a very happy man. When
he had told the story, I was on the floor, laughing my ass off.
With a chuckle, he gently admonished me; "Yeah, son. It sounds
funny as hell, but not when you're on the receiving end of it...
or not receiving, as the case might be... so, keep that in mind."
_Yep! It's an interesting mix of people and stories. There's
always something, and that's what I like about this work and the
people._
Before I could call the office, we heard the Ops guy calling us
on the radio, so I took the mike, and replied. After covering the
major points, he started to ask questions about the delays. After
I explained the problems, he kept on it, mostly about the length
of downtime. I got the feeling he was trying to blame the
drilling contractor, and that was starting to piss me off.
_What part of frozen lines, broken piston don't you get? You've
been on the rigs, waiting for repairs, because something is
broken or something is frozen. It takes time to fix it. This
isn't a lab where everybody works in lab coats, where everything
is clean, and you have heating and air conditioning. I had to
wait in the fucking cold, so don't tell me it's a long delay,
sitting at your comfortable chair._
The last was a result of resentment rather than envy. I would
have been the first to accuse the drilling contractor if I
thought they were screwing around, since I was at the receiving
end of the delays. He had no idea. In a way that was normal. The
Ops guys--I was ostensibly an Ops guy, but had started to think
and act more like a drilling guy--didn't really get involved with
the tiny details about how a rig runs. They--well... we--were
responsible for the technical side, the engineering calculations,
and looking at the overall picture, and making decisions on the
problems, and going over the operational steps, discussing them
with the drilling contractor. The driller then went over the
operational steps, and took care of the micro-details of each
operational step. Ops guys were not involved in micromanagement
such as ordering oil for the engines. That was the responsibility
of the drilling contractor.
The point is I had gotten involved in the hands-on side of it
more than I was supposed to be. About eight months ago, there had
been a labor dispute. The crews went on a slow down. Each shift
was missing a few guys--sick. Sometimes there were only one or
two guys showing up for their shift. All the other personnel--the
foreigners--that were assigned to the rig (like mechanics,
electricians, etc) took on additional workload. I, on the other
hand, didn't have much to do. First, because I wasn't qualified
for doing anything on the rig floor, and the only help I could
lend was dumping sacks of chemicals while preparing the drilling
mud, measuring the pipes, and other simple manual labor. Another
major problem was my contract. It didn't cover the other work and
that meant I didn't have any insurance coverage in case I had an
accident. I was covered in case some accident happened, but my
insurance would be void if I did something like operating
equipment, or working with the equipment on the rig floor for
which I wasn't qualified. I was willing to learn and do the work
on the rig floor. However I wasn't going to risk it. Rig floor
work looks simple; just heavy labor, but it's potentially
dangerous, especially for a rank beginner. I knew that.
It was obvious that they could use an extra hand, so I had a
quick discussion with my boss, and suggested they make an
addendum to my contract for additional work (for which I retained
the sole right to refuse anytime I chose to do so) with specific
insurance and disability coverage. I wasn't going to let the
Company use those additional work clauses to take advantage of me
at a later date... especially if I ever had to take a position
against the company for one reason or another. Later, I heard
that some people didn't like that clause--me retaining the sole
right to refuse the particular work added to my contract. Heh!
Tough shit! I didn't have to offer the help I was offering.
Instead of saying "Thank you," they were whining. It was probably
the few assholes in the management--I had stepped on some toes
several times--and the Legal Department. _Pricks_! A couple
months after the labor dispute was resolved, I had gotten an
extra check and a "Thank you," and I think the drilling
contractor, and my boss might have had a hand in that. But, my
offer had been attractive. I didn't demand extra pay or anything
else; I just wanted to have proper coverage for any unfortunate
eventuality. A few phone calls and faxes between the office and
the family lawyer, and everything was settled. I worked on the
rig floor, I worked on the pumps, I helped the rig mechanic and
the electrician. Basically, I did a lot of the manual work that
the crews did, getting my hands dirty, and I enjoyed it. Thus, I
had a different view of things, and developed an appreciation of
what was really going on. I didn't know everything, but I was
very much interested in learning. I would never break speed
records for changing gaskets, or driving a forklift, or handling
other equipment, but I had done all those things, and more.
I was almost tempted to give the Ops guy a snappy reply, before I
realized we were on the radio. Just then, the driller tapped me
on my arm. I shook my head indicating that I wasn't going to do
anything rash, and he nodded his understanding. In my tired
state, my patience was wearing thin, and he had noticed that.
_You're a good man, pops. Every other rig in the vicinity that
tuned into the frequency for their morning report are listening
in! It would have been rather tacky to let the whole world hear
the exchange. If we were on the phone... well, that would have
been something else._
Taking a deep breath, I told him I would be in town in the
afternoon, and suggested we go over the questions then. I
followed it with a remark about not wanting to tie up the radio
traffic discussing a non-critical item. Basically, I was telling
him to quit nitpicking and move onto something important, like
getting the reports from other rigs--in a polite manner. He got
the hint, and since we had covered everything else, he signed
off, and called up another rig.
"Sorry, chief. I almost blew my top," I said.
"It happens. I don't think it would have been that bad, just
embarrassing for him. You don't go out of your way to embarrass
people in public. You're tired, but still managed to remember
that you were on the radio."
"Yeah, but thanks anyway. And I'll be patient with him when I go
over the stuff."
"You do that, sonny. Maybe next time they'll be more
appreciative, and won't start nit-picking."
"I hope so. Some of them think they aren't doing their job if
they don't ask questions or try to make a point. It gets worse on
the radio. Once, I had a real prima-donna on the radio."
He nodded with a tired but knowing grin. He had had his share of
the same people. "I know what you mean. You give it a try in
private and see if he gets it. Some do, and some don't. When
you're working in the office, don't forget the field people and
this experience."
"I don't want to work in the office. But, if I did end up there,
do you think I would forget?"
"It's a matter of time and keeping in touch with the field hands.
I doubt you'll forget it, after all you've seen and done, but it
happens to the best of them."
Yep. More often than not, that was what happened. People forgot
how it used to be in the field, once they moved to the office.
The good ones kept visiting the field, and tried not to lose
touch.
He was busy switching to another frequency to call his office to
give his report.
"Well, I'm outta here. I'll grab a bite and then it's nap time.
See you 'round lunch," I said, before leaving the cabin.
The first business of the day was to grab a quick shower. Next,
the dining room. When I walked in, the cook was busy in the
kitchen making some eggs and pancakes.
After the usual pleasantries, he asked, "Pancakes with honey?"
_God, no! I don't want any more sugar._
"Nope, just scrambled eggs and sausages. You don't have soup by
any chance, do you?"
"So, you were the one who raided the fridge, last night?" he
asked. Every time I raided his kitchen at night, the next morning
I asked the same question, "Do you have any soup?"
"Yeah. Sorry. I had forgotten to ask for sandwiches and soup last
night."
"Why didn't you check the dinner cabin? There was some cake, and
rice pudding in the small fridge. Better than those chocolate
bars."
_Damn! I didn't think of that. Rice pudding. That would have been
great._
"What's for lunch?" I asked, as if I didn't know, receiving an
annoyed look. It usually was steak with potatoes and some
vegetables. There wasn't much variation. Sometimes he made an
Irish stew or hot curry, but it was always meat. Well, that was
to be expected, with a drilling crew. The night shift personnel
usually had their dinner in the morning, so it was steak, fries
and fried onions. I had that several times, too, when I had to
work night and the following day, but it's not something I was
used to. When you start working late at night and have to
continue during the day, it was normal to have dinner instead of
a light breakfast in the morning. I rushed through my breakfast
and 20 minutes later, I was having a cup of tea. I didn't eat
much, but that little bit of food eased my hunger, and I was
getting sleepy.
_Time to hit the sack._
* * * * *
When the alarm clock went off, I barely managed to get myself out
of bed. A cold shower did help, but I was still groggy. The short
sleep wasn't enough, I could have gone on for an additional ten
hours.
_Well, tonight, I could and would sleep better._
For the first three years, I was constantly fighting the memories
and dreams, especially when I wasn't tired enough to fall asleep.
Sometimes, I would stay up much of the night, reading or doing
some paper work or studying. Night operations helped. I could
catch on my sleep with short naps during the day. The last year,
it was better. Most of the time I could sleep, but it was uneasy,
mostly due to the fact that I would be listening to the heartbeat
of the rig.
A lot of the drilling people suffer from that. Your brain
recognizes a distinct pattern of sound that defines the
activities that are taking place outside your cabin. After a
while, these patterns are filed and catalogued, so you know what
each means in your subconscious. If the pattern changed, it
usually indicated a problem. When you're sleeping, your brain is
still aware of what's going on, and notices the changes in the
sounds, and wakes you up. Most often than not, a few minutes
later, you'll hear the knock on the door. Problem! That also acts
as a positive feedback loop, firming up the conditioning. The
most distinct pattern is when everything suddenly goes quiet when
you expect the regular squeak of the brake while drilling. Those
are the times every driller and engineer hates. If you wake up to
that, you better get your ass out of the bed, and start getting
dressed. Mr. Murphy and a bunch of his relatives are probably
paying an unscheduled visit that will turn your night into
something of a major hell. No need to wait for somebody to knock
on the door. The whole experience was Pavlovian, and
unfortunately, it made for a restless sleep. I guess the only
time I had a good sleep on the rig-site was when I was tired and
dead to the world.
After the shower, I packed my suitcase, and stored my rig related
paraphernalia (boots, coverall, thermals, etc) in the closet. I
caught my counterpart at lunch, and gave him a quick summary of
what had been done, and what was coming next while we ate. Back
in the office, I gave him the handover notes, and answered his
questions. Then we went over the well program and the progress
made until now. There wasn't much. He just had to read the
reports of the past few days, and he had plenty of time to go
over them before they commenced drilling later in the night. The
next few days they would be drilling, so basically he was ready,
and I was ready to go to town to catch my flight.
After putting my suitcase in the car, I did my rounds to say
goodbye to the people, and hit the road to the accompaniment of
Chris Rea on the stereo. As he was singing _Looking for the
Summer_ my mind was busy with my vacation plans, which route to
take, what towns to check out and so on. I was planning to spend
most of my time in the south coast, after listening to the
weather forecast, with a short visit to the west coast to visit
my beach. As I had expected there was quite a bit of temperature
difference between the two coasts.
_It will be a welcome difference to drive along the coast. On one
side the Mediterranean, and on the other side the mountains, the
air filled with the smell of pine trees. After the dust and sandy
roads here, and the desolate scenery, finally I will see
something nice._
* * * * *
Back in town, I went to the town center, and checked out the
jewelry stores. In one shop, I finally found what I was looking
for. Instead of silver, I ended up buying a platinum plated
necklace, handcrafted with a very delicate design. It looked
great, and I hoped my sis would like it as well. My next stop was
the barber shop. I got my hair cut, and my beard and mustache
trimmed. When I looked at the mirror, I had the shock of my life.
Around my temples there was a distinct grey and white strip. With
the long hair I hadn't noticed it, but when the hair was cut
short...
_Jeeez. When did that happen? I'm just 25. My dad had his gray
hair when he was 37. Shit! Mom and Sis will definitely notice
it._
I looked five if not ten years older than I was, especially with
the beard and mustache. I thought about getting it shaved off,
but that would have looked ridiculous with all the suntan I had.
My eyes were bloodshot, and sunken from lack of sleep. I hate to
admit it, but I looked bad. On the way to the office I
contemplated postponing my flight, and getting a goodnight's
sleep, before going back home to see my parents. But in the end,
I just didn't want to waste my time here. I missed good home
cooking--_All right!_ I miss Sis, and the folks back home as
well--and I wanted to get on with the program, and have my
vacation.
When I walked into the office, the secretary gave me a strange
look. I knew what she was thinking after I had had a good look at
myself on the mirror.
_Don't say a word!_
"You look... umm... tired. Was it that bad?" she asked.
_Heh! . I look tired? Understatement of the year... Lady, I look
like shit!_
I felt like that as well. I was running on pure nerves, and the
excitement of getting the hell out of here.
"It got busy frequently, and I had only four hours rest in the
last 37 hours or so," I replied, trying to form a smile. I don't
know if I pulled off a smile or a grimace.
"I better get you a cup of coffee. You look like you could do
with one," she said with a sympathetic smile.
"Ah, thanks, but no coffee please. If there's tea or something
cold, that's OK."
Few minutes later, she returned with a big mug of tea. We chatted
for a short while and she gave me my tickets. That done, I went
looking for the Ops guy, to go over the stuff he wanted to
discuss. It didn't take long to cover the various points, and I
explained the problems patiently without getting sarcastic.
However, I hinted that he wasn't there in the office to nitpick,
but deal with serious problems and give us technical support. I
don't know if he got it, but I was hopeful. I handed over the
electronic copies of the files on diskettes, so they could keep
their computers updated with the information. Unfortunately, the
com lines were not reliable to do it via modem, so every time
somebody was heading to the town, they would have copies of files
from our computer on the rig-site on diskettes, and drop them at
the office.
He offered to drive me to the airport for my flight, and I
accepted.
* * * * *
The waiting room at the airport wasn't crowded. It was a mid-
week, late afternoon flight, so that was normal. This was a small
airport, with two strips, and the airplane was parked some
distance away from the gates, with the fuel truck next to it.
I was starting to have a queasy feeling in my stomach, which was
strange. I enjoyed flying and I wasn't afraid of air travel. At
first, I thought something I had eaten was giving me the problem,
but that wasn't it. This was more like a signal, a quiet alarm
bell going off--little flutters in my stomach. I tried to figure
out what exactly was causing the signals. The more I tried, the
more evasive it got. I was giving serious consideration to
skipping the flight, thinking perhaps, I shouldn't be on a plane
that might... but that didn't help.
I let my mind wander instead of listening to what my body was
trying to tell me, so I could take an indirect peek, and
understand the nature of the signals, and the possible cause of
them. After a few deep breaths, and loosening my muscles, I
managed to get a better read. It was only little flutters in my
belly, as if expecting a surprise. I didn't have the muscle
ticks, or the tingling at the back of my neck, or the ants
crawling on my spine. There wasn't a sense of unease, and I
didn't have the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that
told me something wasn't right. It wasn't a danger signal, just a
small blip; sort of an expectation for something to happen--like
a premonition.
That piqued my curiosity, but I couldn't figure out what the
surprise might be. Every time I took a look at the airplane, my
heart was skipping a beat, and that was strange. If there was
going to be an accident, I would have the danger signals. My body
was telling me, there was no danger. I had come to trust my
instincts on those matters, as they had served me well countless
times before. While I was busy trying to figure out this puzzle,
they called the flight, and people started to head for the apron
through the open doors.
As I made my way to the plane, behind the other passengers, the
flutters increased in frequency, and that gave me a pause, so I
slowed down my pace.
_There's something in that plane! What can it be?_
_What's usually in the plane?_
_The cleaning crew already left, so... the pilots... the flight
crew..._
_Flight crew? Flight attendants..._
_Shiit! No... can it be?_
The last I remembered, she was a flight attendant and flying the
international routes. She could be on a domestic flight, but...
_This isn't even a major domestic route. That can't be..._
As soon as I had hit on the thought, my flutters were replaced by
a tugging feeling. As I slowed my pace further, I went to
overdrive, checking everything I felt.
_Yeah. It feels like she's here! There's no mistaking that. I
know this feeling._
I knew this feeling... spinning out of control... the tug... the
pull... every time she had been around... ever since that very
first moment I had seen her... it had been there... always... I
had felt that in my belly... even when my heart ignored the
pull...
_Jesus! Out of hundreds of flights, among major domestic routes,
could she be on this minor route, on this particular flight? What
are the chances of that? Why? Why now?_
I faltered. There were still some people walking ahead of me, and
some on the stairs boarding the plane. I stopped, and taking off
my shades, spent a few minutes cleaning them with the hem of my
shirt, while trying to calm myself. If she was there, I didn't
want to face her without being ready in some way. I went through
my routine to center myself. While taking deep breaths, I
imagined the beach.
_Stepping into the water, and feeling the cold on my ankles. My
feet trying to get a good purchase on the soft sandy floor,
becoming anchors. Sinking, sinking into the ground. The tug of
water. Moving with the water. Fluid, swaying. The waves wetting
the rolled up legs of my jeans. My jeans getting heavy, pulling
on my hips. Feeling each wave tug at my hips. Sinking more to the
ground. Catching the rhythm of the waves. Matching my breath to
each pull and push. Empty and full. Deep in the belly. Pull and
push. The fluid motion of water. The great mass behind it. Deep
in the belly. The power in the mass. Absorbing and filling it
inside my belly. Calm. Becoming one with the water. Calm.
Becoming the sea. I am the water._
The flutters in my stomach ceased, being replaced with a warm
feeling of energy. I resumed my walk with sure steps, feeling
connected to the ground in some inexplicable manner.
_I hope she is not he--_
_Why am I lying to myself? I-I... I missed her. I still miss
her._
That admission filled me with unease, and I felt the tug that I
had always felt when she was around me, like the oceans felt the
pull of the moon, like the tidal waves. It was there, and was
getting urgent, insistent, threatening to overcome the calm and
peace. It was very distracting.
_I guess it's been too long._
There was a certain comfort even in the chaos it caused in me,
perhaps a comfort born out of familiarity. Worse, there was the
longing; the longing to be sucked into the crazy maelstrom,
swirling and spinning uncontrolled, letting go of all control. It
had always been such a dichotomy: my struggle for control, and
the influence she exerted on me, pulling me into chaos. How she
felt in my arms, the feel of her body, her hot juncture pressed
against my leg as we danced. Her fingers busy at my neck, with my
hair, as we kissed. And how she had exerted the same pull without
a touch, as if we were connected by an invisible cord. I had
never been able to fend off her influence successfully. After all
this time, those feelings were rising to the surface, trying to
answer the call of the _Siren's Song_.
_God, it's been long... so long since I've felt this... I missed
it... but she couldn't be here, could she? And, I'm so tired. I
don't know if I could handle it. I've never been able to. Will it
be any different this time?_
When I stepped inside the plane, I saw the first flight
attendant, standing by the galley. There was another on my left
towards the pilot's cabin. Taking off my shades, I turned right
towards the passenger cabin. About mid-way, another flight
attendant was busy with the overhead compartment, picking up a
pillow for a passenger.
_There she is!_
For a moment I considered putting my shades back on, but decided
against it.
_Why hide behind anything... we never had to before... did we?_
She hadn't seen me yet, as I made my way looking for my seat. A
quick scan revealed that the plane was more than half empty, with
most of the passengers in their seats in the front half, except a
few who were busy placing their briefcases, personal belongings
to the overboard compartments. As I neared her, she finished
helping the passenger, and straightened up, turning to face the
corridor to help the remaining passengers.
That's when our eyes met.
_She's changed. Why did she cut her hair? Short hair doesn't suit
her. She... she looks old and... tired. Too much make up... She
never used so much make up before..._
At first, she was surprised to see me there, standing and looking
at her. Suddenly her face lit up with a smile--as if she was
genuinely pleased to see me.
"What a pleasant surprise!" she said.
_Is it?_
"Hi," I said, not able to respond in any other way, even though I
had prepared myself to face her. That warm smile, the look in her
eyes, and the melodic sound of her voice cut through my carefully
erected defenses. For a brief moment I wondered if that's how it
felt when you were cut with a katana--at first no pain, then an
intense searing heat that overtook all other senses.
"You look tired. Let's get you comfortable," she said, while
leading me to the seats towards the very back of the cabin, away
from all the other passengers.
I could see several heads turn in our direction, their eyes
following us, wondering about the treatment I was getting from
this pretty flight attendant, but I was too busy trying to
collect myself to be concerned about such things.
She showed me to one of the seats, and leaning, she asked, "Once
we take off, I have to help the others with the service. Do you
need anything until then?"
"No, I'm fine. Thank you. It's... it's nice to see you."
"It is nice to see you, too. Get comfortable. After the service
is finished, we can chat... It's been too long," she said with
another warm smile, before leaving me to help her colleagues with
pre-flight preparations.
I found myself watching her departure. The almost sinuous quality
to her moves in whatever she did, reminding me of things I didn't
want to think about. I was losing the battle I had been fighting,
and already felt as if I was falling into a deep abyss, pulled by
invisible strings. The timing couldn't have been worse, when I
was so tired. Now, this unexpected encounter was threatening me,
and what little I had accomplished in fighting my past. I was
hanging onto the last reserves inside me to keep myself centered,
but it was a slippery and treacherous slope. As soon as I tried
to recall that beach and the sea, other images started to force
themselves in, breaking my concentration. The scenes when she was
part of the beach, and of me... I picked the airline magazine,
knowing I would not read a single word or pay attention to even
the pictures. Once we were airborne, the in-flight service
started and--since the plane was half-empty--it was over a half
hour later.
Her colleagues took the two seats at the very back of the cabin,
just few rows behind me, and I saw her making her way to me. She
motioned me to take the window seat, and then moved into my seat.
_She's still beautiful... her smile is still warm as her eyes...
how could she? Is this an act? And, she looks tired and old...
older than her 23 years... Where did that 19 year old girl go?_
I didn't even try to give a comforting grin. I was just too
confused. She gave me a long, inquisitive look, and hesitated
before speaking up.
"Are you... are you angry at me?" she asked hesitantly.
_Angry... at you? Why should I be angry? Do I look angry?_
_Maybe I do... I'm used to being left alone, so I don't notice
it. But perhaps, that's what people think or see... an angry
young man. As your friends once said... angriest of all the angry
young men... Yeah, I was angry at the time... angry at you, maybe
a bit... but mostly angry at myself._
"You _are_ angry at me!" she said.
I had taken too long to reply, and she had drawn her conclusion.
I wasn't angry at her, but didn't know how to tell her or make
her see it.
"Do you remember how you trusted me? You know I never told you a
lie..." I said.
She nodded.
"Then, please trust me when I say I'm not angry with you or at
you. There was a time, I was angry at you... a very short time...
but I wasn't really angry at you, and I'm not now... It's
just..." I said. Then with a tired sigh, I gave up, "It's
difficult to explain."
She spent a few minutes mulling it over in her mind, thinking
about what I said and not said, but her eyes never left my face a
moment.
"You've changed... changed a lot," she said, softly, her voice
tinged with something I couldn't put my finger on... something
like sadness, but not exactly.
_As you did, baby girl... as you did, apparently. Where is that
carefree laughter, those bright eyes? The wild 19 year old? You
look older than your years. Why? It was only a few years ago...
four and a half years to be precise._
"You've not changed much. You've cut your hair," I replied.
"It's easier to keep. So, you are going home now?"
"Not really. Just a few days visiting parents and Sis, and then
I'll take a vacation."
"Isn't it a bit late for vacation? It's mid October."
"I work an unusual schedule. A couple of weeks work, couple of
weeks off. So you could say I work only half the year...
roughly."
"It must be nice... but also tiring, if they allow so much time
off," she said giving me a critical look.
"You don't have to mince words. I know how I look at the
moment... Yes, it can get tiring at times," I replied.
_But I like to be tired... I like to be busy... It helped... It
helps... most of the time._
"Ummm... don't have much time left. This is a short flight, so I
need to get back to work. I have about an hour till my next
flight. Would you like to catch a cup of coffee with me when we
land?" she asked.
I grimaced at the thought of coffee.
_I don't want to hear about coffee. I had enough coffee to last
me a lifetime!_
She must have taken my expression the wrong way, because she
hastily added, "Unless you have other plans..."
"No, I don't have any plans. I was thinking about coffee. I think
I had more than enough coffee the last few days," I said with a
small smile.
"Oh!"
"I'd love to join you for a drink."
"OK. I'll catch you at the baggage claim area then," and with
that she stood up and joined her colleagues who were getting
ready for the last minute checks on passengers. Just then, the
pilot announced that we would be landing in ten minutes.
* * * * *
Twenty minutes later, I was waiting for my suitcase at the
baggage claim area when she showed up, pulling a small overnight
bag on rollers. We waited for my suitcase to appear on the
baggage carousel, both of us lost in thought. It wasn't uneasy,
but it wasn't comfortable either. After an eternity of waiting, I
had my suitcase, and we made our way to one of the
cafeteria/bars, and found an empty table.
Even though I had had enough of it, I ordered coffee, which
brought an amused smile and a raised eyebrow from her.
"One more or less won't hurt anymore than it already had," I
said, shrugging my shoulders.
For a split second, her eyes tightened, and she froze, and with
an effort she recovered herself. I didn't understand her reaction
at all. Why would she react like that?
"Did I say something wrong?" I asked her.
My mind was running a hundred miles an hour, going over the scene
from a moment ago, trying to figure out, and then I stumbled on
it.
"I didn't mean anything... I'm sorry. I was talking about
coffee," I mumbled.
"It's OK! I know you were talking about coffee," she said. Then
reaching out with her hand she put it on top of my hand.
If I hadn't seen her move, I would have reacted, but even then,
it took a lot to steel myself for her touch. I felt that
invisible cord tug, tug hard to pull me into the abyss, almost
turning my insides to water.
_You don't know what you're doing to me girl... or maybe you
do..._
"I never wanted to... I didn't want to hurt you," she said, her
eyes luminous, almost moist. "You were the best friend I ever
had."
"I know. I understood that when you first said it," I replied.
"Maybe you did... maybe not," she replied. Her eyes kept
searching my face, trying to determine if I did.
_And what friends we had been. Friends don't dance the way we
did... or kiss... or make lo--_
_Don't go there. It's past! It's over._
"You always tried to tell me before I made my mistakes. Sometimes
I knew it... sometimes I didn't, until later. But you were right.
We both knew it. And you still tried to help. Unlike others.
That's what I valued most... your friendship," she said gently.
"But..." I said, and then I changed my mind. I didn't want to get
into what I knew was still going on. I knew she had changed, but
not much. I could see it in her eyes. She just couldn't stay
alone. She hated being alone. She always needed to be with
someone. She always wanted attention, if she couldn't get love.
Yet, she turned her back to the ones that really loved her.
"But..." she said, urging me to continue with an insistent stare.
_Don't make me say it... It's going to hurt you, and you know I
don't want to hurt you. Don't you get it? Whatever you do, I love
you. And I don't want to hurt you._
"People change. It's what happens given time," I said. That
wasn't what I had in mind though. I just said it to keep her from
pursuing that particular line, but she knew me well.
"You were a good friend. Are you not a _friend_... anymore? Was
that what you were going to say?"
I know my eyes were almost pleading her not to go there, but she
kept her gaze steady. I tried desperately another route. "You
know how I felt about you. How can you trust my judgment, when
it's colored by personal feelings, involvement?"
"Because that's not you," she said, giving a squeeze to my hand.
"You can't protect me from myself. You think it will hurt me, but
_this_... hurts more!"
_Damn you... damn you..._
With reluctance, I said, "Let me guess... Instead of the usual
guys, you're with a pilot... Late thirties, early forties...
perhaps still married or divorced?"
She lowered her eyes in answer.
"And you feel secure, because he clings to you. Now, you don't
have to worry about being cast aside or being alone. What's more,
you can keep him in line... with all the young guys around you,
he has every reason to be jealous and pay attention to you, if he
doesn't want to lose you. You stroke his ego, and he pays
attention to you. He might even be in love with you."
She nodded.
"But do you love him? Don't answer me. I don't need to know the
answer. You need to know the answer for yourself," I said, too
tired to continue.
_You have hardened... some part of you is gone... you've changed,
but now, you have become more of a user. And still, you let
yourself be used even if you don't recognize that. What happened
to that 19 year old who knew something about love? But you were
already hurt, and lost some part of you even then, didn't you?_
_I was too early to be able to recognize it, and too late to
help... really help, that time. I realized that later, but then
it was... it was over!_
_And now?_
Her earlier wildness was just a show. When she was like that,
people flocked to her, but it was a tiring performance. Now, a
couple of years older, she knew she couldn't keep it up
indefinitely. Not with the kind of work she was doing. It was
already tough enough, the irregular hours, the different places.
I suspected the usual nightlife and partying that went on with
the flight crews gave more than enough opportunity to keep part
of her wild ways, but I have my doubts whether she was as wild as
she was at 19. I had made it my business to learn some things
about flight crews and their lives when I heard she had joined an
airline as a flight attendant. Her tired and older look hidden
behind the heavy layer of makeup confirmed my suspicions, as her
nonverbal responses to my guesses. She had never used makeup when
I first knew her, just a little bit of lipstick or gloss. Still,
in all that, I could feel the pain, and hurt, and the loneliness
she felt. I could feel the pull of all her emotions, and I was
losing my balance. I tried to take couple of deep breaths to
clear up my mind and calm myself, but it was a loosing battle.
_The innocence lost..._
She hadn't been innocent then, not in any sense of the word--
including the biblical sense--but there had been a little piece
of innocence. Now, I suspected that was gone, too.
_What a loss... what a waste... are you ever going to find some
happiness?_
She broke the silence. "You're right on most accounts. This time
it's different though. He loves me, and it's comforting."
_Oh, God! The question is, do you love him? Are you happy? You
used to know what love is. You used to know how to love, if what
I had seen wasn't an act... if what we did, what we had
wasn't..._
I was stunned by her statement, and her ignorance. I looked in
her eyes, trying to find some hidden answers there, and she
averted her eyes.
_Why? What are you hiding? You don't really believe what you
said, do you? Then, why did you say it?_
The sadness I felt was overwhelming me. I was too tired to be
able to deal with it, or control my emotions effectively. I
wanted to move to some distance and find a private place to pull
myself together. Hastily, I said, "Excuse me. I think all that
coffee caught up with me," and left to use the facilities.
I was ready to cry, and I hadn't cried in many years, even when I
was a young child I had rarely cried. Now, I was fighting very
hard the urge to cry. Once in the rest room, I washed my face,
hoping the cold water would help, but it didn't. As I
concentrated on my breathing, I tried to recall a good memory.
Not of the beach, because she had been part of that beach for a
while, and I didn't want her to intrude and break my
concentration, but some place else, where I had found beauty,
comfort, and peace; where she hadn't been a part of the scenery.
I remembered a trip I had made to a small town by the
Mediterranean coast, before I went to the boot camp. A couple of
miles outside the town there was a beautiful picnic area with a
small waterfall, feeding a large pond. It was one of the nicest,
most beautiful places I had ever visited. I pulled the memory of
that place; sitting by the pond, and watching the waterfall,
listening to the sound of birds, and crickets, feeling at peace.
I started to calm down, but the urge to cry didn't leave me.
However, I couldn't bring myself to cry, so I did the next best
thing. I let the waterfall cry the tears I couldn't. I knew I had
a hangup about crying... something about weakness.
Intellectually, I knew it was a natural reaction of the body to
extreme emotion or other stimuli, and the body needed to have
some release. I wondered if this little episode would eventually
catch up with me, later on. However, at that moment, I just
didn't want to return to the table with any traces of having
cried, thus I sought the alternative, and it helped.
Back at the table, I had a semblance of control. I took a sip
from my cup, and grimaced at the taste of cold coffee. "I think
I'll get orange juice or something. You want something?"
"Juice is fine," she replied.
After picking up the glasses, I returned to the table. She was
lost in thought, her eyes distant, and I didn't like the way she
looked. I just didn't know what to do to comfort her, so I took
her hand in mine, and when she looked up, I tried a smile. "Where
are you flying?"
"Tonight is my last flight. Tomorrow is Rome, with an overnight
stay."
"Nice. So, you'll have time to do some sight seeing."
"Yeah. It will be my tenth time there. Well, with an overnight
stay that is. We usually make a short stop there. What about
you?"
"Nothing concrete. Few days seeing the parents, and my sis, and I
need the car checked. After that, I don't know. Probably the
South coast. I might drive up to the Aegean coastline as well."
"Have you been to..." she hesitated for a moment, then continued,
"to the summer place?"
"Once. A few years ago. In November, when I had a week off after
boot camp. Before I got transferred to my new unit."
"November? That place?" she asked, with a quizzical look.
"Yep. It was on my way."
"What did you do? It must have been cold."
"It was, when I arrived... late in the evening. I had bought a
small bottle of cognac and some sandwiches, so they helped...
with two heavy blankets. Next day was great though."
"Really?" she asked, curious and a bit skeptical, but somehow
relaxed.
"Oh, yeah. It was sunny, and warm. Went to the town, and looked
up a friend. We went to the little island for a bite and a mid-
day drink... Ouzo and some fresh fish. God, how I had missed that
stuff, when I was in the boot-camp. The next day, I took a bus to
my unit," I said with a laugh, remembering that beautiful day and
how I had gotten tipsy with a small bottle of Ouzo.
"It must have been something," she commented, giving me an amused
look.
I realized how we seemed to settle into the conversation, as we
had done so many times before. For the first time, the uneasiness
had left me, and I guess she was feeling comfortable as well from
the way she responded.
"Was that too obvious?"
That earned me a genuine laughter, and she said, "Kinda," making
me laugh again.
Then her expression softened, as if she was getting ready to say
something, but then changed her mind, and kept smiling. For a
moment, there was that girl from a few years ago... the same
smile, the same laughter, the same soft eyes. My heart ached...
something fierce.
_God, I missed this. Missed hearing your laughter, and laughing
with you._
"I missed your laughter, and smile. You should smile more. It
suits you," I said, instinctively.
"You always said that."
"But it's the truth. You don't believe me?"
"Thank you. You're still... a good friend," she said, then waited
as if expecting a response.
_Don't... don't do this to me. What do you mean a friend? A
friend or a lover? I can't be either. You've changed, and lost
something, along the way. I've changed._
_I want that girl back. I loved that girl and still love her. But
she is gone, isn't she?_
_I don't know if I love this woman sitting across me. Not when
you're not sure you mean it. I'm just barely managing. I don't
know if I can survive a second time._
"I-I... I try to be... but I know... I haven't always been..."
"Don't say _that_!" she cut me off heatedly, then more gently,
repeated it again. "Don't ever say that."
_Why? In the end, I quit trying. Maybe I could have tried harder.
Sure, you didn't listen, or help the situation, but..._
_I burned the bridge. Did I not?_
"Thank you, but--" I said, but she cut me off gently with a shake
of her head, not letting me finish what I wanted to say.
"You did the right thing. At least, one of us knew it was the
right thing," she said.
_Huh? Right thing? Breaking up was the right thing, instead of
fighting for what we seemed to have?_
"I'm not sure if any of us knew what the right thing was," I
replied, my mind taking a stroll in the past, taking an inventory
of all the little things we had shared and done.
"I wasn't ready for a commitment, and you saw it," she reminded
gently. "You saw... what I was like..."
"Why are you putting yourself down? I know what I had seen...
what I felt... Was I wrong in assuming you felt the same?"
She gave me a pained look before lowering her gaze to the table,
and picked up her glass. "I told you then, I wasn't in love," she
said before taking a sip.
_You mean what we did was just a... fuck? Nothing more?_
_That cannot be. I had seen your eyes. How happy and content you
looked. It wasn't just good sex. We were connected. I know what a
one-night stand is. That wasn't a one-night stand or a casual
fuck._
_Why did you take me to your bed? Why do you keep denying it? You
denied it then, and you're still denying it._
I jogged my memory going over the times we had been together.
Walking along the beach... the long talks in the evening... how
we held each other as we danced... how she kissed and touched
me... making love... and how she changed later, growing distant
and pushing me away...
"I didn't know what I was doing. I'm sorry that I hurt you," she
said.
_At least I had some happy moments. I could say I had loved.
That's more than some people had or could say..._
"Why? I'm not sorry, and you didn't hurt me," I replied.
She gave me a sad smile. "You are kind... you shouldn't dwell on
the past. One day a girl will be very lucky to find you. If you
don't know that yet, I know it."
_Well... there was that girl, once... and... there's that woman
who might find her way one day..._
As the thought ran through my mind, I knew it was wishful
thinking, and when my eyes settled on her, she shook her head
slightly, as if reading my mind--almost saying "don't go there."
"I didn't want to dredge up the past. It's just..." I tried to
say, but couldn't continue.
"It's been a long time. I know," she said, with a soft,
sympathetic smile. "I needed to talk as much as you did. I still
remember how we used to sit and talk. I'm glad we had this
chance."
I saw her check her watch, and surreptitiously checked mine.
"You need to go?" I asked.
She nodded, then reached out with her hand caressing my cheek.
"Get rid off that beard and moustache, will you? It doesn't suit
you," she said with an affectionate smile.
I caught her hand, and brought her palm to my lips giving a kiss.
"I will... if you let your hair grow long," I replied, with a
smile.
She laughed, her eyes bright with joy. She knew I loved her long
hair, even when it was stringy with sweat, after we finished...
We both stood up, and she moved into my arms, hugging each other.
Her hand moved to my neck, caressing, and playing with my hair,
pulling me for a kiss, and I leaned in instinctively. At the last
moment we both realized what we were about to do, and froze for a
long second, our eyes locking. Then she gave a kiss to my cheek,
and I tightened my arms around her. I knew she didn't want to
kiss. Not because we were in a public place, but perhaps it would
have been too much, at least for me, even though I longed to kiss
her one more time... after so long...
Resting her cheek against my chest, she let her body sag, hanging
on my neck. How I missed the feel of her, of her body in my arms.
I don't know how long we stayed like that rocking each other
gently, remembering happier moments. Reluctantly, she let go of
my neck, and stepped back.
She tried to compose her face, but her eyes were big, and
luminous. "Take care of yourself, will you?" she said.
"You know I will. You make sure you do too, OK?"
"I will. Don't worry about me... and... thank you," she said.
When I tried to help with her bag to accompany her to the flight-
crew lounge, she waved me away, saying, "It would be better if
you stayed here." With that she took the handle of her overnight
bag. Then, with a tight smile, she said, "I don't like
goodbyes... Till next time?"
I nodded. "Till next time."
As she walked away, I whispered after her, "and I love you...
too."
She had taken only a few steps, when she stopped and turned to
take one last look, with a happy smile on her face. For a moment,
I wondered how much of that smile was for my benefit and how much
of it was for her. "Friends?" she asked.
"Always," I said, blowing a kiss with a smile I could hardly
manage.
I watched her turn and walk away to the crew lounge, with a heavy
heart. That invisible cord between us was pulling and tugging at
me. It was still there. Suddenly, I felt drained, and sunk into
the chair, not able to stand there to watch her disappear among
the crowds. I knew this was the end. Maybe one day she would
change, but it was already too late... Time had a way of bringing
on the finality of a situation, and that was what I felt.
_Is this closure?_
I didn't know. If this was closure, why did I still feel her
presence, and the invisible cord that bound us?
I lit a cigarette, not wanting to head home yet. I went over the
conversation we had. There was still something, if I was reading
her correctly. Yet, she was unwilling to pursue it or let me
pursue. That was clear. She had made that very clear. I didn't
hurt, not as much as I had a few years ago. I was just sad. We
were like two celestial objects with different trajectories. At
one point in time, our paths had crossed for a brief period,
before moving away. The strange thing was, the gravitational pull
was still there, as strong as before. It didn't feel like a
goodbye. It felt more like I was attending the burial ceremony.
Perhaps that was true; that 19 year old girl with the bright
smile, carefree laughter, and soft eyes was dead. She had been
already a victim of time and youthful stupidity then, and now...
Was she gone forever, or was there still a small piece left
inside her? I didn't know, and I was too tired to be able to
think clearly, so I let it go. Maybe some other time I would go
over it, if ever. I just wanted to bask in the aurora she had
left at the table, absorb and make it a permanent part of my
memories. After all this was a goodbye--or a funeral. Right on
cue, the soft music that was coming from the PA speakers changed
to _Who Wants to Live Forever_ by Queen.
_Thanks Freddie! I owe you one._
* * * * *