Authors: Jo Watson
If this had been a movie, this is when the director would have cut away to show the reactions on the other passengers’ faces.
The woman next to me recoiled.
The man in the row behind me gagged.
The kid to my left started laughing and pointing.
The elderly couple to my right clutched each other and whispered something.
I looked down at my slippers, they weren’t moving anymore and I realized I felt instantly better—physically, that is. Emotionally, I was a total wreck and beyond embarrassment. I started to wonder if I’d been cast in some kind of elaborate reality show where everyone was in on it, except me. A show where the producers were plotting against me, making sure I was having the worst time of my life. Or was it that bitch Karma again?
I felt so alone and put my head in my hands, wishing that the plane would just crash. Or at least that the roof would rip off and that I’d be sucked out. Of course, I didn’t want to land up like those people in the Andes who were forced to eat each other just to survive, but still I wanted out. And I wanted Michael. I wanted to be married to him right now and—
“Lilly, are you okay?” It was Goth Guy, and he looked genuinely concerned.
Why did he care? And then in a move that completely surprised me, he placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“I feel a bit better now,” I offered timidly.
“Can I get you a Coke? It’s good for nausea….” But before I’d even replied, Goth Guy was already up and getting one. I was taken aback by the unexpected act of kindness from the strange stranger. Surely he was the least likely person on this plane to care? If you’d asked me a few minutes ago, I would have said that he was probably most likely to steal your handbag and dance naked around a fire in the woods.
He returned with the Coke and cracked it open. I sipped the cool liquid and he was right, I did feel better.
“Thanks.” He was quite close to me now, and I used the opportunity to inspect him further. Although he wasn’t my type,
at all,
there was something attractive about him in a dirty-Johnny-Depp-in-Pirates-of-the-Caribbean–type of way. I noticed another tattoo on the underside of his non-cuffed wrist, it was a small pink heart, and it looked so out of place next to the strong geometric lines of the others.
“What’s that?” I was intrigued by it.
Goth Guy glanced down. “It’s for my little sister. She died.”
And with that, he was gone.
Clearly I’d offended him, and I felt terrible. I’d offended the only person on the entire plane who had been nice to me. I watched him sit down, I was hoping he’d turn around so I could try and communicate a silent apology, but he didn’t, instead he put on his headphones and closed his eyes.
Chapter Three
I don’t love flying.
There’s nothing normal about being forty thousand feet above sea level in a glorified sardine can.
I have two main fears, really. Firstly, that we’ll simply fall out of the sky and plummet to our grizzly deaths, and secondly, that when we land the breaks will fail and we’ll go thundering into a building, burst into flames and blow up.
But we landed safely.
The interior of the airport was surprising. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I certainly hadn’t imagined such an impressive, modern building. I glanced at the clock on the wall and reset my watch to local time. A hotel shuttle was fetching me in an hour and a half, so I had plenty of time to get my bags, go through customs and maybe even squeeze in some duty-free shopping. Things were looking up—but then I got to the luggage carousel.
What is it about airports that make people lose all sense of propriety, politeness, patience and anything else that resembles manners? People shoved, they pushed, they elbowed each other and they acted as if getting their bag one second before the guy next to them was more important than finding a cure for cancer. I saw Damian through the marauding crowd, and knew that this would be my last chance to say something to him.
I tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey.” I smiled apologetically. “I never got a chance to thank you for helping me earlier.” I was trying to find an indirect way of saying it without causing more offense.
“No prob.” He looked at me again with those black eyes; they really were startling. “I’m sorry for walking away like that, I just…didn’t expect that.”
I jumped in. “No, I’m sorry. That was out of line, I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s okay. You just caught me off guard. It’s not something I usually talk to people about.”
His candor surprised me, and I was about to say something about his right to privacy when five security guards interrupted us. I smiled at them, but they didn’t look friendly. In fact, they circled like vultures around a carcass. I had a very bad feeling about this.
“Can I see your passports?” The guy with a face like a bulldog asked.
I pulled mine out immediately and handed it over, but Damian objected.
“This is so typical. It’s discrimination. I’m not giving it to you.”
What was he talking about? Was I missing something? I looked from him to the bulldog and back again.
Bulldog growled. “Give me your passport.” His eyes blazed with aggression.
Damian stared back at him indignantly, “No.”
The tension was building and the other vultures stepped forward, pecking at us with their evil eyeballs.
“What’s going on?” I was suddenly very nervous.
Damian turned to me. “What’s going on here is a clear case of ignorance and discrimination.”
“But they’re just asking for our passports,” I offered.
“No, they’re not!” Damian was adamant.
Now I was really confused and the vultures came even closer.
And then it happed. And it happened so damn fast. They swooped, they grabbed, they handcuffed and then dragged us across the room.
“Hey,” I was screaming. “What are you doing?”
There was a lot of loud angry shouting in Thai, and several more vulture guards came lunging over. And then, for the third time that day, people stared at me. I recognized some of the faces from the plane; many of them were nodding at each other with knowing looks. Their suspicions about me had been confirmed.
“I told you, Tony. She’s a total criminal.”
“Please, the hotel shuttle will be here any minute to pick me up. I have to get my bags and get to my hotel. Just tell me what’s happening?” No response. They didn’t even look at me. At least if I knew what was going on, I could have defended myself and proved to them that I was innocent of whatever crime they thought I’d committed. No such luck. They dragged us into a small, miserable-looking room. The type of room that hardened criminals are kept in.
Nothing was making sense!
“I’m a lawyer. I know my rights. And my father and sister-in-law are both very powerful lawyers, and if I phone them and tell them what’s going on, they’ll be on the next flight over here and you’ll all be in trouble,” I was over being nice. I took out my phone and started dialing. But before I could press a single button, it was whipped away from me and taken out of the room. I heard a loud click and swung around to see my suitcase being pried open and rummaged through.
“Hey, what are you doing? Those are my clothes!” I glanced at Damian, who looked totally unperturbed as someone started tearing his backpack apart.
“Damian!” My voice was demanding. “What’s going on?”
And his response was totally unexpected.
“They think we’re drug smugglers.”
“What!” I shrieked. “That’s ridiculous. Why?”
“I told you, discrimination. It’s happened to me before. They see someone with a tattoo and black clothes and assume.”
Something red flew past my face. It was my underwear! I went crimson with embarrassment as my lace panties went flying through the air and landed on the table just inches from Damian. I shot up, practically slid across the table and grabbed them, which only ended up drawing more attention to the itty-bitty red things.
He looked up at me and smiled, which made my blood boil.
“This is all your fault,” I was furious.
“How is this my fault?”
“Well, obviously, I’m only guilty by association. I was talking to you and you’re the one who looks like a drug smuggler.”
I could see this statement hit a nerve and he jumped out of his seat pointing at me. “I hate to break this to you, Lilly, but you’re the one who looks like she’s smuggling drugs. In fact, you look like a junkie on a very bad comedown in those pajamas, with your black eyes and red face. You’re wearing your slippers for heaven’s sake, and your hair looks like it hasn’t been brushed since the turn of the millennium. I’m the one who’s probably guilty by association.”
My heart dropped. I was so offended. But I also knew he was right. I slunk back into my seat, devastated, and watched them pull my suitcase to pieces. But when it became clear they weren’t going to find anything, they left. I was happy they’d gone, but I wasn’t happy to be alone in a room with Damian.
And so we sat in silence and waited. And waited. And waited.
It was awkward.
I was embarrassed.
And I was angry.
I could feel him looking at me from time to time, but I refused to shift my gaze. I also refused to cry, which was difficult, because the tears were close to the surface now. At some stage I glanced at my watch and realized we’d been there for two hours—so much for my hotel transfer.
After what seemed like another hour, the door finally opened and two new vulture guards walked in: one male, one female. The guy immediately grabbed Damian and dragged him out, while the female one approached me looking very suspicious and wearing a latex glove.
Not a chance! Not a chance in hell! I jumped out of my seat and ran to the other end of the room, but when the glove followed me, I flipped. And for the second time in two days, I lost it.
I screamed and flapped my arms. “Please, I am not a drug addict or smuggler and any resemblance to one is because I have had the shittiest two days of my life. I mean total S-H-I-T.” I spelled it out for added drama. “Crap. The worst, crappiest, crap day you can ever crapping imagine.”
Like I said, I lost it.
“Yesterday was supposed to be my wedding and my fiancé decided it would be fun to leave me at the altar in front of five-hundred guests. Fun, right? Yeah, for me. Woo-hoo!” Yes, I definitely lost it. “The only reason I look like this is because I’ve been feeling like a mad cow for the past twenty-four hours, barely able to move off the couch or stop eating sugar! I’ve probably put on ten kilos in the past day. And guess what? This trip is meant to be my honeymoon, and do you see a husband anywhere? NO! That guy’s not my husband, I don’t even know him. This was the worst decision of my life coming here. Clearly I’m off my rocker. So please, please I beg you, don’t stick that thing up my…!”
And then I started to cry. I couldn’t hold back, and I hated myself for showing that kind of vulnerability to a total stranger with a latex glove. The woman looked at me with a queer look and then called out to someone else in Thai.
Another woman rushed into the room and looked at me with horror. She shook her head violently and spoke.
“Bastard,” she said in her thick Thai accent.
“I beg your pardon?” Was she talking about Damian?
“He left you on the wedding.” Her English was broken. “You were in dress?”
I nodded. The two women said something to each other and shook their heads again.
“This happen to my friend. We say he was bad man. She not listen. But better you know what bad man he is before wedding.” She was right. I nodded. And then another woman joined them; clearly I was speaking some kind of universal language here. Suddenly we were sisters, bonded together in our collective disgust and disproval of men’s actions.
“You must find someone else. He not worth time! You very pretty.” Said the new woman who’d joined in. One of them handed me a tissue and then a lot of “tutting” and “oohing” and head shaking took place.
I smiled; it was the first time that day. One of the women even brought me a chocolate—clearly chocolate was the universal currency for the brokenhearted. And then we chatted. I was more than happy to throw the word
bastard
and
asshole
around a few times, it made me feel better and my attentive audience lapped it up, they nodded, shook their heads and said some loud things in Thai. After a few much-needed minutes of female bonding, and a lot of expletives, the ladies said I could go free. We all hugged each other, and threw a few more bad words around for the hell of it.
I was relieved to be free, but it was also a massive relief to slip into a pair a jeans and a white T-shirt. I glanced around the room, and that’s when I noticed that the wall behind me was nothing more than two partitions pushed together. There was a large gap between them, and I approached it. I pressed my eye to the gap and there sat Damian, looking at me.
Three questions ran through my mind:
One, had he seen me get undressed? Two, was I wearing a G-string? And three, had he heard everything I’d said?
I certainly wasn’t going to wait around for him to answer any of those, and I quickly left.
I was hit by a wall of humidity when I walked out of the airport. The air was hot and sticky and I wished I’d had the foresight to wear something other than my jeans. I took in my surroundings. Everything around me was so foreign. I mean, I knew I was in a foreign country, but really, it was extremely foreign. I couldn’t decipher a single sign, or understand a word, and it suddenly dawned on me.
I was really here. Really.
In Thailand.
On my honeymoon.
Alone.
I’d never done anything on my own before, and I felt very out of my depth and comfort zone. To make matters worse, I’d also missed my hotel transfer. Across the street, there was a row of cars with yellow lights, which I assumed were taxis. But I certainly wasn’t going to take a taxi alone, I was from South Africa after all, and we don’t do that there! You just never know who’ll be behind that wheel—they could be an axe-murderer or a pervert, and you might just find yourself the subject matter of a program on the crime channel.