Chapter 4

I sat back down. For the next hour, he kept his distance, no more kissing or touching. But he made me laugh until my side hurt, first by pretending to be a mad scientist “clinically” comparing the benefits of gummy bears over gummy worms. Then he launched into stories about the crazy antics of him and his friends during his time at Carnegie Mellon.

I wanted to touch his happiness. I wanted to kiss it, but most of all I wanted to be part of it. Unable to restrain myself, I leaned in and placed my lips against his. He pulled back, reluctance clouded his eyes. I stroked his cheek, smiled, and watched the cloud lift. He wrapped me in his arms, finishing what we started. There were no fireworks or weak knees, just an overwhelming feeling of being home.

He ran his fingers through my hair and then traced my mouth with his index finger. “So beautiful.”

When the gummy bears were gone and the wine bottle empty, he picked up the mat. We walked, hand in hand, back to my hostel, passing bars packed with tourists hell bent on having as much fun as possible in seven-to-ten-day vacation. Patong Beach delivered on outrageous entertainment. The music blaring from the bars, restaurants, and dance clubs intermingled into one giant montage of sound.

Inside these pickup joints, girls danced on bars and around poles while older men ogled.

“I like the sound of the ocean. This chaos,” he swung his hand in an arc over his forehead, “isn’t good for anyone.”

“If you don’t like this chaos, why have you stayed here for a month? Why don’t you pack up and trek to someplace else? I thought backpackers liked to keep moving?”

“I hate to tell you this, but I’m not a backpacker.”

I looked at him, the tan and the dreadlocks. “I thought...” I said, reaching for a lock.

“You thought backpacker because of the hair and the tan.”

“And the ripped cargo shorts and your encyclopedic knowledge of Southeast Asia.”

“I’m a teacher. It’s summer vacation. The rabbi who runs the Chabad House is one of my best friends from childhood. I came here to hang out with him.”

“Sorry, I judged you all wrong.”

He shrugged. “The dreadlocks came into existence because I have this horrible curly hair. If I don’t get a haircut every two-weeks I look like an electrocuted mad scientist. This is just easier.”

I squeezed his hand. “And sexy as hell.” I wasn’t sure, it was dark, but I thought that comment made him blush.

“What was your brother’s name?”

“Jack. He was four minutes older than me, and he never let me forget it.”

“How long ago did it happen?”

“It will be two years in September, but it still hurts like it was yesterday. He was more than my brother and my twin, he was my best friend.”

“Why did you say, it should have been me? Do you think he’d be happy hearing you say that?”

Like most people who’d never lost anyone close, Avi didn’t get it. They said stupid things, like, “He would want you to be happy.” “He wouldn’t want you sitting at home, crying.” As if Jack was going to come back and lecture me on how to live without him. I think, if he could come back, he’d say something like, “Dying sucks.” “I’m so pissed.” “Who won the Master’s golf tournament last year?” Maybe he’d be angry if he found me happy instead of crying. Maybe he’d say, “I’m dead, at least pretend to miss me--cry a little.” Or maybe he would say, “If it had been you, Jules, I would never let you go.”

You couldn’t say all those things to people. They had good intentions. Usually, I just nodded. But, for some reason, I felt like telling Avi the truth. “I think he would be so pissed off at being dead. He wouldn’t care about my happiness.”

“Maybe he’s happy where he is. Maybe his mission was completed, and he’s in a better place.”

We walked in silence for a few minutes, fingers still intertwined. “That’s just a fantasy we tell ourselves to make dealing with loss bearable. He’s just dead. That’s all there is.”

“I don’t agree with that.”

I was about to reply when I tripped over a broken piece of sidewalk and fell forward, hitting the ground on my hands and knees. Avi dropped down beside me. “Are you okay? Can you get up? Does anything hurt?”

I shook my head and began laughing, harder and harder. When he pulled me to my feet, I threw my arms around him and kept laughing.

“What’s so funny? I don’t get it? Are you okay?”

It took a minute, but I gathered myself enough to speak. “This evening has been the best and worst date ever. I made a complete ass out of myself, not once, but twice. I screwed up a kiss, that started out more beautiful than any I’d ever imagined, by crying my eyes out. Then I inadvertently led us into this ultra-depressing life-after-death conversation and fell on my face.” I shook my head then laid it on his shoulder. “Why are you still standing here with me?”

He wrapped one arm around my waist and pulled me close. For a moment, I felt high off his scent. We stood close enough that our breath intermingled, chest to chest. His heart beat in chorus with mine. With his other hand, he clasped a lock of my hair and let it slide through his fingers, never moving his gaze from mine. “Bashert. It was just meant to be.”

The hostel was only a few feet in front of us. It was time to say goodnight, and, I supposed, it would also be goodbye.

“Well, I guess this is my stop.” I looked down at my feet.

“Will you be at the beach tomorrow?” he asked, moving a step away from me.

“Yeah, at three-thirty, in my new spot, away from the coconut tree.”

He smiled. “Curiosity question, what do you do in the morning?”

“I try to get in a run before it gets too hot. Some days, I go to the Chabad House to check my email and catch up on the news.” I motioned with my head toward the hostel. “There’s a TV inside, occasionally there’s something on in English. I watch television while the owner’s little boy, Lek sits beside me, playing with his Game Boy. He likes the fact that I usually have something laden with sugar for breakfast and share it with him. But, most mornings, I sit over there.” I pointed to a bench under another heliotrope tree. “And read. Nothing exciting.”

“You’re a runner. I’m a swimmer. I try to hit the beach every morning before the masses and get in an hour-long swim.”

“That would kill me,” I said.

“The run would kill me.” He stepped closer. “It’s time to say goodnight. Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

I smirked.

“I’m completely serious.” He reached for me, nuzzled my neck, and kissed it in the soft spot under my ear.

This time my knees melted.

“Goodnight, Julie.” His goodnight kiss was soft and lingering, more sweet than passionate. His hand wandered down my back, stopping just below the waist of my shorts. He hesitated for a moment before running it even lower.

I broke the kiss, said goodnight, and walked into the hostel.

***

Inside my room, I ran my finger up the side of my neck, stopping at the spot where his lips rested only a few moments before, wishing they were still there. The little single bed against the far wall grabbed my attention. I wondered if two people could fit. Stop it. You don’t even know this guy, and you're imagining being in bed with him. Are you nuts?

***

A tropical rain threatened to cancel my morning run. I stepped outside, inhaled the scent of jasmine that permeated the air before sticking my hand out, letting the water splash my palm--warm. I turned around, bounded up to my room, and pulled Jack’s old baseball cap from my backpack. There was no reason not to run. The hat would keep the rain out of my eyes.

It turned out that tropical rain made perfect running conditions. The streets were empty, so I didn’t have to weave my way through meandering hungover tourists. Rather than suffocating in the ninety-percent humidity, the rain cooled my body. As I ran, I replayed the day before in my head, vacillating between being angry at myself for violating my reason for being in Thailand and being angry that I screwed up the date. My trip to Thailand was supposed to be an opportunity to think about my life and accept my new reality without Jack. A time for me to think and avoid unsolicited opinions dished out by friends and acquaintances in my old neighborhood, who had no business dishing out advice. But, most of all, running to Thailand was the best way to escape the lifeless orbs that used to be my father’s eyes.

But somehow, all these thoughts kept being pushed aside by the memory of Avi’s kiss. If only I had held my emotions in check, maybe he would have asked to see me again. Halfway through the run, I began thinking like a teenager, mentally plotting ways to run into him at the Chabad House or possibly on the beach, during his morning swim. But, what would I say to him? He wouldn’t try to dodge me. He’d say hello and make a few minutes of small talk before remembering that he needed to be somewhere else, leaving me no opportunity to apologize for being an ass, which would sound lame anyway.

The rain stopped when I was a block away from the hostel. I slowed down, enjoying the last few meters before settling into a cool-down walk. I loved the sensation of my lungs expanding and the sense of accomplishment that accompanied it. Hands on my waist, I paced in front of my building, dropping my gaze to the ground, letting my thoughts float, not focusing on anything external. My heart rate was still up when I lifted my head and blinked hard, spotting Avi sitting on my reading bench. His legs were stretched out in front of him, arms behind his head, and his eyes closed. I walked toward him. “Hi.”

He opened his eyes and smiled when he saw me. “Hi, I dozed off.”

His hair, shorts, and faded “The Clash” T-shirt were soaked. “Why are you sitting in the rain? How long have you been sitting here?”

“I’m not sure, maybe a half hour or a little more. I finished my swim and came straight over, and I like rain. We don’t get much in Israel and, when we do, it’s cold.”

My heart continued pounding against my chest, seemingly uninterested in returning to normal. Instead of cooling down, I wanted to jump up and down.

“This morning I realized there were a lot of important questions I forgot to ask you last night, so I thought we could go get some coffee, and I could ask them.” He pushed a few dripping dreadlocks behind his ears.

My body was still soaked with a mixture of sweat and rain. The brim of the baseball cap dripped water in front of my face. “Could you give me fifteen minutes to shower?”

“Sure.”

“Follow me,” I said, and his eyes widened.

“You’re inviting me into the shower?”

I grabbed his hand and pulled him from the bench. “No, you can wait in the lobby and start drying off.” I didn’t tell him that his suggestion sounded much better than mine. I playfully pushed him down onto the sofa in front of the TV. “Wait here.”

“Fine, but there are other places I’d rather be,” he said, pulling me onto his lap and kissing my neck.

“Nope, for the next fifteen minutes, you’re sentenced to this couch.” I jumped from his lap and headed toward the stairs. “By the way, I adore The Clash.”

***

He was still on the couch, but instead of watching Thai television, he was engrossed in a conversation with Lek. Avi held Lek’s Game Boy, and, of course, they spoke Thai.

“Ready,” I said, interrupting them. “Before we go anywhere, I have to drop these off at the laundry.” I held up my plastic bag stuffed with dirty clothes.

He scanned my body, making no attempt to hide his interest. His eyes lingered in a few spots. “No problem.”

Avi handed back the toy, and I gave Lek the small bag of M&Ms I had bought for him during my morning run. Avi taught me how to say “see you later” in Thai. Lek smiled and shifted his attention back to the small screen.

We passed a tailor shop where the tailor ran outside and offered to make Avi a suit and three shirts for the US dollar equivalent of fifty bucks, guaranteeing it would be ready in twenty-four hours. “I make for your wedding,” the tailor announced.

I felt the blood rush to my face, but Avi didn’t miss a beat. “Once the wedding date is set, I’ll be back.” He grabbed my hand, laughing, and pulled me forward.

“I see you soon!” the tailor shouted at our backs.

The Thai people were masters at combining businesses--restaurants with built in travel agencies, souvenir shops with grocery stores, but the most popular combination was massage parlors with laundries. We stopped at the first laundry we saw, which of course was attached to a message parlor. Two signs hung from the door. The first one read “laundry fifty Baht a kilo” and the second sign read, “no sex.”

“Damn,” he said. “Let’s find a laundry with sex.”

“At least the sheets would be clean.” I pulled him inside and handed my bag to the laundress.

She weighed it. “Three kilo--hundred and fifty Baht.”

Her price equaled roughly four dollars and twenty cents. She promised to have my clothes ready in twenty-four hours. I looked at the dark, heavy clouds spread across the normally blue sky. If it rained, nothing would be dry by tomorrow. I learned after the first week that clothes dryers weren’t a popular appliance in a place where the average daily temperature was approximately eighty-five all year round.

“Hey, Julie, how about we get foot massages?”

“You promised me a cup of coffee.” I looked at the sky. “And I may have to stop somewhere to buy clean underwear and possibly a clean shirt.” I thought for a moment. “And while I’m shopping, I’m buying you a new bathing suit.”

He clasped the frayed hem. “I’ve grown attached to these.”

I kissed his cheek. “Think about how much cargo shorts weigh when they're soaking wet. Now, imagine how much faster you’ll move through the water in light-weight trunks.”

He looked down at his still damp cargos. “I like these.” The face gazing back at me resembled a little boy clutching a safety blanket, refusing to give it up.”

I reached for his hand. “Let’s drink coffee. I’ll drop the trunk issue if giving those up is too difficult for you.”

The Starbucks was empty. The hangover crowd had moved to the beach. We took our cups and settled into a somewhat secluded spot in the back of the store. “So, what are these ‘important’ questions you forgot to ask?”

“First,” he said. “How long are you here for?”

“Here, as in Patong or here, as in Thailand?”

“Both.”

“I’m in Thailand for four weeks and two days. I already spent three days in Bangkok and a week in Chiang Mai. On Sunday, I’m booked on an overnight tour to a national park I can’t pronounce.”

“Oh, you met Shai in Bangkok.”

I stared at him for a moment. Shai was the travel agent who sat with me for two hours mapping out my entire month. “Who’s Shai?”

“Don’t play games. Every Jewish tourist who arrives in Thailand without an itinerary finds the Bangkok Chabad House, walks in, and eats. Then they walk out the front door, turn left, and walk into the first travel agency they see. Hence, they all end up on the other side of Shai’s desk. Your schedule has his name written all over it.”

“Fine, you’re right. He planned my whole trip.” I rolled my eyes. His smile was too smug.

“The national park trip is a really good one. There’s a lake in the mountains that is breath taking. Are you sleeping in the floating cottages or in the jungle?”

“Jungle, I think.”

“You’re not sure?”

“No, I have to check.”

“Then you come back here for how many days until you go to Koh Sumui?”

“How do you know I’m going to Koh Sumui?”

“Shai.”

“Fine, I’m coming back here for two nights then flying to Koh Samui. I’m there for eight days. Then it’s back to Bangkok for three days, and I fly home on August fourteenth. I’m scheduled to start a new job on September first.”

“Got it.” His expression changed, as if he withdrew to a place deep inside his head.

“How much longer are you staying in Thailand?” I asked.

“I go back to work on October first. I’m planning on spending a week in Singapore and maybe a week over in Hanoi before I fly home on September sixth. I spend the High Holidays with my sisters.”

We sipped our coffee quietly for a few minutes. It felt awkward, for no other reason than so far in my experience, Avi never ran out of things to talk about.

“Before we shop for clothes, I have to stop at the Chabad House for a few minutes.”

“Returning the corkscrew?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.” He pulled me from my chair.

“Wait, I still have coffee in this cup.”

“Bring it with you.”

Inside the Chabad House, he disappeared upstairs for about a half hour. The Chabad House also doubled as an internet café for Jewish travelers. I found an open computer and read my email. The first one was from my cousin, Danielle, asking for pictures of Thailand. Thailand was Jack’s dream. He swore that someday he would marry this girl he met in Israel and spend his honeymoon in Thailand.

The second email was from my father. Jack’s death just reaffirmed his belief that life only existed to screw you over. His reaction to my moving back home was exactly as I predicted, “I told you New York wouldn’t work out.” My father was the catalyst for my current adventure. Every time I looked at him, I could read his thoughts. Thoughts that blamed me for Jack’s death. If I hadn’t called Jack after I lost my job, he wouldn’t have changed his flight. He wouldn’t have been on that road, and of course, he wouldn’t have died. If I had controlled my emotions, both my father and I knew that Jack would still be alive. I inhaled deeply before opening the email. It was only a few sentences that basically said nothing, other than the weather in Pittsburgh sucked, raining as usual; the Pirates won three games in a row; and our neighbor, Mrs. Minsky, adopted a rescue dog that barked all night. Nowhere in the note did he say, “I miss you” or “love, Dad.” There was no signature at all.

I typed my reply:

Hi, Dad,

Great news about the Pirates’ winning streak. I hope they can keep it going. The poor dog is probably stressed out by Mrs. Minsky’s blaring television. Just because she needs hearing aids doesn’t mean the dog does too. -:) I’ve made a new friend. He’s from Jerusalem, and his name is Avi. He knows more about Southeast Asia than Google. He loves to talk, and I love to listen. Phuket is beautiful. More later. Love, Julie.

After I hit the send button, I read the front page of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette and scanned the CNN website. Avi returned, wearing a distinctly self-satisfied look.

He leaned over, kissed my cheek, and once again pulled me from my seat. “Let’s go shopping.”

“Hey, what’s the hurry?”

He stopped moving for a moment. “I could profess a love of shopping, but you’d see right through that.” He leaned in and nuzzled my neck before putting his lips to my ear. “I want to get to the beach, so I can look at you in nothing but that little bikini.”

The blood in my feet and knees sprinted to my face as he kissed that spot behind my ear. “You’re right. I can’t wait to see you in a real bathing suit and not those damn cargo shorts.”

He threw his head back, laughing. All I wanted was to grab his face and kiss every centimeter of it.

“Let’s get out of here.” He clasped my hand, and we walked out to the street.

He refused to let me pay for his new swimming trunks but insisted on buying me a very cute dress, swearing that it was made for me. As the clerk scanned my purchases, a sarong, tank top, and new underwear, he suggested I model them before paying. That got him a playful punch on the arm. By two o’clock, we were lying side by side on my mat under our new favorite tree.

“Come, on let’s go try out those new trunks. I’ll race you to the water.” Before he could answer, I sprinted toward the surf.

Swimming with him today was different than the day before. Yesterday, he kept a respectable distance from me. Today, he picked me up, wrapped my legs around his waist, and kissed me. It was a slow sensual kiss that erased everything and everyone around us. We floated in our own private ocean, on our own private planet. His kisses left me wanting so much more of him. My hands took on a life of their own, moving over his shoulders and down the muscles in his back. When we broke from the kiss, I inhaled deeply and exhaled, grateful he was holding me because I was already drowning in him. I didn’t want to drown in the water.

As we walked hand and hand out of the surf, I remained silent, waiting for my heart to stop pounding. When we reached the mat, I pulled two towels from my bag.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you look amazing in dripping sea water?” He reached over and slid his finger under a drip of water running down my hip

“Not recently.” I handed him the towel. “Please don’t do that hair-flip thing again.”

We sat side by side. He wrapped his arm around my back and burrowed his face into my neck. “Your smell mixed with sea water, yum. You’re so sexy, it’s almost painful. Rita Hayworth hair on a super model body.” He removed his arm from its spot along my lower back. “I need some space. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Maybe you should wrap that sarong around you for a while.” He flopped onto his stomach and closed his eyes.

I pulled my book from my bag and stared at the cover. I wasn’t in the mood to read. Instead, I stroked my hand up and down his spine. “Are you trying to sleep?”

“No, just enjoying being, but I think it’s getting close to five o’clock.”

The sun had begun its descent in the sky. “My guess is four o’clock. Does it matter?”

“Kabbalat Shabbat services start at six-thirty.”

“Oh.” I didn’t really know what to say. It never occurred to me that he would be going to synagogue services, but since the rabbi was his friend, it made sense.

“Do you want to come with me?” He looked into my eyes, expectantly.

I bit down on my lower lip. I wanted to spend every minute of this day with him, but... “I’m not really religious.”

“Let me guess. You’re spiritual, but not religious.”

“No,” I replied, shaking my head. “I’m neither.”

“Is this because of your brother?”

Good question, but I knew the answer was no. “Jack’s death pushed me further away from a belief in God, but I stopped believing as a teenager.”

“Would you be willing to give it a try with me tonight? We can stay for Kiddush and Shabbat dinner. Afterwards, we can walk the beach or find a place to sit and talk.”

“I don’t have anything modest to wear.”

“You have the dress I bought you.” He reached over and stroked my hand. His desire for me to join him emanated from his face. I wanted to say yes, but I just couldn’t.

“Avi, I can’t. Maybe we could meet for a walk after you finish?”

“Okay, let’s compromise. I’ll attend service alone, and you can meet me afterward for the kiddush and dinner. After all, you need to eat. And then we can spend the rest of the evening together.”

“Give me a few minutes to think about it, okay?”

He sat silently holding my hand as I stared at the sea, searching my soul for a flicker of a higher deity. My mom was religious and my dad, not so much. We attended a synagogue that never really felt like anything more than a social gathering. It wasn’t a place conducive to finding God. Jack regularly attended services at the Chabad House in our Manhattan neighborhood. I’d humor him and go along on Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah. I guess this wouldn’t be much different than that. I inhaled deeply. “I’ll meet you at the Kiddush.”

He leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Excellent. Let’s pack up. I’ll walk you back, but we’ve got to move fast. I need time to get home, shower, and get there on time.”

“By the way, you’ve never told me where you’re staying.”

“No place interesting.”