Manhattan
This is my summer. Just me and a backpack. I ate lunch with Greg earlier and I’m now sat in a park near the Village. He said he would work with me again in a second and that I have a good eye and work hard … that people will see that.
Yesterday Amy and I went to this old speakeasy, Chumley’s, for brunch, then to some galleries in Chelsea. One artist had these huge canvases with layer upon layer of smaller images making a larger one. Another had an exhibition of letters and photos and junk from his life. Things that are not art except in context. Both pieces made me think about Matthew, about the layer he occupies in the jumble of my life, about where I’d be and what I’d be doing if I’d walked away from him when I was fifteen, about what my world would look like and how people would react if I stuck it, Matthew and all, to a gallery wall. Amy pulled me out of my thoughts pointing out a disclaimer questioning the authenticity of the letters and photos. Perhaps it was all a story anyway. Perhaps I can write my own, just the way I want it. Perhaps the world is just art and lies. No doubt Matthew would encourage these thoughts.
Even without such sickening echoes, I’m a little scared of the weeks ahead. I’m travelling alone, but mostly I’m nervous about visiting Becky. I hope she still wants to see me.
Philly
I arrived in Philly once again via Amtrak. I rang and told Becky the time of my train, but added, out of politeness, that it was fine if she couldn’t make it because I remembered the way. Still, I waited on the platform. She might have been running late. I looked up and down for the messy dark hair and smudged eyeliner I hadn’t seen since Christmas. I imagined her running up behind me and twirling me into a kiss. I imagined us holding hands all the way to her house and giggling uncontrollably as her mother explained I could have the blue room once more, then racing up the stairs to lock the door of Becky’s own bedroom.
It’s her graduation party, though. She has loads to do. I figured maybe she just didn’t have time to meet me. Whatever. I bought a ticket and located the right train. I still felt excited. I’m that pathetic. I reapplied my mascara in the carriage and bought flowers at the end of the line.
Then I heaved my bag onto my back and trudged up the hill towards Becky’s house. I thumbed the doorbell of 205 and stood straight, ready to smile.
‘Hi,’ a boy answered.
‘Hi.’ I couldn’t help but grin. ‘I’m Becky’s friend.’
Squealing, Becky emerged from a doorway inside.
‘Nat!’ She lifted me in a hug, a safety-pinned bandage on her arm catching on my jumper. ‘It’s so good to see you!’ There was a pause after I untangled myself, then Becky gushed: ‘Oh, sorry! This is Tom. You remember I told you about my ex? We got back together.’
Of course I remembered Tom, the infamous Texan from summertime stories over Corona.
I feel surrounded by insincerity and crave the company of the good people. Amy and Jess and Greg. I need Becky in my life as much as I need Matthew. A good realisation I suppose, but what am I supposed to do with it for the next three days?
At the party last night, I sat on the porch with the boys and girls I’d met at New Year’s. Inside, Becky danced with Tom. I could hear her through the windowpanes and I saw a circle of guests listening to her jokes about British commercials. Later, I saw her take Tom’s palm and lead him to the staircase.
Pretending not to have noticed, the motley crew on the porch took swigs from brown beer bottles and welcomed me graciously into their group. I grabbed a Bud Light from the cooler and realised it was me who had last banished them to this porch. I kissed a girl called Kate. She was pretty and brunette but I was drunk and depressed. Tegan – the ex who tried to pull my hair at New Year’s – and I became sort of friends. What else is there to do while Becky takes a guy to her bedroom than make friends with the other rejects?
Becky got more likeable after Tom left yesterday. She told me she’s started cutting herself again. Over the past twenty-four hours I’ve glimpsed a little of the intensity that captivated me at Christmas and found myself, after a few beers, wishing she would creep into my bed during the night. At first I was disappointed with myself, but I guess it doesn’t especially matter: it’s hardly my biggest shame.
I’ve been sleeping a lot. My dreams are violent and mostly about Matthew. During a mutual three-hour nap this afternoon Becky said she dreamt about being a devil and me cuddling her on the sofa while we tried to keep it a secret. What am I supposed to do with that information?
Finally, after wanting to scream for days, I’m sat on a plane headed for Portland, Oregon. Too busy applying for a job at a children’s theatre, Becky just gave me vague instructions on how to get to the airport by bus. She kissed me on the cheek, then waved as I stumbled down the hill. Had I expected it to be like New Year? Cramped into this window seat, I feel stupid and confused. I should have stayed in New York. Or gone to DC on my own. I feel stronger on my own. I could have kept that bittersweet desire burning and skipped this humiliation.
Fuck it! This is the beginning of my summer. I can’t let Becky ruin it. In three hours there will be eight states between us. And her boyfriend’s an idiot. He asked if England was in London. Did I really believe her all those months ago when she told me she loved me and suggested that, whatever happens, we could meet up for illicit holidays for the rest of our lives? I feel like a fool for thinking Becky might have understood me, might have swallowed my fucked-up life and said, hey, I’ve done some dumb things too, who cares? She cuts herself and sleeps with anyone who smiles at her, dances around rooms with no clue whose toes she’s treading on, but she’s the normal girl: the one with a dozen infatuated friends waiting on the porch, a gleeful extended family congratulating her on her achievements and a stable boyfriend probably about to propose. That’s never going to be me. And someone like that will never accept me. My graduation party will consist of friends and family whose relationships to me are tainted by the impossible secrets spun between us. Matthew will always be the cloud darkening my sunny days. He’ll always be the wall between me and the world.
Portland, Oregon
State number eight and a huge sense of relief when my plane landed. Becky’s house made me feel so socially inept that I was genuinely surprised to be able to hold a conversation and be a normal friend with Rihanna. All awkwardness between us seems to have passed, thank God! And my miseries about Matthew seem less and less pressing after gossiping and shopping my way around Portland and Oregon City. Rihanna and her friends took me to this huge mountain waterfall and showed me Hood River and its breathtaking scenery. They treated me like a normal nineteen-year-old and maybe I’ve started believing I am one.
I’m on the train heading to Oakland and I’m overwhelmed by the picturesque views from my upstairs seat. There have been farms that the sun made glow and shadows of mountains on the skyline with the odd snowy one standing out like a lost polar bear. Now it’s twilight and we’re hurtling through mountains, surrounded by enormous pine trees, cavernous drops and the odd stream trickling down into the lost below. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such enormous geography. I’m taken back to geography classes when I sat fascinated by grainy videos of Mt St Helen erupting. If I press my face to the window, my heart races and my tummy smiles giddily at the terrifying plummet. I feel tiny and insignificant. Vague desires to find my camera are lost to the moment and the joy of sharing my first twenty-four-hour train ride through a foreign land with Evelyn Waugh.
California
… is flatter. Miles and miles of what are apparently rice paddies with a few mountains on the skyline. The night was long. About midnight we stopped in somewhere called Dunsmuir. A woman got on and was directed to the seat beside me. She waved over me at a lady waiting on the lamplit platform, then settled down to sleep. Ten minutes along the track, though, she burst into tears, explaining that her sister had cancer and that might have been the last time she’ll see her. I comforted her a bit, then tried to read. Apparently cheered up, she interrupted me six times during my first page to tell me she was a people person and had a deck of cards. Sleep was impossible. The woman spilt over onto my seat and snored loudly. Whenever she woke up, her elbow found its way into my ribs and I’d lie there for another half-hour, feeling cruel but staring longingly at those who had double-seats to themselves.
We just passed over a beautiful river, though, and I’m sat in the lounge car now, where I can see miles and miles and somehow the awful night was worth it. We’re only an hour from Oakland and my body is tense with excitement. I like being free and alone. I can’t wait to see Kristin, take photos of enormous San Francisco hills and be in another city. And my cross-country trip in just a few days. Who knows what that will be like? Greg thinks I’m crazy to be getting on some hippy bus, but I’m excited.
Part of me wonders if it’s really me doing these things – the little child with itchy feet who detested growing up in a tiny country town and begged to be taken on family holidays. Now I’m glad to do it all alone, to ride this train with just my thoughts. For the first time, I’m realising I’m okay. All by myself, I’m okay.
Oakland, CA
When I arrived, I was suddenly excited to see the classic things: the Golden Gate and the steep steep hills. Kristin’s dad drove us around San Francisco, pointing out interesting buildings and explaining how sixteen years ago a road cut off the city from the water but an earthquake destroyed it and now there’s a wonderful street along the waterfront. We went to a couple of viewing points, one just under the Golden Gate, one way up high with the most fantastic views. It’s beautiful with the blue bay surrounded by towering mountains and the mist cutting off the horizon.
My second night, we drove to the top of some hills so we could see the lights from the whole Bay area. During the days, Kristin took me to Berkeley and for a picnic lunch at a man-made lake with a beach. Her family’s been really sweet too, saying I can come back any time, even if Kristin’s not there. They made me a parcel for my trip containing a torch, little pots of dried fruit and John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley. I don’t know what to do with so much kindness.
Ruby Mountains, Nevada
I’m sat on a snowy mountain in a pair of shorts and sandals! We’re supposedly on our way to Lake Lamoille but we lost the path pretty early. Now, under the guidance of various adventurous males, the group finds itself eating lunch on rocks that required a vertical climb up a mountain face. No one is quite sure where to go next but it’s ridiculously pretty.
We met in San Francisco where our strange, awkward introductions barely masked both excitement and nerves. There are more British people on the bus than Americans, which disappointed me somewhat. No more attention for my cute accent. The youngest person just finished her A-levels; the oldest is about to turn sixty.
The hike today was thrilling. My toes were so numb I thought they might fall off, but we kept going and eventually found Lake Lamoille. A couple of people even jumped in a hole in the ice. Coming back was easier once we found the correct path. Sitting on the bus again, it seems unbelievable that we were at the top of that mountain. Ironically my toes got a tan in their hypothermia.
Every night we have to transform the seats of the bus into beds. Our drivers Rob and Eddy did it the first night but I did it with Gill and Charlie tonight. There are eight bunks where bags are kept during the day. Then there are four sets of couples sleeping, two slightly below with no light at all and two above next to the windows. Plus, at the front and back of the bus, there are large padded rectangles for the rest to sleep sardine style. The first night I was a sardine and didn’t get a whole lot of sleep because the woman next to me snored. Last night I tried one of the bunks, which, after the initial difficulty of getting in, gave me a pretty good night’s sleep.
Idaho
We just arrived at the Salmon River where we’ll pull out four long plastic tables and set up the breakfast things while others have a ‘bag party’ to get at the things we have below. You’re only allowed a daypack on the bus and even that you must give up at night.
I went white water rafting along the Salmon River with force four rapids. To begin with it was pleasant but not much of an adrenalin rush. We went swimming in the quiet part and were given a tour of an old gold mine and factory. The boys named our boat The Scallywag Hunter. On the biggest rapid the wave went right over our heads and Charlie fell into me and I fell out. But before I knew it, I was being pulled back into the boat and I hadn’t even lost my sunglasses.
We stopped at a campsite and I slept in Mark’s tent. I awoke covered in bites that I can’t help scratching like a child in need of mittens. I helped cook last night and again this morning because I was one of the first up. We had Jambalaya for tea, which was delicious, and some sort of omelette with tacos for breakfast. When we cook, we stand in a long line chopping and there are systems for washing and packing up that work well. Everyone chips in and it’s helped us get to know one another.
Rob, our driver, thought I was American or maybe Italian. Seeing the look of horror on my face as I contemplated going home with an American accent, he’s decided to call me an American Princess from now on.
We just hiked two miles up and down mountains to get to delicious hot springs with a view of rolling mountains and waterfalls. For some daft reason we started this hike at 2pm and, with hardly a tree in sight, I didn’t think I’d make it. But it feels worth it now. Having sat in the icy waterfall for half an hour, I’m ready for the bathwater springs. I still have to pinch myself to know I’m really here.
We spent four or five hours at the hot springs, then made our way down the mountain. After the first mile, it began pouring and a thunderstorm drenched us. The others, already dry on the bus, were waiting with clean towels and cheers.
Yellowstone, Wyoming
We stopped in Montana to transform the bus and woke up in Yellowstone National Park. We made an oatmeal breakfast by Mammoth Hot Springs, next to elks. We walked along the path seeing the clouds of steam that spurt from holes in the rock and the orangey pools of water hot enough to burn your skin off. Now we’re driving towards the Little Grand Canyon, watching out for bears and seeing only buffalo and elk. The scenery is fascinating because of the ’88 fire. These long thin trunks of pine trees stick up into the sky, stripped of all branches, but towering over the smaller new trees. If you look out across the hills, you can see more burnt trees that have fallen like scattered matchsticks. Apparently the pine seeds are designed so that they explode when they get hot and shower seeds everywhere, meaning there are as many new trees as there are old dead ones.
Grand Tetons, Wyoming
I dreamt of Matthew last night. I woke in a bunk, the bus hurrying along an empty road with Rob at the wheel and light snores punctuating the regular rumble of the engine. Closing my eyes I saw his wrinkled grin, imagined his scorn. ‘What are you doing, Baba? Do you think you can fool these people just because you wear hiking boots and pretend to be a backpacking hippy? Do you think you’re one of them?’ I opened my eyes and he flew away. Traipsing through national parks and swimming in natural lakes feels real and invigorating during the day, but at night I lose the people sleeping to my left and right and feel locked inside my own head, as if Matthew’s been right all this time: as if as hard as I try to cloak myself in different identities – student, traveller, lesbian, director – I’ll never be anything more than the shy teenager sat on his chaise.
I write this by torchlight in my sleeping bag outdoors at the Grand Teton National Park. We’re braving bear country to sleep under the stars. Today we woke at Biscuit Basin in Yellowstone, a collection of pools so hot they boil great bubbles. From there, we walked a couple of miles to Old Faithful. On the way, we passed other magnificent pools as well as whitish rock formations with steam blowing from them. Everyone has to walk on boardwalks because the earth below, though it looks harmless, is often sinking mud. The colours are absurdly vivid and contrast amazingly with the fairly bland landscape of pine trees and dry earth. I checked and it’s a constructive plate boundary. I can’t explain the excitement I felt when I saw the signs and understood them. I wish I could talk to my old geography teachers who injected such mysticism into these exotic plate boundaries that I now stand (and sleep) upon. I waited for forty minutes at Old Faithful before it blew. It was spectacular, though the touristy atmosphere and attempt to capture both still and video footage meant the sheer impressiveness of water shooting 100 feet in the air because of convection currents below my flip-flopped feet did not sink in until later.
We drove for some hours to our current campsite, stopping only because Virginia decided she needed the loo and didn’t tell anyone until she was at a number nine (there’s a ten-point system: one=comfortable, ten=oops!). At the campsite, we walked to Jackson Lake, a great spread of still, clear water just below the Tetons. We swam in the late afternoon sun, then dried off by the shore. We tried going back again for the sunset but arrived too late so are planning to seek the sunrise tomorrow morning.
I survived the night with only a few shivers and no bad dreams thanks to the excellent cuddling skills of Charlie with his sub-zero sleeping bag. I had maybe four hours of sleep before we got up to watch the sunrise over the mountains. Actually, it rose behind us, but after an hour and a half of freezing in my pyjamas, the mountains turned pink. Afterwards, us early-birds warmed up by making French toast and now we’ve chucked everything off the bus for the promised clearout.
We hiked halfway around Lake Jenny, then up to ‘Hidden Falls’ and ‘Inspiration Point’. We ate lunch on rocks by a waterfall – so close that our sandwiches were covered in spray. At the beginning of the trail, we encountered a group of hesitant tourists with one stupid man edging forwards. The ranger hidden in the bushes informed us there was a bear with her cub and tutted through gritted teeth that the man was going for a photo. We saw her walk across the path and the man was extremely close for his snap. We also saw a beaver on the way and some pretty birds too. The Grand Tetons are my favourite scenery so far, which is funny because I just crossed paths with John Steinbeck travelling many decades ago and he said Wyoming was his favourite state. We left at 4.30 and drove to Jackson Hole – a touristy cowboy town. Most people went to bars, but, given my lack of legality, I went to see Superman Returns, which was a fabulous slice of normalcy.
Devils Tower, South Dakota
We breakfasted at a picnic site at the bottom of Devils Tower, then circled the tower and read the myths about how it was formed. It’s an enormous structure with ridges all around and a flat top the size of a football pitch. They think it might be essentially the centre of a volcano with the outer rock eroded, but there are other ideas too. The Native Americans said a giant bear was chasing a tribe when the earth saved them by rising up and the lines are where the bear clawed at the rock.
Back on the bus people talked about tattoos. I showed mine, but evaded a question about what it means. Should I come up with a lie? I’m going to have to live with it for the rest of my life.
Badlands, South Dakota
We drove for the afternoon, playing cards and reading books. The land became flat as we reached the Badlands, then suddenly these enormous craters opened up in the landscape. We drove along an endless dirt track, all needing the loo but not a tree in sight. Finally we reached a Cowboy Café run by Native Americans. We had Indian tacos and I spoke to Nellie, the matriarch, about her ranch and the history of her tribe. Her life sounded appealing. Imagine living so remotely and having such a strong sense of identity. We camped on her land, somewhere out in the middle of nowhere. Someone lit a fire in a crater and lots of people fell in the cacti during the night. I drank and spoke to driver Rob for most of the evening. He noticed my rainbow bracelet and asked if I was hiding it. I said no, but I’m not flaunting it. (Someone made a gay joke on the first day and everyone laughed, so I’m keeping quiet.) Still, it was kind of nice to be pegged and I like Rob a lot for his subtlety … might be nice if he was ten years younger. Funny for me to say that, I suppose.
I was fairly tipsy by the time Rob retired to his sleeper berth and I went to sleep under the stars, again snuggled up with Charlie. We looked at the stars and I kissed him. It was nice, not urgent. He’s nineteen, half-Italian, from Vegas and joining the army after this trip.
We made breakfast and drove to White River where half the group is taking a mud bath and the rest sitting in trees, writing and reading. I told Rob last night that I’d go in with him, but this morning I don’t feel much like playing around in the mud. Rob is disappointed I think. He just chased me, threatening to give me a bear hug with his mud-caked body.
Wisconsin
Pulling up at a beach by Lake Superior, I jumped off the bus and was the first into the water, full of energy. We spent a few hours there, sunbathing and eating ice-cream. I must have played four or five hours of cards during the on-the-road time. Finally we arrived at our campsite in Copper Falls State Park. I went for a walk with Charlie, but we were eaten by mosquitoes and I felt on edge whenever he tried to touch me.
After showering and eating we huddled around a fire. I sat on the cool box next to driver Rob and we talked for ages about films, music and, eventually, my sexuality. On maybe the fifth beer I decided I had to talk to Charlie, so I lay down with him and told him I’m gay and weirded out by our kiss. I don’t know how he took it, I felt bad for being a tease – he’s a good guy, just a little immature.
I feel worse now, though. I went back to the fire and sat leaning against Rob. He said he liked it but wouldn’t put his arm around me when I shivered. In the end I put my arm around him and we spent some time snuggling, looking for shooting stars and jumping away when someone (especially Charlie) came up with a torch.
We went to get some more beer and, on the way back to the fire, he turned me around and kissed me. I know I should feel terrible about Charlie, but it was the sexiest kiss I’ve ever had. We slowly edged away from the group and set up a couple of pads and sleeping bags in a corner of bushes. We lay under the stars kissing and cuddling, touching and talking.
I woke at 5.30 and, on my way to the loo, glimpsed Charlie sitting glumly. My heart raced and I hid behind the bathrooms for half an hour hoping to avoid confrontation, unsure whether he had seen Rob and me asleep in each other’s arms. When I thought the coast was clear and walked towards the bus, he popped out. He said good-morning and dashed off for a run. I took a shower and, when I re-emerged, it was pouring with rain. I ran into Rob and we decided to hide out on the bench out of the rain. We snuggled and dozed while it poured around us for a long time. Two deer came almost right up to us and I melted sleepily into his arms.
Rob said he might come to New York after the trip. I hope so. How did I fall so recklessly, so fast, and with so little concern as to how cruel I’m being to Charlie? My whole body aches for a stolen moment with Rob. Jess will laugh. Greg will tut. Thirty-eight’s not so old, right? Twice my age. But I like him a lot. And I leave the country in two weeks.
Chicago
Fourth of July. I rode to the top of the Sears Tower – overpriced but an amazing view. I like this city; perhaps I’ll add it to my shopping list of possible places to live. We walked through the park where ‘Taste of Chicago’ was going on and took a boat tour. I queued for a Ferris wheel with Ash and Leah before ditching them and meeting Rob at the Art Institute. We snuck a few kisses and held hands a lot. After being thrown out at closing time, we walked around, across the river and through streets of such fantastic architecture that we cricked our necks with looking up. Later in the evening, we watched the Fourth of July fireworks over the pier.
This time next week, Rob will be out of my life. I seem to make a pattern of getting myself into intense situations with no hope. Perhaps they wouldn’t be as intense if they did have hope, but I can’t help dreading saying goodbye.
He asked if he was the first boy I’ve ever dated. He’s not, but I think he’s the first guy I’ve really fancied – actually wanted as opposed to falling into something with someone because he liked me, or present company was homophobic, or I was confused. I like him a lot. Too much. I don’t like guys like this. It’s odd. Nice, though, too. I wish we had kissed in the Badlands and didn’t have to be secretive now. I wish I could just be a normal girl with normal romances.
Niagara Falls, New York State
At five this morning I woke up to see a beautiful Ohio sunrise and steal a smile from Rob before sleeping again. We had breakfast on a beach, then drove through Pennsylvania to Niagara Falls. We took the Maid of the Mist boat tour and tickled one another, poked and smiled at the frustration of having all these blue-raincoated people around. He even snuck a quick kiss.
I met Rob at the trolley stop after the tour and we wandered around for a while looking for internet access. Dreading Matthew’s latest rants, I decided not to check my email, but we booked a private hostel room in Chelsea for next week. Then we had a sandwich in Denny’s and talked crazily about random topics – language, semiotics, the bus, relationships … He said he’s scared by how much he wants to get to know me. Too much.
He thinks Charlie may have seen him kiss me on the boat, so I’m vaguely preparing myself for confrontation but don’t really know how to deal with it. I hope Rob doesn’t think I’m enjoying the secrecy. I guess it comes easily, but I’m not proud of it. Rob’s right, I don’t owe Charlie anything, but I still don’t want to hurt him. I can’t wait to have Rob to myself in New York.
New York State
When they changed drivers in the middle of the night, Rob kissed me before going to bed. I’d just woken from a nightmare about Matthew and being back in England and went to sleep again smiling. We had breakfast by the Delaware River. We’re now camping in the Catskills and I have less and less patience for secrecy, but I’m having to entertain myself while he does paperwork. I just jumped in the ice-cold creek – Ash says I’m the ‘hardcore girl’ when it comes to cold water.
Seeking out the sunset, Rob and I took a walk along the river and finally became too impatient to wait, so I snuck into his tent and he followed shortly after. We snuggled up in a post-coital cuddle and talked about relationships and kids and families. He asked me if he could tell me a secret about himself. He’s had a vasectomy. I told him vaguely about my one significant relationship and my new selfish desire for and love of life. He said he’s not very good at relationships. Me neither. Perhaps we’re perfect for a non-relationship relationship. I know I still can’t blurt out everything about Matthew and maybe never will be able to, but unlike Becky and Charlie, Rob seems like he knows I have a history and it doesn’t matter. All he cares about is right now. I hope we stay in touch and find each other again somewhere, if only fleetingly. I like his body. I like his kisses and his eyes, his legs and his butt, his mouth and his stubble, I like all his hats and I even like his cute shyness about his greying hair.
We slept cuddled up and woke at 6.30. He woke up in more ways than one and I kissed him until he came, realising without much shame that I’m no good in bed.
Then, for some absurd reason, we went and plunged naked into the river. It was so cold that we came straight back out and tangled in each other’s towels, but at least I went skinny-dipping once on the trip.
Manhattan
We arrived in New York at two and there were sad goodbyes. For the first time, I didn’t want to be in this city.
He kissed me on the street and climbed back on the bus to drive on to Boston. Now I’m with Amy, giving her the gossip and feeling like a pathetic lovesick woman.
Shopping in Soho with Amy today. Last night we saw a dreadful film, then just hung out with some wine. My mind fizzed and the weird robots on the screen did nothing to cure the depression that was forming about my looming return to England.
Today I feel better. We got henna tattoos at an Egyptian market that made me think of Nadiyya, and walked all over Downtown. Then we saw a play in promenade at Castle Clinton in Battery Park. In the afternoon, we walked to Dino’s apartment to hang out and later headed to an Italian bar in the Village. We had pizza at another Italian place on the corner of Bleecker and Carmine, and from there we walked into Little Italy, where there was some kind of festival going on. We never found out what it was about, but people were waving flags and spilling onto the road, climbing cars and chanting excitedly.
After a bit of negotiating with a bouncer about my lack of ID, we went into a bar. Later Amy, Dino and I walked through the chanting crowds to get to the subway and it felt great to blend in. Perhaps I should learn Italian. ‘Reinventing yourself again?’ Matthew would tut.
I’m with Rob now and it’s luxurious to be in this city once more. Yesterday we met at the hostel in Chelsea around 11am. We left at one, freshly showered and ‘annoying to anyone but us’. We headed uptown to the Guggenheim where there was an exhibition of Zaha Hadid. It was awesome just to see the Guggenheim, but spiralling down, immersing myself in futuristic architecture with his palm in mine was pure artistic heaven.
We walked through Central Park a bit and took the subway to Brooklyn, wandered under the bridges, indulgently shared expensive chocolates, then walked along the water and through the neighbourhoods. We crossed Brooklyn Bridge, taking our time to kiss every few steps, and walked all the way over to the Village for dinner. We walked back to the hostel and stayed up talking and fucking.
We woke for sex and philosophy, ate bagels and took the subway to Columbus Circle to hire bikes. Over four hours, we cycled from 59th and 8th to 122nd and 5th, then across to Riverside Park, down along the river all the way to Battery Park and across to Pier 17, where we shared a hot dog and smoothie. Back on the bikes, we cycled up the east side and back across to 59th and 8th. Apart from the last 20 blocks of rush-hour traffic (too much even for my inner adrenalin junkie), it felt really good.
We just came back to pick up his phone and distract ourselves for a couple more hours. Now we’re off for Thai food.
We found Thai in the East Village. Along the way, we walked right into Rob’s friend Saul. We met up with him later to go to a club on 5th and C. It was pretty cool and we drank and danced until the place closed. Once outside, I realised how giddy I was. We laughed all the way back, buying cookies to share in bed before passing out with the key still in the door.
Four hours later ear-splitting trucks pulled up outside our window to work on who knows what. Once awake, we resigned ourselves to hot, sticky morning sex, then went for a bagel and coffee.
I left Rob so I could have tea with Greg and say goodbye. He told me again that I should think about grad school and said some nice things. He also gave me a hard time about Rob’s age and asked why I didn’t bring him to introduce them. I’m going to miss Greg horribly.
Boston, MA
Rob and I took the Chinatown bus to Boston and arrived in the late afternoon. We found his bus and went to the infamous Regina’s Pizza, followed by a little café for tiramisu. When we returned, we made a bed in the back of the bus. I guess it’s pretty hot and kind of kinky with Rob, but it feels tender and good too.
This morning we went out for breakfast and have been all lovey-dovey, sexy and sad. Now we’re driving in the bus to New York, where I’ll meet my mum and he’ll head off on the next trip.
Last night I had a nightmare involving Matthew, and when I woke up I was so happy to see Rob. I feel safe with him. I know he’s older and I’m a little stupid, but this is mutual and non-manipulative and so much more innocent. He makes me feel good and my own person. He’s a goof and a dork and it’s not serious, but, Hell, it’s fun and I’ve finally started to come! And he rides bikes with me. And he just kissed me.
New York City
I’m sat in the hotel with my mum now. I just had a fifty-minute phone conversation with Rob because he won’t leave my head. I woke up in the night expecting to see him and I missed him in all the places we went today.
Kissing him goodbye was dreadful. Luckily Mum was jetlagged so I had some time to shower and feel sorry for myself last night. Today we woke early and were some of the first people up the Empire State Building. I looked down at Manhattan and tracked our cycle path around the city. It wasn’t a perfectly clear morning, but it was fun to see this city that I’ll miss from on high.
I took Mum for bagels in Starbucks and shopping in Macy’s at her request. After that, we rode the Staten Island Ferry to see the Statue of Liberty. We ate lunch in Battery Park and walked to Wall Street and Ground Zero.
I’ve promised Rob I’ll come back to the States next month for another trip. I wish I could tell Mum about him, but I’d forgotten how silent and awkward we are about my love life. It’s odd that we can discuss our mutual appreciation of Anaïs Nin, but I can’t tell her I’m a little bit crazy over Rob. It’s my fault, I suppose, for weaving so many secrets and lies between us. I also spent the past few months working up the courage to tell her I’m gay, but I don’t suppose I can do that now either.
A whirlwind tour of Times Square, followed by Lou Donaldson at the Jazz Standard. They played ‘Falling in Love with Love’, which of course made me think of Rob. He’s haunting me in this city. It used to be mine but now I pass the Papaya King and glimpse the Empire State and he’s all my mind can handle.
I fantasise about blurting out to my mum, ‘I usually date women but right now I’m a little bit stupid over a guy who lives in California.’ I don’t seem able to, though.
Still, I feel better about the next few weeks. Perhaps I can even handle the Hell of facing Matthew. Perhaps.
I have to stop myself daydreaming about a future I’ll never have with Rob. Silly girl that I am.
How can I have spent eighteen years in Sussex and one in Durham and feel completely groundless, but two weeks on a bus and miss it like it’s home?
MoMA today. A picnic lunch in Central Park and goodbye phone calls. I cried a little in the park and vaguely told Mum about Rob. She got all parental and said she hoped I was being careful. I blushed but muttered that she didn’t need to worry about that with Rob because of his vasectomy. Mum and I are closer than we’ve been for years, which makes me happy, but I can’t help thinking she’d disown me if she knew the truth.
Delaware County, New York State
It’s odd to see the Rosella campus empty. I gave Mum a tour, followed by chess and chai in my favourite café for the last time. I said goodbye to Jess and tried to wash this place out of my system.
I fly tomorrow … but I’ll be back.
*
My mum and I landed at Heathrow on 19th July. We crammed my four bulging suitcases into the back of a taxi and both dozed through the two hours back to Sussex. I said hello to my dad and glanced at the pile of envelopes with my name on, but essentially slept and cried for two days. On the third day, my birthday, I booked my flight back to San Francisco for 23rd August, where I’d stay with Rob before going with him on another tour. My mum took me out for lunch, and my dad and I propped up the bar in the pub down the road until closing time. I woke with a hangover and began packing my things into boxes for uni. Explaining that I wanted to go to Durham early to find a job, I persuaded my mum to drive me and my stuff up the M1. Tim had emailed a few months ago asking if I fancied being the fifth person in their house and I’d jumped at the opportunity to not return to college accommodation. The house had been ours since 1st July, but nobody was moving in until term started in early October. Still, an empty house in a pretty city was preferable to a month of holding my breath every time I walked out my door in Sussex. Apart from a brief tea party at Valerie’s the day after my birthday, where Matthew and I chatted stiffly about The National’s autumn programme, I managed to avoid him.
Once I got to Durham, I didn’t look for a job. I reasoned there was no point if I was leaving in a month. I read and wrote and went for long walks. I tried to cook Jambalaya for myself and took long bubble baths. Eventually 23rd August arrived.
In my daze of nervous expectation, the journey went quickly. I was frisked twice and had my ChapStick confiscated by security, which caused me to worry more about developing a coldsore halfway across the Atlantic than the class-orange terror alert announced days before my flight. In the very furthest seat in my row with nobody next to me, I spent London to Chicago curled up in three blankets listening to the flight attendants bitch about the passengers. From Chicago to San Francisco, I had a window and watched as the land changed. As we began our descent, I was treated to the sun setting over the Bay.
Rob walked past where I sat and I saw him anxiously scan the screen for my flight number. Leaving my bags, I ran to him and he turned just as I jumped into his arms. Our awkward embrace made us laugh and we smiled giddily as we walked back to my stuff. Rob drove us home in his beat-up truck, and halfway through the journey I slid along the seat to lean on his shoulder. He talked the whole way back, babbling about the city, giving me a night-time tour. I was high with energy for him and waffled words I’ve now forgotten, giggling and apologising for my incoherence. We ate cereal after I’d showered and sat shyly together on his bed. Finally, after being awake for twenty-eight hours, I fell asleep in his arms.
The following day I woke smiling and we went out to shop for supplies. After a late lunch, we went back to bed. We woke hours later having missed the party we were supposed to attend. Instead, Rob took me out for fries and a shake followed by a movie. Our first real date.
Before the trip departed, we rented bikes and cycled over the Golden Gate Bridge and around Sausalito. Our mornings were frittered away lying in bed talking of showering and doing active things but instead melting into each other without urgency. When we finally got up, we made coffee and eggs and sat on rusty garden chairs on his patio. He showed me around San Francisco on foot; we found pizza, new glasses and a Giants game for him, and a dress, Vietnamese food and a terrible piece of In-Yer-Face theatre for me.
The sex was better than before and I wrote silly things in my journal about my newfound orgasms. Rob told me he was a little scared, that he was trying to keep his feet on the ground, but it wasn’t working. I doodled some more about wishing I could erase the past and offer myself to him fresh, about feeling suddenly so normal that it seemed abnormal.
We picked up the passengers and the other driver, Louisa, at the meeting point and I sat up with Rob as he drove out of San Francisco. This trip took us on a daredevil hike to Angel’s Landing in Zion National Park; to the neon cheesiness of Las Vegas in atrocious heat; to the Grand Canyon exactly one year after my arrival in the US; to breakfast at a cowboy town called Tombstone; to a ‘clothing optional’ hot spring in New Mexico; to the snow-like dunes of White Sands National Monument; to the mud bath that marks the Rio Grande in Big Bend National Park; to ride the Dillo and eat tacos in Austin; to a bar serving Bloody Marys at 10am in New Orleans; to see dolphins in St Andrew’s State Park, near Panama City; to another sprawling beach in North Carolina; and to a final campsite next to the Delaware River.
By the end of the journey, I’d visited thirty-two different states, had sex in eight national parks and swapped ‘I love you’s from Florida to Massachusetts. When I thought about going back to Durham, I remembered I was twenty and a kid and a dork. I spoke to Jess on the phone and realised I envied her for being able to accept she was different, that she wanted Angelo and didn’t care if she fitted in or not. But, as hard as I tried, I couldn’t picture Rob visiting me in Durham. Nor could I picture myself as I was now – the person who had sat on a bus in the Grand Canyon wearing a scruffy pair of shorts, Rob’s arm around me as he dozed – back at university in England. I was confused. I had too many personas, too many worlds. The normal student in Durham was still entwined with the bizarre child-woman who had been involved with Matthew. However, this intense, satisfying, fun and innocent relationship with Rob left a trace of a similar kind of sordid embarrassment when I tried to reconcile his age with the real world.
We spent my final week in Boston and New York. We hired bikes to see Cambridge, Queens and Brooklyn, sampled tiramisu in every deli we passed and called in on Jess who was settling in as a grad student at Harvard. In New York, we stayed with one of Rob’s friends in Astoria, where we tried to make the most of our final few days.
I cried at JFK, unsure if I could force myself to get on the plane, incapable of imagining a day without Rob. I’d slept badly, waking up to look at him until the alarm went off at 4.30am. He drove me to the airport, but there was no parking, so he had to drop me off. Tears rolled down our cheeks as we clung to each other on the sidewalk.
I cried in the line to check in, pulling my hat low over my face and shaking with self-pity. I rang a friend in England, wanting to ask him to come give me a hug at Heathrow, but realising it would be a ridiculous request. I rang Rob, who was stuck in traffic and shouldn’t have answered his cell phone, but did.
‘I want to be with you,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to be with anyone else.’
‘So don’t,’ he replied and I heard tears in his voice.
‘Okay.’ I smiled, in spite of myself. ‘I’ll call you when I’m in England.’
I thought about the bus I had already booked back to Durham and the empty house I’d be in when I arrived. I wondered if I should have planned to return to Sussex, to curl into my mum’s cuddles and eat homemade food. Home. But not really. Durham would be safer.
At Victoria Coach Station, unsure who to turn to, I rang my dad’s ex-girlfriend, April. We’d stayed friends and often talked about love. Of anyone, I felt she’d understand. She tried to persuade me to go to hers in Guildford instead of Durham. I thought about how much a train ticket would cost and thanked her but declined. Next I rang my mum and she said it must be sad for me, but perhaps I could see him again. I said goodbye and wished I hadn’t called her.
I arrived in Durham at 11pm to a quiet house with no internet, so I paid full international rates to let Rob know I’d arrived. I got his voicemail.
Waking to an empty house – an empty bed – was more than I could handle. After less than twelve hours in Durham, I jumped on a train heading south to spend a few days with April and try to sort out my mixed-up head.
A woman on the train asked me if I had a boyfriend. I stumbled at how to explain that yesterday morning I’d woken in the naked arms of a perfect man in Queens and today I was stuck on a delayed train, travelling 300 miles for a cuddle from someone who cares.