Dream Catch Me (Revised)

Intended Publication: Modern Love

I am my own worst enemy, especially when it comes to making decisions. Even simple decisions—Paper or Plastic?—the possibilities unfurl before me, lines of thought racing across a sprawling map which extends out into the universe eventually sucking me into a black hole of doubt and indecision. Knowing that I must decide, I choose. My heartbeat quickens. I am playing Russian roulette with my future.

My future is unknown as the springtime sunlight accosts my eyes near the end of March. Squinting, I look down and endeavor to open the small white envelope I retrieved from my college mail box. I am grateful for this letter. It decides for me—whether I shall be granted passage to my first choice study abroad destination, or not. Forcefully, I slide my index finger inside tearing a hole to view my fate.

Rejection is disheartening but diligently I re-apply, this time I attempt to gain acceptance into the study abroad program in Perth, Western Australia—studying abroad, a new vital life step; I am ready. One month later, at the close of April, I enter the mail room again. I smile cautiously as I slide a new letter from my mail box. This time it’s a manila envelope that yields exciting returns. My smile widens.

In July, I drag myself off the plane in Perth expecting paradise, but the airport leads to a parking-lot, which leads to a highway, which leads to a tiny bedroom painted white, cold and uninviting. Disappointment overwhelms me as I flop down onto the sparse mattress Curtin University Student Housing has provided for me.

Weeks of classes keep me busy, no beach days, no warm balmy nights—it’s winter on this side of the world. Eagerly I await spring break for the second time this year. My friends and I make a collective decision to book a tour north to a warmer destination.

In early September, a scruffy Australian drives his tour bus up to the curb at the tourist coach stand. The first thing I notice is his hair. He is rocking the worst case of bed head in the history of heads that ever skipped the hair brushing phase after bed. An unshaven face and wrinkled clothing add to the tousled effect. He looks rugged. He has chest hair. He’s talking in a thick Australian accent as we board the bus. I can’t stop staring. His gentle, sincere eyes catch mine. I stumble across the threshold.

The third night of this Australian adventure, on the shores of Coral Bay, the trouble begins. It starts with the sand—soft, cold, inviting sand between my toes. I sink my feet in further. Our feet touch underneath the sand and a reckless abandon rushes through my veins as I down my bottle of champagne and move on to a warm Australian brew. He sits on my left, close enough to see my goose pimples. We’re getting to know each other faster now but for the life of me I don’t remember what we said. I do remember one thing though, “I’m going to head to bed”, he says. I hold his gaze hoping he can read my mind. Then words begin falling out of my mouth—“Come skinny dipping with me in Coral Bay instead”.

Time stands still and then speeds forward quickly, and then suddenly, unexpectedly, our  naked bodies are in the ocean water and I am swimming somewhere between ‘I can’t believe this is happening’ and ecstasy. We venture to the sand dunes, our muscles shivering violently in unison. We shove ourselves together inside one swag covered sleeping bag, under the stars. Eventually, sleep follows what seems like hours of sex until a blaring alarm clock sounds at 5a.m.—the sun is still asleep. My 26 year old tour guide must leave me now and I forget to ask him if this was a one night stand.

Up the Australian coast we travel. Each night while my friends sleep, he and I stay up late enjoying the pleasures of casual sex. In Broome, we decide to exchange numbers—turns out neither of us wants our fling to end with the spring.

October is nearly upon us as he takes me on our first date to That Little Mexican Place, and he buys me an expensive bottle of Australian wine. A transition period has left him homeless tonight, so he books us a room at the Holiday Inn—the King suite. We stay up laughing, and touching, and holding on tight.

On our next date we struggle against the wind and waves of the Indian Ocean, he’s teaching me how to surf. I’m in over my head. Our next adventure—mountain biking. He has a house now. I’m sleeping over every night he’s home. Tomorrow he leaves on another tour. It seems we’re always saying good-bye. 

When he takes me up the coast to the beach in Lancelin to meet his friends and christen his truck bed, I know that he’s serious. I am beginning to sense that our feelings are mutual—we are both secretly smitten.

October’s orange sun begins to set and I am overwhelmed by this man. He is more than a man really; he’s a grand adventure that I dream will never end. I have a mere six days left to spend with him in Australia when I realize that he could quite possibly, if I’m not reading into anything, if he thinks so too, he could, maybe, be my soul mate.

I am calm and collected on our last morning together, before I embark on a new journey. We wake up before the dawn and I kiss my handsome, scruffy Australian good-bye. I leave him with words full of longing—“I’m going to try my absolute hardest to find a way to stay in Australia with you—if there’s a way, I’ll find it”.

In November I board a flight to China. As my altitude increases, I try to find the truth my words. I rifle through my desires and my doubts. I fill a rifle with the complexities of my decision. Full of this ammunition I yearn for the pressure in the barrel to eventually spark confidence in a decision. I want more time with my Australian—but how?

My participation in the twenty-one day East Asian Tour that begins in China will complete my course work abroad. At the end of November I am expected to fly back to Australia for my homecoming departure to the small mid-western town of my childhood in America. One thought echoes in my mind—I don’t want to go home.

My decision consumes me. I could attempt to extend my visa. A multitude of reasons condone me staying but there are just as many excuses protesting. Go home or stay? Go home or stay? I want to stay but, but, but…what if it all falls apart? I’d need a job, a place to live—I can’t ask him to take me in! He has roommates, they don’t need my estrogen clogging up there space indefinitely. What if I don’t get the visa? What if he doesn’t really want me to stay!?!?

In Shanghai, I once again board a tour bus, this time to Nanjing. I feel small riding through the bigness of China. Sky-scraper apartment buildings line the highway. Lines of denim and cotton hang from even the highest windows. I keep myself busy by breaking out a bus seat ab workout. I used to workout on his bus, on our way to Broome—I had so much positive energy then, I had no worries, no doubts. Falling in love was effortless. Fighting for it…required…everything.

While I tightened, grunted and released, only to breathe in and repeat, the memories of my past four months spent in Australia had me agonizing over this one decision. Nanjing was where I had to decide my future.

I needed a visa. I needed to be abroad to submit my request to immigration. The process could take up to a month and I was meant to leave in less. A visa is only step one, but if it could work—the rest of the pieces could fall into place. “It’s not the visa that I’m worried about”, I explained to my friend. What I couldn’t tell her was how small I felt, how scared, how insignificant. Paralyzed in a limbo of my own design I knew that step one was the most important. If I could send my visa application, I could embrace it, I could let myself fall, and my dream would catch me. I just need to tell me, ‘it’s ok, it’s not a crazy idea, really, it’s ok.’

“You only live once,” was a common phrase for me abroad, the anthem grew louder and louder as I journeyed farther from the Aussie land. It sung of a man with a scruffy head of hair, a scruffy face, and a smile that makes my heart race.

I sink back into my bus seat, stomach burning, body worn down, mind frayed and tattered. It is early November, and the chill of winter in the Northern Hemisphere seeps in slowly as I sweat.

I’m in the hotel in Nanjing, on the twelfth floor. I sit in the bathtub. Warm water runs cold as my time runs out. Tonight is the night to decide. Water droplets fill the creases in my worried forehead. I look out across the landscape, at the small piece of Nanjing before me. The bathroom fog quickly fades and the answer slowly becomes clear. ‘Love is a legitimate reason to do this’, I think. I believe myself this time. I would do what I’d been dreaming, what I’ve wanted this whole time. My hair is wet and chilling as I cross the room to sit in front of my computer.

I couldn’t be bothered to dry off. Wiping my hands on the towel wrapped tightly around me--holding me together--I stare at my computer screen. A completed visa application stares back. Taking a slow, deep breath, I press the send button. I exhale the worries from my chest—application sent.