Authors: Pepper Ellison
Again, don’t worry about meeting her. That’s never going to happen. I can imagine it and holy shit no. You on the yacht meeting Delilah Rose and The Spam King? All up close and personal? You’d meet them and look at my mother’s high-heeled shoes and smirk and think to yourself: Gold-digger. You’d trot out your social graces and get through it but secretly you’d be wanting to vomit in your mouth.
Go do your safari thing and think deeply. Ruminate on the planet and the sea. Bring only what you can carry and erase all of your footprints. Be at peace with yourself knowing you are a better person than me. Then, when you’ve had a few beers, get down to the real you and take a hard look. Take a look at the prick who mocks the tourists, the weekenders, the corporates, the posers, the vacationers and the girl who thought she might be falling for him. And when you’re done doing that, can you do me one last favor...one last thing for Millsy Beauchamp? Can you kindly go fuck yourself?
Wednesday 2
nd
April 8.35pm
—Malaekahana Beach Campground —
We’re sitting around the fire, in the sand. Olaf brought this fricken awful Norwegian mead he’s making us drink. He’s telling the most outrageous lies about waves he’s ridden.
“I am swearing to you, brows, der vaves voz as bik as der fookin mountains.”
Lachie is reading your pornographic texts out aloud. I would think that you would be offended by the commentary he’s providing with it, but I guess I don’t know you. Lachie gets a free pass on bad behaviour.
I know it’s been a few days since I said anything to you. Wednesday has been and gone and the dirty texts to Lachie continue. I am assuming you’ve made a choice there then.
I am really confused about what I did wrong.
Here is my version of this isolated event. (I’ve had a few disagreements with women and I always think it’s a bad idea to bring up things that have made you angry from previous fights, because it muddies the current fight and makes it harder to fix, I reckon, don’t you?)
You said you were going to break up with Lachie and that you were feeling nervous about that, and that you wanted a few days. I said I could help out by taking Lachie away, so that he wouldn’t be a pain while you were getting your thoughts together.
Then I suggested that you do some relaxing holiday-type activities that might help to make you feel less stressed.
I’m sorry but how is suggesting that you relax by having a massage a terrible thing? Why does that make me a bad person?
You then raise all of these other times that I apparently brought up your financial situation. I don’t remember saying any of that. I don’t remember making any ‘digs’ at you.
Unless you don’t really want to fix it.
If you do want to patch things up with me, maybe you could think back over the conversation and figure out exactly what I said that made you so mad.
Is it possible ….
Is it at all possible …
Could I most humbly suggest that maybe you have read into my words things that I might not have meant? Having reflected on it more calmly later?
Anyway, I’ll be over here fucking myself.
Wednesday 2
nd
April 8.45pm
—Moon Bowl—
I think you actually believe yourself. You actually believe that you were just being helpful to me. I can see where you could make a strong case for it. If an impartial stranger were to read that exchange, not knowing the history or dynamics between us, I’d come off sounding like a fruitloop.
So that’s it, then. Amelia June’s gone batshit crazy. Why would you want to patch things up with someone who is so clearly insane?
I’ll leave you to your male bonding. Bring my summer fling home in one piece. I only have a few weeks left so I plan to take full advantage of him when he gets back.
As a matter of fact, I don’t know if I’ll be able to wait that long. The fake ID worked and the pickings aren’t exactly slim here at the Blue Volcano. Hot surfer dudes are EVERYWHERE. Wish me luck!
Wednesday 2
nd
April 8.46pm
—Malaekahana Beach Campground —
Go for it.
But I would be careful about introducing Lachlan to your mother. He’ll probably try to fuck her.
Wednesday 2
nd
April 8.59pm
—Malaekahana Beach Campground —
You’re sending him pictures now? That’s class.
Wednesday 2
nd
April 11.42pm
—Malaekahana Beach Campground —
They’re snoring like fricken walruses. Fire’s gone out. It’s cold now and I’m tucked in my sleeping bag suffocating on my own mead farts.
Are you still at the Blue Volcano? Do you like it? I hang out there a bit, because it’s a locals bar. Not flashy. Tourists don’t go there. Except backpackers, because it’s kind of next door. Did you have an Aussie beer? I have my own playlist on the jukebox. It’s called Layback. Look it up if you go back. You would like it.
How awesome is that fish tank? With the turtles swimming around in it? You know Justin the barman has to get in and clean that mofo.
Beers. So much better than mead.
Did I ever tell you about the time Lachie and I were in this elephant bar in Phuket? At about 2am we saw these two elephant bulls swaying over a splintered pool table, shit everywhere, going, ‘I love you, man,’ ‘No, I love YOU, bro’. Totally pathetic.
Wednesday 3
rd
April 4.40pm
—Honolulu Museum of Art—
I’m at the museum sitting in front of this three-hundred-year old poi bowl, reading our messages, and I can’t tell what’s happened or why. It’s just when you say the words shoes, massage, helicopter, fucken cruise ship, there is a judgment in it. Or it feels like there is. It’s what I hear. It makes me feel small. It makes me think that you think I’m ridiculous.
I’ve read back through everything. I’ve reread the whole history of Kody and Amelia. All the way back to when I first emailed you about lessons. It’s a pretty good story so far. You should read it from the beginning.
Anyhow, there were things I missed, that I passed up commenting on. I want to go back to one in particular. That’s the good thing about messaging, I think. They say it’s all just an inferior way to communicate, a deterioration of personal connection and in some ways, it probably is. But in other ways, I think, it makes for a better way to tell someone what you feel. There’s a record. You can see what you’ve said and what has been said to you. You can go back and look for what you might have missed about a person or a moment. You can see the things they said and how you received them at the time. You can see all the things that weren’t said and should have been. You can see the things you wish you could take back but can’t.
I never told you I admire the things you told me about your dad. Him being a horticulturalist. I don’t know what he looks like but when I rid myself of the default image of Hugh Jackman, I’m able to see a general face. A nice face. I imagine a salt-and-peppered man wearing one of those rugged Aussie hats. He’s digging with a spade, then stands up to stretch his back. He looks up and scans the sky, decides on something, then goes back to digging. Starts humming a tune I can’t make out. I don’t know what’s real when I look at those last messages now. It’s all mixed up.
Maybe I am crazy.
When are you coming back?
Wednesday 2
nd
April 5.27pm
—near North Shore—
We’re on the way now. Putting along in Olaf’s shitty VW. I’m resting my head on the swags stacked up next to me. It’s sunny now, but it’s going to rain this afternoon. All the electrics go in this crappy car at the first hint of moisture.
It’s been a good break. The surf was really pumping and I enjoyed it.
OK.
I don’t care about the money thing. I really don’t. I have never cared about it. I can see that you care about it, and if it will make you feel better, I am happy to dedicate a whole night to discussing our relative wealth. You can tell me all the crappy ways I am condescending and I will atone like a mofo.
I care about your heart. Go back and read all the times I have said that I care about that.
I didn’t tell Lachie what has happened between us. There were lots of times I wanted to. I just wanted to see his face. I wanted to see whether he would be really genuinely hurt, or whether he would just shrug it off.
There is a difference between hunters and gathers.
I’m a gatherer. I come from gathering stock. Gatherers invest everything. They stick with what they’ve sown, because even when it all looks hopeless you might be able salvage something at harvest time. My dad says the best wine vintages come from really tough years, when the grapes have to be nursed on the vine all the way through to crushing.
Hunters don’t invest in one target. They chase, give up, chase, give up, chase. Finally they catch something, lie around groaning for a few days, and then it’s back to chasing.
You always forget that I know Lachlan. I know him. I fucken love the man. I do. He’s a meat head. He’s a funny bastard. He’s an awesome surfer. He’s my bro.
And he’s a hunter.
I know we’re back to the same old argument. You’re a grown woman.
You have a few weeks left. Enjoy Lachie. He’s fun. I just want you to prepare yourself for the reality.
Maybe he loves you. He’s talked more about you than any other chick for sure.
But he looks at an arse when it passes, Millsy. He keeps the phone numbers of cute surf lesson chicks. He doesn’t delete them. He replies when they text him. Maybe it’s all above board. Maybe you know about all that and trust him.
My gut says he’s not going to follow you back to California, or Kansas, or wherever you’re headed next.
My gut says the minute you’re in the shuttle to the airport – before your plane even takes off - he’s going to be chasing like you were never here.
I don’t know if you care about that. I don’t know if he cares. I should have kept out of it in the first place.
I can see him even now, I’m looking over his shoulder and he’s scrolling through the things you wrote to him. I wish it was me you wrote those things to.
So yes. We’re almost back. But I don’t want to hear your lusty reunion, so tonight I am going up to Sasha’s. I’m going to stay there for a bit.
Wednesday 2
nd
April 6.12pm
—North Shore Hostel—
Change your mind. Say you choose me.
Wednesday 2
nd
April 7.25pm
—Black Blossum Productions—
Please?
Wednesday 2
nd
April 8.43pm
—Waikiki Yacht Club—
I’m sorry I texted him in front of you like that. I was only doing it to piss you off. I don’t know what embellishments he added to the dialogue, but on my end the texts look like this: “Your board need waxing, big fella? I watched internet videos. I’m an expert at waxing now.” “My body is aching. I could really go for a deep tissue massage...” There were no pictures or anything. Okay, well, one but I was fully clothed and it was a direct request on his part. I was just smiling and holding up a salmon roll with chopsticks. Bottom line, it was all double-entendre horseshit to get you worked up from across the campfire. If he added stuff, I’m sorry.
I know Lachie and I aren’t a forever thing. I’m not naive enough to think that Lachlan is long-distance material. I just wanted him to have a good memory of our time together. For he and I both to have that. I genuinely like the guy. If I were a guy and prone to fighting, I’d want to be in a bar fight with Lachie. He’d have my back. With girls not so much, I know. You think I don’t know anything when it comes to spotting a player?
Part of my hesitation is panic here. You said, “Lachie is my best mate. I’ve known him since he was two. He’ll be here long after you’re gone.” I don’t want to be the girl who you two might someday talk about. There is a competitiveness to the relationship between you and Lachie, a masculine “mine’s bigger than yours” thing that makes me nervous. So, like, say I choose you. Say I do that. And we tell him and then what? What happens after that? I go back and then you two are left with each other. I imagine the swapping of tales over skunky Aussie beer. Jesus. I want to hide my eyes and cover my ears just thinking about it. I can imagine you pulling that out during a future argument. “Well, you %*#&^$! my best friend!” What could I ever say that might level the field? “Yeah, well, YOU—YOU—” then pbbllt. Nothing. You win.
I don’t think it will work long-term with Lachie. I don’t care if it works long-term with Lachie. I would care if it worked long-term with you. You were able to move away from someone you thought you loved once. A whole ocean away from Fiona and look how that turned out. I imagine myself pulling out of Hawaii and you and me saying: “Okay, well bye then. Text you in five minutes, see you never.”