Moving on, reading Mary's posts regarding yesterday's happenings were eye-opening, considering that I was there pretty much the whole time and don't remember most of it. Last night was even more of a blur which, again, Mary clarified for me:ME: I remember singing really loudly and off-key in the hotel lobby and puking in my shower.
MARY: That's exactly right, except the locations were reversed.
ME: Um. Whoops.
MARY: We'll be exiting through the rear of the hotel when we checkout today, by the way.
ME: Carry me?
Later that morning I heard many loud, loud noises that threatened to shatter my skull, and then somehow I was on a jet, streaking out over the sparkling, bejeweled Pacific Ocean on my way to Australia. On the plane I had full access to DVD's, books, magazines, the Internet and probably stewardess/strippers, and I took no advantage of any of them, instead promptly falling asleep for another six hours.
When I awoke once again Mary was eating lunch and food actually smelled good to me for the first time that day. We ate our beef stroganoff in silence sitting facing one another. After we'd finished eating I polished off the last of my bottled water, looked at Mary and said, "I think I'm falling in love with you."
"I take it you enjoyed the stroganoff."
"I'm serious."
"You're feeling pretty spry for a man who spent last night throwing up into a hotel fern."
"Still serious."
Mary took a deep breath and turned to stare for a long moment out of the window at the bright blue sky, a few high clouds dotting the horizon in the distance. "I can't, Josh. The responsibility I feel to your mother... I have a responsibility."
"It's more than a job, you said so yourself, Mary. I'd say going on the run from the law and becoming an accessory after the fact means-"
She put up a hand, stopping me. Turning back to me she said, "It wouldn't be right. Wouldn't feel right. And our ages-"
"What, five, six years? It's not like you're in cougar territory here." I saw her eyes widen and knew I'd stepped in it, but pressed on. "I don't care about that, or the work thing or anything else. Look, I'm not good at this, I know that. Some other guy, flying in a private jet over the water, they'd make some cool move. I'm not that guy, unless you think ranking Godzilla movies in order of rubber-costume believability is a cool move."
She smiled in spite of herself. "Josh-"
"I know you have a responsibility. I know you don't want to let my Mom down. You think I don't know about that kind of pressure? When I was four, the woman wouldn't let me have a cookie unless I could name the majority of its ingredients in Latin. You want her respect but you already have it."
Her mouth tightened. "I also want to keep it."
I leaned over the table toward her, wishing now that we'd flown commercial so we'd be side-by-side. "All this other stuff... just tell me you don't feel anything for me. Nothing else matters. Look me in the eye and tell me I'm just a job. Tell me."
Mary shook her head slowly, clenching her jaw and taking a few deep breaths. Just then the stewardess walked up and asked how we liked our lunch, cleared the dirty plates and offered dessert. Mary declined, excusing herself to the bathroom. I leaned back in my seat and stared out of the window, fighting the urge to strangle the oblivious stewardess and wondering all of a sudden if I was going to write all this stuff down. Having promised my mother that I would be as forthcoming as possible in this journal (hey, thanks again, Mom!), I decided that I would continue to be as humiliatingly candid as possible.
Mary and I spent most of the rest of the flight writing, reading up on Australia and avoiding eye contact. I'll try and write out another post on the drive to Port Victoria from Adelaide.
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