#the one in the bunk above me was australian and he was nice enough to give me a usb port thing for my phone and i think

[josecariohca]

.

[ghosttotheparty]

the serendipity of misspeaking

1/2

Abed isn’t in the kitchen when Troy comes out of the bathroom.

On any other day, he’d be sitting on the counter, his legs swinging, a glass of special drink or coffee in his hand, smiling as Troy enters, and Troy would say “Morning, Inspector,” in a bad English accent (that usually comes out more Australian than English) (Abed is better at accents than Troy is), and he’d grab a bowl of whatever Annie had concocted for breakfast, oatmeal or eggs or leftovers from dinner.

But Annie left early this morning (she popped into Troy’s room before leaving to meet Britta and Shirley for coffee before school). 

And Abed isn’t on the counter like usual. Troy stops in his tracks upon entering the kitchen, startled by his absence, staring at the space where Abed is supposed to be sitting, his hand pausing as it hikes his backpack over his shoulder. 

He glances around the kitchen, seeing if he missed Abed standing by the fridge, and steps out of the room when he doesn’t see him. 

“Abed?” he calls out lightly, getting no response,  and he sees Abed’s satchel on the floor outside the blanket fort, zipped up and seemingly ready to go. 

It’s dark in the fort as Troy pulls the front blanket aside, catching sight of Abed in his bunk, completely covered by his blankets. He shifts slightly as Troy lets the blanket fall behind him, and Troy is careful as he steps forward, brushing his feet along the carpet in front of him to avoid stepping on anything. 

“Abed?” 

Abed lets out a quiet hum, a gentle groan, and Troy’s heart lurches. He moves close enough to look over him, Abed’s face just peeking out from under the blankets. His eyes are squeezed shut. 

“Are you okay?” Troy whispers. 

Abed groans again and turns his face into his pillow 

“What’s wrong?” Troy asks, worried, wanting to sit on the bed and brush Abed’s hair out of his face. 

“I don’t feel well,” Abed mumbles after a few quiet seconds, and it takes another second for Troy to understand him, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“Do you really not feel well or is it just your brain telling you that you don’t?” he asks quietly, shifting on his feet, his brows turned up in concern, and Abed’s eyes open for a split second, shutting as his brow furrows and his lips pout as he thinks. 

“I don’t know,” he says finally, his voice nearly just a breath.

“What are you feeling?” Troy has a thought to pull his phone out and check the time, but he doesn’t. 

“Everything is too much,” Abed whispers, his eyes squeezed shut again. “Just… overwhelming.”

“Okay,” Troy says, as quietly as he can. “You can stay home, it’s okay.” 

“Okay,” Abed breaths, shifting in his bed, his hands coming up to under his chin with the end of the blanket clutched in them. 

“Do you want me to bring you anything? From the cafeteria, or…” Troy asks before stepping toward the entrance, stalling. Abed shakes his head. “Okay. I’ll bring you notes from class. I’ll see you later.”

“Troy?” Abed calls out weakly as Troy opens the blankets and steps out. 

“Yeah?”

“Have fun.”

“Won’t be half as fun without you, baby.” 

Troy carefully pulls the blankets closed behind himself and, after grabbing two granola bars from the kitchen (Annie’s addition to the stock of fruit roll-ups and Lucky Charms), shuts the front door as quietly as he can.

It’s not until he’s already out of the apartment building, halfway down the block and halfway through with the first granola bar, that he realises what the fuck he just said. 

He freezes, mid-chew, his eyes widening, and he turns around, facing the apartment building like he’s expecting Abed to be walking behind him. 

“Shit,” he mumbles, swallowing before taking a deep breath. And then another. And another, as he realises how fast his heart is pounding, how his breaths don’t seem to fill up his lungs. He closes his eyes, covering his face with his hands for a second, inhaling again and holding it for a few seconds before exhaling slowly. 

He starts to walk again when he feels steady, when his head is back on his neck instead of floating above his body. He finishes the granola bar too, even though he feels a little sick. 

He doesn’t even bother trying to think about something else, doesn’t bother trying to distract himself, because all that’s going through his mind as he walks down the endless sidewalk, listening as cars and bikes and people pass him, as he stops instinctively at crosswalks and waits for the lights to turn green, is baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby.

It’s still there when he gets to the study room, grinning and greeting the others, telling them Abed doesn’t feel well, pretending there isn’t complete rampage, chaos, pandemonium going on in his head, pretending just saying Abed’s name doesn’t make his heart twist. 

It’s still there as he goes to his first class, as he pulls out his notebooks and pencils (which aren’t in a pencil case, and are instead tossed to the bottom of his bag, much to Annie’s annoyance.). He glances at the clock often, his knee bouncing up and down, his pencil tapping his desk until Annie reaches over and snatches it from him and sets it down, his bottom lip between his teeth. Every second that passes is a second closer to going home to Abed, which normally he’d be excited about. On any other Friday, he’d be counting down the seconds happily, ready to go home and watch The Dark Night or something with Abed, with popcorn and chocolate.

When he thinks about going home to Abed, all that flows through his brain like waves on a coast, or rather like thunder clouds rolling over a sky, is baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby.

But every second that passes is another second closer to finding out if Abed heard him this morning. Troy tries to reassure himself, tries to tell himself that maybe Abed stopped listening, or maybe Troy was too far away, speaking too softly for him to hear, that maybe Abed misheard it for “buddy,” which Troy meant to say. 

If it weren’t today, and if he hadn’t said what he’d said, Troy would go home for lunch. He’d go and check on Abed, make him buttered noodles, make sure he’s okay. But today he stays in the cafeteria, staring at his phone on the table in front of him, only half-listening as Shirley and Jeff talk and laugh. Shirley asks if he’s okay when she sees him, and he assumes he looks sad. Or mad. Maybe both. He doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. 

“I’m fine,” he says, forcing a smile onto his face. “Just stayed up too late last night.” 

The only thing that manages to take his mind off it is his dance class, in the afternoon. It’s his last period and he worries that he may not be able to get into it today, that he may not be able to dance like he usually does (disappointing Madame LeClair crosses his mind), and he sullenly takes his jeans off in the corner, avoiding his classmates’ eyes as they look at him in wonder as to why he didn’t come in as enthusiastically as he usually does. 

But after just a few seconds of moving half-heartedly, his mind blanks, and if he knew how to read sheet music, he’s sure that’s what his head would be filled with. Treble clefs and whatnot, spinning and twirling and gliding and floating around, bouncing off his skull like a DVD screensaver as he spins and twirls and glides and floats. It’s almost effortless. He almost forgets where he is. He can’t even hear Madame LeClair’s loud, echoing voice saying “One, and two, and three, and four, and five, and six, and sev-en, eight! And one, and two, and three, and four, and five, and six, and sev-en, eight! And one, and two, and three, and four, and five, and six, and sev-en, eight!” as she claps in time with the music.

Sometimes he wonders which he likes more: dancing or football. If anyone asked, he’d say football, but part of him wonders if that’s because he’s supposed to like football more. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t love it, but football doesn’t make him feel the same way dancing does. Football puts him on edge, ready to be tackled at any given second, given a responsibility, a task to complete. It makes his heart beat fast, makes adrenaline rush through his veins. It gives him a rush and he ends up jumping whenever someone touches him after a game, laughing and messing around with his friends like he did in high school. (It’s different now, though. Here, he’s friends with them because he wants to be, not because he feels like he has to be.) 

Dance is similar, with the rush and adrenaline (especially after recitals). But it’s different too. Dancing makes him feel unstoppable, but not in the physical, aggressive way football does. When he finishes a dance, when he stops moving and relaxes his limbs and takes a deep breath, he feels real. Like he really really exists, by himself and for himself. 

It always takes him a second to ground himself before he starts moving normally after dancing.

“Nice work today, everyone,” Madame LeClair says when the music shuts off. “Good job Troy. So much emotion today!” she adds in that theatrical voice of hers.

“Thank you,” he says, looking down bashfully. 

He puts on his pants and jacket slowly, waiting for Britta like usual, and when he sees her, he throws his bag over his shoulder and steps forward. 

“Hey,” he says. 

“Hi!” She looks up from her phone. “You headed home?” He nods. “Text me how Abed is, will you? I’ve been worried about him today.” She twists her mouth. 

“Yeah, of course,” he says, ignoring the swoop of his stomach. “I’ll see you later.” 

She gives him a swift peck on his cheek and he leaves, his smile fading quickly. He feels sick again.

He counts every step on the way home, counts every time he can hear the sound of the rubber soles of his shoes crunching loose pebbles of gravel on the sidewalk. Every step, every crunch, every breath, 

baby

baby

baby

baby

baby.

---

When he gets home, Annie is in the kitchen, making a bowl of cereal. 

“Hey!” she calls, and he kicks off his shoes, not bothering to look where they land as he shuts the door behind him. 

“Hey.” He pauses at the counter, looking over as she gingerly pours milk in her bowl. “Have you talked to Abed?” He’s careful not to let his voice shake. 

“I stopped in the fort earlier, but he had his headphones on and I didn’t want to bother him.” She looks over her shoulder as she puts the carton back in the fridge. (She’s the only one that does.) “I think it’d be best if you checked on him.”

“Okay, yeah,” he says after a brief pause. “Yeah, I-- I’ll do that.” He shoots her a quick smile as she lifts her spoon to her mouth and she smiles back, catching a dribble of milk on her chin. His stomach flips again as he turns away, to the blanket fort.

The fort is still a little dim inside, but bright enough from the light streaming through the sheets for Troy to see Abed clearly, sitting on the floor with his back against the bunk bed. His headphones are on (Noise-cancelling, a Christmas gift from Jeff), but he lifts his head when Troy steps in, and lifts his hand, pulling them off so they hang around his neck.

“Hey, buddy,” Troy says softly, smiling to the best of his ability. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Abed replies, his voice low and gravelly from disuse. “Still kind of… Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Troy shuffles his feet on the ground, unsure of what to do or say. Abed’s eyes are still on him, but it’s just like normal. His eyes always look so soft.

Troy’s heart rate slows down as Abed gazes at him. Maybe he forgot. Or didn’t hear it. 

“What can I do?” Troy asks abruptly, after looking back into his eyes. Abed blinks, his face blank, and his head tilts, like it does when he gets lost in his mind and Troy brings him back to the ground. 

“What?”

“How can I help you? What can I do?” Troy repeats, and Abed blinks again. It takes a second for him to answer, and Troy waits. 

“Can you sit with me?”

“I-- Yeah, I can do that.” He shifts on his feet, taking a breath. “Let me put my bag down in my room. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

Abed nods. 

Troy pulls his phone out of his pocket as he leaves the blanket fort, feeling Abed’s eyes still on him. He sends a quick text to Britta (Abed’s good. He’s having a rough day but he’s better than this morning.) and then tosses it onto his bed before dropping his backpack to the floor. He leaves before it buzzes with Britta’s reply. 

He stops by Annie’s room, knocking gently on her open door.

“Hey!” she says, turning and dropping her spoon in her bowl as she chews. “How’s Abed?”

“Better than this morning, but…” She nods, twisting her mouth into a sympathetic frown. 

“Uh…” He leans his chest against the doorframe, holding it with his hands. “Do you think you can make buttered noodles for dinner? That might make him happy.” 

She beams, straightening her back and brightening. 

“Yeah! It’s still pretty early, but I can make it when I’m done with my homework.” 

“Awesome.” He smiles back. “Thanks, Annie.” He taps the doorframe gently before leaving. 

He opens the blanket fort slowly and peeks in before entering. Abed is still on the floor, his back to the bunk bed, but his headphones are on the floor next to him instead of around his neck. Now, he has a blanket draped over his shoulders, a dark blue one with the Inspector Spacetime logo printed across it. Abed doesn’t look up when he comes in, so Troy lets a small smile spread across his face as he sits cross-legged in front of him. 

“Okay?” he whispers, and Abed glances up, smiling back and nodding before dropping his head back to his knees. 

Troy sighs, looking at him fondly.  Baby baby baby baby baby baby is still somewhere in the back of his head, but it’s a little quieter now. In the dim light, he can see Abed’s shoulders rise and fall as he breaths, and when he closes his eyes, he can hear it too, can sync his own breaths with Abed’s. 

“Can I touch you?” he whispers almost inaudibly after a few minutes, opening his eyes to see Abed nodding against his legs. So he does, finally. He’s missed touching him all day, though he did his best not to think about it. He’s missed grabbing his hand as they navigate through the crowded hallway of the second floor between class, Troy leading him as Abed’s eyes remain trained on the ground, and slapping their hands together after something awesome. 

Troy scoots forward a little bit, keeping his legs crossed in front of him, and reaches out, gently brushing his fingers over the top of Abed’s head. Abed sighs.

“Okay?” Troy asks again. 

“Mm-hmm.” 

Troy smiles, threading his fingers in Abed’s hair and combing through to the back of his head. 

“Do you wanna talk?” Troy whispers as he does it again. 

“Sure.”

“What did you do today?” he asks, carefully, pushing Abed’s hair back. It’s so soft. Smooth. 

“I started getting ready this morning but it was too…” He takes a short breath. “Bright. And loud.” 

Troy hums, glancing down and noting that under the blanket, he can spot a graphic t-shirt, and further down, a pair of dark sweatpants. 

 “Have you eaten at all?” he asks, and there’s a pause before Abed shakes his head. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Troy reprimands gently, pausing before brushing through his hair again. “That’s okay. Do you think you can eat dinner later?”

“Mm… maybe.”

“That’s good enough right now.” 

Abed lifts his head, his brow furrowed, focused, and Troy lifts his hand, watching as Abed’s hand lands on Troy’s shin, pulling until Troy gets the message, uncrossing his legs and letting Abed move himself forward, away from the bed, until he’s sitting between Troy’s legs, his own wrapped around Troy’s waist. Troy waits as Abed gets situated in his arms, placing his own between them, his hands curled. 

Abed leans forward, pressing his forehead to Troy’s chest, breathing in deeply, and Troy wraps his arms around him tightly, revelling in the way Abed’s head turns, nuzzling his face in Troy’s hoodie.

“You smell nice,” Abed whispers, and Troy giggles lightly, adjusting his arms around Abed until he tangles his fingers in Abed’s hair, combing through it again. 

“Not too strong?’’ 

Abed shakes his head slightly. 

“No. You smell like you.” 

Troy hums again, smiling softly. He rests his elbows on Abed’s shoulders, sighing. He thinks he could fall asleep right here. He closes his eyes. 

He can feel Abed’s breath against the skin of his neck, and a chill goes up his spine. He shifts, opening his eyes for a second. He probably shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he is, enjoying the feeling of Abed’s legs around him, of his fingers against his chest, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie. The slight, subtle brush of Abed’s hair touching his neck when Abed moves. 

But this is just them. This is how they are. So Troy closes his eyes again, pushing his fingers through Abed’s hair and running his hand down Abed’s back, his heart thumping happily at the quiet, almost inaudible hum that comes from Abed. After a few minutes Abed pulls his head away and leans back down, turning so his other cheek is pressed to Troy’s shoulder, and Troy pauses before coming through his hair again.

“I heard what you said this morning,” Abed says softly, and Troy is pretty sure his heart stops beating. His eyes fly open and his fingers freeze, pausing in his hair before Troy swallows (hoping Abed can’t hear his gulp) and pushing through again, though his hands might just be shaking now. 

“That I’d… bring you notes today?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Abed says evenly, and Troy’s hand stops again, dropping to Abed’s shoulder gently as he looks down, at the ground, at the small crack in the sheets that a slim beam of light shines through. He takes a deep breath, resigning, and he knows Abed can hear his heart because it’s fucking pounding. The queen of England could probably hear it at this point.

“I know,” he chokes out, and the words break on their way out, filling his mouth like sand. “I’m sorry.” 

He half expects Abed to pull away and look at him with his deep, serious eyes, and to tell him it’s fine, just that Abed doesn’t feel the same way. That’s how it always plays out in Troy’s mind. But Abed is quiet, his fingers still fidgeting with the strings of Troy’s hoodie, flipping them and curling them and unintentionally pressing to Troy’s chest for just a second. 

“I liked it,” Abed says finally, after a silent, strained, desperate minute, and Troy blinks.

“...What?”

Troy’s brows furrow and he pulls his head back, looking down at Abed even though all he sees is the top of his head. 

“I liked it,” Abed repeats, lifting his head and looking at Troy. His eyes flicker back and forth between Troy’s, and before Troy can let out a confused “Huh?” Abed leans forward and presses his mouth to Troy’s.

Troy’s eyes widen, and he gasps, his mouth dropping open under the pressure of Abed’s soft lips.

Abed pulls away before Troy can really react, just as his hand is lifting to touch the side of his face, to press against his skin and pull him closer, like he’s wanted to for years, because holy fucking shit.  Abed Nadir just kissed him, and they aren’t in character, or in the Dreamatorium, or role-playing. And it feels so unreal, and so perfect, and so amazingly fantastic that Troy almost wants to hit himself to see if he’s dreaming.  He has no idea how long he’s wanted this. He supposes maybe he always has, but just didn’t realise it for a long while. Not until Britta told Troy that Toby was stealing Abed from him. “That dude is stealing your boyfriend,” she’d said, and Troy was struck with a lightning bolt of oh. But he pushed it away. Ignored it. Didn’t allow himself to think about it. 

Of course, the thought still crept back in whenever his mind wasn’t occupied. Late at night, when he was lying alone with a pillow clutched to his chest, listening to Abed’s slow, steady breath below him, and then late at night with a pillow clutched to his chest, missing the sound of Abed’s breathing below him when he moved into what was the Dreamatorium. In class, as a teacher droned on about equations, or some old white guy’s book. Waking up in the morning to Abed’s light footsteps passing Troy’s door. In the shower. 

It was so good. Even though it lasted just a few seconds, and it ended before Troy could kiss him back, before he could pull him as close as possible and run his hands through his hair, and press a hand against the small of his back, and run a hand over his chest and shoulders and neck, and tug at his shirt and hair, and listen to his breath catch in his throat, and maybe hear him hum into Troy’s mouth, or feel his throat vibrate under Troy’s lips. Troy realises he’s thought about this a lot more than he thought.

“Troy?”

Troy startles, his eyes snapping from Abed’s mouth to his eyes, and Abed’s brows are turned in, the way they do when Abed is worried he missed a social cue. 

“I…” Troy stares at him, unsure of what to say. Finally? Thank you? Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease do it again? If Abed could hear what’s going on in his mind he would just hear static.

“Did I misread that?” Abed says, worry painting his voice like a canvas. “I thought-- I’m so sorry.” His shoulders slump and his hands fall from Troy’s chest.

“No--” 

“It’s just-- I’ve wanted to do that practically since we met but I never did because I didn’t want to ruin anything,” Abed says, his voice almost too fast for Troy to understand him, his eyes jumping away from Troy around the fort. “Because I thought you were straight, and I actually thought you were homophobic for a while because you were so cool and that’s how all the cool kids were at my high school, but I also just liked you so much I didn’t want to mess anything up, and I thought kissing you would absolutely mess things up. But I also just don’t want to lose you because you’re the best friend I’ve ever had and probably the best friend I will ever have, because there’s no one else like you, and I’m just so in love with you, I--”

Abed’s voice cuts off abruptly and his eyes cut to Troy’s wider than Troy’s ever seen them, except the time a repairman fixed the clock for daylight savings, and the time Abed accidentally walked in on Annie changing. 

“What?” Troy says softly, his mouth still ajar and just beginning to spread into a smile, but Abed doesn’t notice. 

“I’m so sorry,” Abed says, exhaling the words. “I don’t want to lie. I am. But I’m just-- You’re---” He stops and gasps, his hands curling at his chest, his shoulder hunched. 

“Abed, it’s--”

“I don’t want to lose you,” Abed interrupts. 

“You’re--” 

“You’re my best friend, you understand me better than anyone else, and I don’t know--” Troy lunges forward, his palms to Abed’s face, pressing his mouth against Abed’s, squeezing his eyes shut, and Abed lets out a small whimper. Abed responds almost immediately, his hands jumping to hold Troy’s face, pulling him in and sliding his hands around to bury his fingers in Troy’s hair. 

Troy hums, pulling away before licking his lips and leaning in again, trapping Abed’s bottom lip between his own, letting himself do all the things he’s wanted to for so long, all the things he didn’t allow himself to think about unless he was absolutely positive he was alone, just in case someone can read minds. He can feel his heart hammering his chest like it’s trying to escape, and he pulls away with a gasp, shivering at the slick sound of them separating, remembering suddenly that if he wants to keep doing this he needs oxygen.

Abed doesn’t let go of Troy’s head, running his hands over his hair until he clutches at the back of his neck, holding him close as Abed breathes heavily, his eyes shut. Troy pulls him in, brushing his thumbs across his cheeks, under his eyes, over his jaw. 

“I’m in love with you too, baby,” he breathes. 

Abed lets out a sound, a choking, whimpering “Oh,” and he pulls at Troy’s neck, crashing their mouths together, and then their lips are sliding across each other, and their hands are moving, over each other’s hair, and neck, and shoulders, and as Abed tentatively slips his tongue across Troy’s lower lip, Troy’s hands pull at him, tugging desperately at the small of his back until they’re completely pressed together.

A small part of Troy, a cynical, scared part of Troy, expects Abed to pull away, for Troy to open his eyes to see that where Abed is supposed to be is just air. He expects to wake up in the middle of a final he wasn’t prepared for.

But that doesn’t happen.

Abed’s arms slide across his shoulders, wrapping around his neck, and Troy wraps his arms around Abed’s waist, sighing as Abed tilts his head, gently, carefully biting Troy’s lip, and Troy wonders how the hell Abed got to be so good at this. How the hell Abed got to be so good at Troy, because every single thing he does, every gentle bite, every subtle push of his jaw, every swipe of his tongue, is so indescribably perfect. 

This wouldn’t happen in a movie, Troy thinks, because it’s going on too long, because Abed’s tongue finally pushes into his mouth and he hums in response, his fists gathering the fabric of Abed’s t-shirt, instead of grimacing and pulling away to half-heartedly mouth down his neck the way he did with every girl he ever dated, and because a boy like him would never get the one he really wants. But he doesn’t care that it’s unrealistic, cinematically speaking. And he supposes Abed doesn’t care either. 

Abed slides his hands over Troy’s neck again, up over his jaw, and brushes his thumbs over Troy’s cheekbones, and it’s soft, and warm, and so tender, that Troy is sure his legs would give out if he was standing up. They part after a while (Troy has never had a good internal clock), Abed pulls away to look at him, his eyes gleaming at him.

“This is so cool,” Abed murmurs, caressing Troy’s face, and Troy scoffs tearfully, nodding. After another soft kiss, Abed lays his head on Troy’s shoulder again, sighing, his fingers playing with the strings of his hoodie, twisting and rolling them before he stops, pressing his palm to Troy’s chest, and Troy is sure he can feel his heart. Troy closes his eyes, smiling as he runs his hands over Abed’s legs, hips, waist, to the small of his back. He’s warm, even through the t-shirt. 

“So now what?” Abed asks after a quiet minute. 

“Hm.” Troy opens his eyes blearily and nudges his cheek against the top of Abed’s head. “We can watch a movie or something if you think it would be okay.” 

“No, I mean like…” Abed lifts his head and looks at Troy again. “Like with us. Do we tell the group that we’re together?”

Troy grins, happiness overtaking him at we’re together, and leans in, kissing him. 

“We can,” he says when they separate, after taking a moment to admire how wistful Abed’s expression became. “Or… Secret relationship trope?”

Abed’s face lights up, his brows raising and his eyes widening and his mouth grinning, and Troy almost giggles. 

“Oh, I would like that,” Abed says breathily, pulling Troy in from the back of his neck and kissing him again. Troy still feels like there are swarms of butterflies trying to escape him. “We can just let them figure it out,” he adds when they part and their foreheads press together.

“Mm. I mean, we probably won’t be much different than how we always are.” “We are kissing much more, now.”

Troy lets out a giddy snicker, pressing his mouth to  Abed quickly and watching as Abed leans in while Troy pulls away, his eyes locked on Troy’s mouth. 

“I’m very happy right now,” Abed says softly. 

“Me too, baby.”

Abed beams before burying his face in Troy’s neck.

---

Troy doesn’t know how long it is before Annie pulls open the blanket and finds them there, still sitting on the floor, wrapped around each other. Abed looks up first, lifting his head off Troy’s shoulder, and Troy smiles softly before looking over Abed’s head at her. It’s brighter outside the fort, and he can’t see her face clearly because of how bright it is behind her. He thinks briefly that she looks like an angel. 

“Hey, guys,” she says softly, and Troy’s heart swells. “I’m gonna make dinner, but I could use a little help in the kitchen, if either of you…” She trails off, twisting her mouth to the side. 

“I can do the dishes,” Troy says, resting his head on Abed’s for a second before lifting it, and she nods. “Do you wanna stay in here a little longer?” he asks Abed. 

“Uh…” Abed leans back, letting his arms slide back from his neck. “I was thinking I might pray. I usually go to the mosque on Fridays but I don’t think I’m really up for going out. Is that okay?” “Yeah, of course,” Troy says as Annie says, “Of course, you don’t need to ask about that.”

“Okay,” he says quietly, a small smile on his face. Troy gives him a little nod with a quirk of his eyebrows. Okay?

Abed nods, glancing down at Troy’s lips before looking back up. Troy lets his hands slide off of Abed’s waist, letting his fingertips linger for a moment, trailing off of him, and he leans in to press a chaste kiss to his forehead (he can’t help it) before pushing himself up to stand, following Annie out of the fort. 

He turns back to pull the blankets shut, seeing Abed crawl across the floor to when his prayer rug is stored, carefully placed between the bunk bed and the wall, and when he turns back to go to the kitchen, Annie is looking at him, a small, knowing smile on her face. 

“What?” he asks, trying to act natural, like she didn’t totally see them cuddling on the floor, like she didn’t totally see Troy not wanting to let go of Abed, like she didn’t totally see Abed look directly at Troy’s mouth, like she didn’t totally see Troy kiss Abed’s forehead about as lovingly as humanly possible.

She shrugs nonchalantly, turning to the kitchen.

And he lets himself smile.

[crickey-itsjake]

A Titanic Tragedy || BDT Fates

Titanic fates are revealed. Who lives? Who dies? You’re about to find out.

T/W: Alluding to drowning but nothing graphic, flooding, titanic themes in general

It had been an amazing journey so far. Windy decks. Fun things to slide around on that went left and right. Jake had only thrown up once a day over the side of the top deck. Made you feel bad for him but he'd gotten through worse, Sparky had seen it. They'd gotten themselves out of way worse pinches before than a little chunder over the side of the railing.

Jake hadn't gotten into any fights with anyone, which was kind of a miracle if you asked his dog. Don't get him wrong, they'd come close, but no one wanted to be stuck on a ship down in the down-down below part with some angry people who smelled funny. They had funny smelling shoes too, but that was another matter he got scolded for so he didn't sniff shoes anymore, or chew on them. Yeah, the chewing might've been the problem. He couldn't really tell, he just got kinda yelled at whenever he got near a shoe now.

No, it was much nicer to be up above deck with the wind and the sea air and only the mild stench of gastric juices along with whatever food Jake had shared with him earlier that day. Sparky had no idea where they were going but this journey sure was fun. It was a good time. And he was with Jake. Jake his mate. Jake had taken him in off the streets a couple years ago. Jake gave him food. Jake was a good Jake.

As much as Sparky wanted to be up the steps, Jake was down here. Why was he down here? Sparky needed to know. He sniffed about, hopping up on the place that he slept that was below the other person's place where they slept. Sparky couldn't climb up there so Jake had to pick the lower one. He wagged his tail as he circled around his mate, looking at what he was doing. His head was down looking at some rustle sounding thing with black stuff all over it. It was really thin and it had shapes on it. Shapes that looked sort of familiar like the trees back home but they looked a lot different. He never saw that sort of gate before either. He wonder--wow it smelt like the air above deck right now. He really wanted to go. He could pretty much hear and smell the water now. Which was weird, but maybe someone got water on their shoes? He sniffed to try to find the salty--oh hat! He grabbed Jake's hat, picking it up. Hat meant they were going outside so he tossed the hat onto his lap on top of the thin thing.

The blonde haired future zookeeper looked up at his best mate and laughed, speaking in a hushed tone as his cabinmates were sleeping, after all, it was essentially midnight. "You want to go up then?" Sparky barked excitedly and jumped off the bed. Everything already smelt like salt water and it made him excited.

"Oi, Shut that dog up…I'm tryna sleep over here, mate…" He grumbled from the top bunk, shifting around with a creak.

Sparky's ears just perked up at the other person, head tilting as his ears flickered. Jake got up, tucking the flyer for the Bronx Zoo into his back pocket and grabbed his hat. The dog just jumped around, knowing he should be quiet because it was dark and when it was dark he was supposed to be quiet or he would get yelled at by other people. Jake never yelled at him.

The door opened and Sparky was hit with an even stronger smell, but that wasn't what he was focused on. He was focused on the fact that one side of the boat had water on it. Water he could play in! He ran excitedly. He didn't get to touch the cold water when he was above deck.

"Oi, Sparks!" Sparky continued sprinting towards the water as other people rushed back away from it. Why were they running from the water? Shouting started. His ears picking up on all sorts of tones and words that were not good. Not good at all. Not at all in his two years of experience. Something was wrong. He looked back and saw Jake looking at him like the time one of those big machines people rode in on the hard, bumpy ground almost hit him. He was running

If Sparky understood more than a few words, he would've heard: "The ship's sinkin'! Oi! Everyone get above deck! Evacuate! We're sinkin'!"

He slowed down, but still kept on going. Why was Jake--Oh, the water was cold! He jumped around in it. "Sparky!" That got his attention.  "Come back!" He immediately perked back up and looked to Jake who was still coming for him, but getting held up by people shoving past him the opposite way.

And then it happened. The door at the end of the hall flooded open, sweeping Sparky out from under his paws and hurtling him forward back towards Jake who could only watch as his best mate, the only thing he loved in this world, the only thing he needed to take to America with him, was swept up into the white water tidal wave.

Fuck, Jake hated the water. He had a split second to spot Sparky's black tail through the rolling wave and hurtle himself into the wall of water. It was like being hit with a wall of ice, knocking the air from his lungs and stinging his eyes as he fought to keep hold of Sparky and break to the surface to give the poor animal some oxygen. He kicked the floor trying to slam himself into the side wall to try to get into one of the rooms. He hit the side of a wall with a ton of force (luckily it was a stairwell), pushing as hard as he could to push Sparky above the surface and try to climb his way, crawling up the stairs to try to get to higher ground.

He gasped for air. Sparky sputtering, coughing and sneezing at his side as he thought of one thing. Survival. It was all he'd done his whole life and he'd do it again. Work your way up from the bottom. It's all he could do and this was no different. They didn't have much time with how quickly the area was filling.

Sparky knew now why they weren't supposed to touch the water. The water was dangerous. It all made sense now. They had to get away from the water. He did not want to do that again. Not at all. He felt himself lifted up quickly, being put over Jake's shoulder as he clung on for dear life, barking along the way as Jake stumbled forward up the stairs. His breathing wasn't right. Sparky knew that. He didn't sound okay.

The Australian ran as quickly as he could, up through the stairs and up the next corridor until they came to a gate. Who the fuck locked the gates? Other passengers were shaking the gate, trying to use furniture to knock it down, all in a panic. The shivering dog on his shoulder kept turning its head to bark at the gate as it rattled. Part of the gate was open but they weren't getting enough of it down to get them all through and it was a mad house. He couldn't push his way to the front. The water was starting to climb the staircase. He knew what he had to do.

Sparky felt himself being lifted from Jake's shoulder, he'd been staring at the water just coming closer and closer to him. It was loud and people were yelling. And then he was face to face with Jake who looked… well, he'd never seen that face before. And his face was wet. Well, the water made it wet but there was more water coming.

He whispered softly to his only friend in the world, "Alright, mate, you get on out of here. You live. You've given me more than I could ever ask, Sparks. Find someone good. Someone worth it. Get to America for me. See all the new animals ya can. It'll… it'll be a real nice adventure."

Sparky didn't understand. His voice sounded like all the times Jake had to go to work and leave him in the house. But it sounded worse. It sounded like goodbye. But they were together forever right? They'd be together. Him and Jake. Jake his mate. He wouldn't leave Jake. Jake wouldn't leave him. He licked the salty water off of Jake's scruffy face trying to clean him up. He was pulled away, an immediate whine before he yelped, his body being pushed up over people and over Jake's head to be lifted through the gap they'd made in the gate. He landed with a plop on the other side.

He turned back to Jake, confused. "Go Sparky! Go!" He yelled at him like he was supposed to go fetch something. But he didn't know what he was supposed to find. Anything? He wanted to help Jake. Jake was with the bad water. The water that had almost killed him. He'd help. He'd go find help. He took another look at Jake, who was being shoved towards the back again so they could clang against the gate. He yipped and barked repeatedly at him until he couldn't see him anymore. Help. He'd go find help.

He turned and ran. Ran as fast as he could. He ran up the stairs. He had to find Jake. He had to find the route up to more people. He kept barking trying to get someone's attention but they were all running too. No one was helping. No one would look at him more than a second so he kept barking. He was tired. So tired, but Jake needed him. He needed to find help. He barked and barked and barked through the higher deck. Not the really high one but the middle one. No one was there to help. He continued running to the next floor, barking but no one would listen either. He got to his favorite decks. The salty sea air hitting him but now with the stench of fear and yelling and screaming of little humans. He barked and barked and barked, narrowly missing people who aimed their paws at him and shoved him away from other people. Nearly got stepped on as he tried to get to where all the people were. People were going into the water. Why were they going into the water? Water was bad. There was a thing they were on. It saved them from the water. He needed one for Jake. He ran towards where people were getting on one barking and then someone picked him up.

Finally! Someone would listen to him. He barked and swarmed and licked the person's face. They weren't like Jake at all. Female. Wore kind of what Jake wore though. He'd never seen a female wear that before.

Monica Chino did not like dogs typically, well, the ones she grew up around at least, snobbish old ladies and their little dogs, but there was some way about the desperation in the dog at her feet that she had to lift him up. All 15 kilos of him.

"Oh so ya want to be a woman now, eh?"

Monica rolled her eyes at the steward who'd made a comment earlier about her wearing men's clothing. Everyone assumed she wanted to be a man because she wore the clothing that was customary for a man. Truly, it had saved her in this case. Imagine trying to get off of a sinking ship in all of that material? No, she'd dodged a near scrape of death by going with functionality. Also she held a few precious items in pockets in her coat and pants that she wouldn't have had, had she worn a dress.

"I have always been a woman. Now is no different. Before was the same. What does it matter the clothes that I wear. Women and children first was the rule. Or are you going to be a pig and deny a woman the right to her life?"

"What about the dog?"

"The dog is female." She deadpanned, though she honestly had no idea, she didn't look. "Also is a dog not a child? Would you have it die just as much as any child? Must I argue with you about this other matter entirely or can we get on the boat?" His face dropped at the thought of getting berated once more by the French woman and shook his head, helping her into the boat.

Good! They'd take it to Jake. They could get this thing to Jake right? The floating thing thudded down into the water, the lady wrapping her jacket around him and he poked his head out to see where they were going.

They were going away from Jake. They weren't going the right direction. Jake was back there. Why wouldn't they go to the other people? There were other people down there. Jake was down there. He whimpered and whined, letting out barks before the lady covered his head and he couldn't see anything.

"If you don't shut that dog up I'm gonna throw it overboard myself!"

"If you touch this dog, I'll make sure you most certainly go overboard with it!"

Sparky never saw his best mate again.

[elevenhoursinfront-blog]

9th December 2017

We allowed ourselves to wake up when we wanted. I mean, we had to be out by 1000 at the latest otherwise we would be charged, but we're always up way before then anyway. It was chilly at night and we did use the duvet. It was amazing. There's nothing quite like wrapping yourself up warm in a duvet at night.

Today, we were on the move to the Gold Coast. I've heard amazing things about this place so I was stupidly excited about it. I imagined it to be one of my favourite places. I was hoping it would live up to the name. It was only an hour and a half drive so we planned for the day.

I saw online that there was a deal for Dream World tickets. They were doing entry into the theme park, the water park and the sky point observation deck for $79 each. That's an absolute bargain in my mind. The observation deck itself was $20 each. I bought the tickets online as Steve was driving.

We arrived in Surfers Paradise around 1200 and my smile was from ear to ear. It looked amazing. It was a city but also a holiday destination. There were sky scrapers everywhere as well as palm trees. The sun was out and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. We were driving round for a long time trying to find a parking space. We drove along the coast looking at the beach. It was a massive stretch of white sand and crystallised water. There were surfers everywhere. It was Australia's version of Miami.

We found a car park that we weren't sure we'd fit in. There was a limit bar above us and I was so worried we'd hit it. We were obviously miles off and we did get in without losing the roof. It was an expensive one but what else could we do? Every space along the beach front was full and you're always limited to time. I had a coin bag which is what I had collected them for, silly things like parking. I had a good $200 in coins so we were set for the trip.

We walked through the centre to get to the beach front. There were shops after shops. It reminded me of our favourite place in NSW – Manly. It had that relaxed vibe. People were there for the beach and that was it. Swimwear and surfboards.

We walked along the beach and I started to get hungry. I had packed our extra pizza and half of mine from last nights dinner into sandwich bags. We didn't eat the garlic bread either. We sat on the beach watching the waves as we ate. I was so content.

We decided to go up the sky deck as we were right next to it and it was on our to-do list. We had our tickets, sort of anyway. I purchased them and a confirmation email had come through. The email stated that 'this is not your ticket, they will come through in a separate email'. That separate email never came through. I rang them up and asked what was going on as I was waiting to use them. They said that as it was the weekend, the tickets wouldn't be through until Monday. We were meant to be leaving on Monday so they better had think of something fast! They said that if we just show the confirmation email, we will be allowed entry. Let's find out.

We walked to the deck and waited in line. I went up to the person and explained. She seemed very unsure and had to speak with her manager. They allowed us in which was good. I would've been very upset if we couldn't.

We waited outside the lift and the door opened. We had to go up 88 floors. We stood inside and the lift moves so fast. I looked at the ceiling and there was a camera showing what it looked like from inside the lift shaft. It was incredible how fast we were actually going up. My ears kept popping.

After about 30 seconds of going up, the doors opened. We walked out and the room was a 360 degrees circle with glass walls. It's probably my Dad's worst nightmare. We walked up to the glass wall and looked out – it was unreal. We did the sky deck in Melbourne but there's something pretty spectacular about seeing a beach go for absolute miles. It was really quite the picture. I was so happy and taking pictures like there was no tomorrow. Steve walked off and went to the bar.

I found two seats next to the window and sat down. The views were just incredible. I couldn't get over it. You have the most beautiful city to your left, with skyscrapers and palm trees, rivers, lakes. You then have the longest stretch of golden sand separating the ocean from everything. It was quite the picture.

Steve came over with a beer for himself and a glass of wine for me. It wasn't too expensive so we thought, why not treat ourselves? We sat there for a good 20 minutes chatting away, admiring the view.

Once we were finished with our drinks, we continued to walk around the perimeter of the room. It was a huge room, obviously with a bar. A lot of people were having their Afternoon Tea. The views continued to not disappoint. We decided to leave after we were finished and waited for the lift. First on the Gold Coast to do list – done!

We left the skydeck and walked along the beach front. Steve saw an advert for Mini Golf so we were walking towards there. It wasn't until I Googled to find out it was $30 each to play, that we decided against it.

Funnily enough, the weather started to make a turn for the worst. The winds picked up and the skies turned dark. We walked back to the car as quickly as possible. I was getting really quite, how do I put this? The only word I can really use is shitty (sorry Dad). I was quite clearly knackered and I really needed a nap, according to Steve. I was just being very snappy and sarcastic, argumentative. You know, the average.

We drove to our campground which was a cheaper one. We decided to go cheap and then tomorrow, we will go expensive. Maybe. 

I had found one on our camping app that was only a 20 minute drive out of the city. It was $25 for unpowered but there was showers, kitchen, hot water, and free laundry.

The rain was really coming down when we eventually pulled up. It was a lady who obviously had way too much land so she 'rented' it out. I guess a lot of Australian's have a lot of land though, look at the size of their country!

She lived in a forest although it wasn't a scary one. It was a large area with a lot of ground and trees on the outside with some dotted within.

We passed her little house where we had to stop to give her the money. It was chucking it down so it was a run to and from the car. She told us that we could stay on the gravel area which is what we wanted. We didn't want to get stuck in the mud, again!

We pulled up, emptied the bed and I was told to have a nap. He was being fair to be honest, I really was tired. I struggled getting off to sleep because I was over tired. It was getting later and darker and we really needed to get dinner going. Plus, Steve has to sit there in the bed as it's raining.

It started to stop so we got out, got the table and chairs out to make dinner. We had decided on cooking veg as we felt so unhealthy. We bought some veg earlier on in Coles. The plan was to fry them in seasoning and have cashews with them. We got the table out and it had to go behind the van so that the boot door would block the rain from us should it start again.

Steve chopped all the veg and I stirred. How exciting! I love our little portable gas stove. It's amazing. I wish we had them at home, especially when you're entertaining. One flick and it's on! I am so easily pleased though. They've probably been around since the dinosaurs...

Our dinner turned out to be amazing. It was so nice to finally have something which was boarder-line healthy (minus the nuts and oil they were cooked in). We had enough veg left over to do the same dinner again another time.

As we were finished, the rain started ever so lightly. I didn't think that we had particularly long before the heavens opened again so I rushed all the stuff over to the kitchen to get it washed.

There was a little camp group staying at the same place. I guessed that they often stayed as it was loads of kids and a few adults. The kids had little cabins to stay in with bunk beds. They all had dinner together and dessert. Some of the aboriginal said to me that they were doing a performance with the didgeridoo later on should Steve and I want to come over and watch. I would've loved too but I probably would be asleep the moment my head touches the pillow.

I went back over and Steve had put the chairs and table away to stop it getting ruined in the rain. We jumped into the back and the rain got heavier. How irritating. 

We had another car pulled up next to us – a slightly bigger version of ours. A high top. Steve was desperate to get a high top but that wasn't in our budget. I love our little van and I wouldn't change it for the world.

We played some cards before getting off to sleep. Or, well, at least tried. The camp group didn't end up playing the didgeridoo as I heard them ask if they could play hide and seek instead. Sounds great but it was pitch black outside and one of the kids went, “Let's hide under their van!”. Erm, how about no?! Don't go anywhere near my van.

They didn't, or so I didn't think they did. We fell asleep after about 15 minutes of listening to them running around, shouting and what not. You can't get annoyed, you just have to remember what it was like being that age, especially with nothing around you to keep you entertained.

[artificialqueens]

Make America Gay Again (Shalaska) - Chapter 2 - Grey

A/N: Thank you for the kind messages on the last chapter! I really appreciated them. 

An ear splitting ring shot through the air. Sharon covered her ears as she watched Michelle pick up the phone installed in the bus. She tried to shake the nightmare she had been having, all that glass and wood collapsing around her as Alaska, covered in blood, continued to throw grenades into her grave, laughing.

This was worse than being hungover. This was far, far worse. Her head pounded, shoulders screaming with pain. Her legs were basically jello they were so tired, lungs aching for a breath, her ribs bruised.

She slowly, painfully changed into boy clothes and finally washed her face with some hand soap and water from a bottle.

It was still morning, the thin light trickled through the slats in the windows. She couldn’t have gotten more than an hour or two of sleep. Her mouth tasted sour, and when she brushed her teeth she spat out blood.

Michelle stayed on the phone for hours, her serious face on, talking to headquarters. Sharon wasted the morning, scared to look at Alaska and nervous to be around Willam after their tift.

The bus had parked in a deserted county an hour north of Austin, waiting for instructions on the next mission.

Eventually, Sharon found herself opening the emergency exit in the roof of the bus, just above the highest stacked level of bunkbeds.

It was February, early springtime in Texas, the earth barely shaking the dregs of winter. Springtime had been coming earlier than ever after Trump made the executive decision to end all attempts at preventing global warming.

She pulled her aching limbs onto the metal roof, relishing in the heat on her sore muscles. She laid out, pretended she was suntanning at the beach. She could practically hear the distant crash of waves, the call of seagulls, Alaska’s ecstatic laugh at her side. They used to go to Lake Erie together every summer, where Alaska had grown up. She’d tell Sharon stories of being a kid, riding her bike through those same roads, getting ice cream at that now-closed convenience store when she got chore money from her mom.

Sharon could recall their drive up the lake the last  summer they were together. Trump had just been declared as the Republican nominee the night before. Alaska had held Sharon’s hand the entire car ride up, silent, rubbing her long thumb along Sharon’s knuckles. The quietest act of rebellion.

Sharon was yanked harshly out of the memory as Phi Phi climbed through the hatch and laid down next to her on the roof.

They were quiet for a few moments. Tensions between them had been high after their season of Drag Race, but it was hard for Sharon not to come to like Phi Phi. She was so determined and headstrong, so brash and unafraid. So unbelievably extra. It had taken a while, but eventually they realized the reason they had feuded so much was because they were so alike.

“It’s so nice up here” Phi eventually said, looking up at the wide desert sky. Not a cloud in sight, the sun was steadily climbing higher and higher as the time spun closer to noon.

Sharon “humphed” in agreement.

“Not like the mess in the bus.” She said. Another long pause rocked between them. “Alaska’s gonna be okay. She climbed far enough away from the explosion that most of her injuries were just from the fall from the crane.”

Sharon nodded slightly, her tangled hair swaying slightly in the weak breeze.

“Are you mad at me for letting her do it?”

“Phi Phi, I love ya girl, but if you’re looking for a fight now is not the time.”

Phi scooted herself closer to Sharon, turning her head to look at her. “You can’t make enemies out of all of us. Willam alone could kick your ass.”

Sharon turned to look at meet the other’s eyes, glaring. I could totally kick Willam’s ass. She thought annoyed, before seeing the glint in Phi’s eyes, the half smile on her tan face.

The two locked eyes for a moment before Sharon snorted out a laugh, rolling her eyes. “Okay, fine, I’m not mad at you. I just don’t know how all of you could be so irresponsible.”

Phi rolled her eyes. “Sharon, you’re being ridiculous. If you were the one to throw the explosives you’d do it in a heartbeat. And what the fuck are you doing now? Yelling at Willam for playing a small role in maybe slightly injuring Alaska, who you haven’t even talked to since we got back?”

Sharon bit her lip slightly. They had deflated since juviderm had become inaccessible. They made her feel so young, so untouched. It brought her back to being a kid, when she felt afraid all the time. Of the bullies, of herself, of all the uncertainty she had housed in her skinny frame.

She was absolutely terrified to talk to Alaska, for a thousand reasons she didn’t have words for. Alaska seemed like this distant concept, this idea that she had missed so fucking dearly for the past year. She couldn’t be real, that perfect person couldn’t actually exist. Her bony elbows and kind eyes and soft lips were some sort of fever dream, and holding them so close to her body last night as she ran back to the base was frighteningly real.

It felt like standing on one foot, reaching out into the mist, hoping someone would steady you. And Sharon was too afraid to see if Alaska was still standing in all that fog.

“Do you miss Mikhael?” She asked finally.

“He… he got deported, last May.” her voice shook, turning her eyes away. “They cut overseas mail, so I haven’t spoken to him since. I don’t even know where he is. I don’t even know if he’s alive.”

“I’m so sorry.” Sharon said, touching Phi’s shoulder gently. “I didn’t know.”

“You know, all those Trump supporters? How can they still believe in him? How has any part of this country become greater than it was before?”

Sharon sat up, legs folded crookedly under her malnourished body. “They’re evil fucking people. And if they’re not, they’re terribly misguided.”

Phi Phi wiped away a stray tear, rising into a seated position.

“I really am sorry about Mikhael.”

That fire returned to Phi Phi’s eyes. “Don’t let them take Alaska away from you Sharon.”

“We’re not… we aren’t… that’s over.” Sharon struggled out. “We can’t focus on that right now. She doesn’t love me anymore.”

As that sentence left her lips, she was hit with the idea that it might be true. That it probably was true. It had been a year, after all, since Sharon had refused to join Alaska and their friend Jeremy on the last plane out to California. A year is a long time in a war. Sharon had never considered the possibility that Alaska might have moved on. It was too painful.

Phi Phi was looking at Sharon like you’d look at a lost dog, a mix of pity and something else playing along her lips. A soft noise came from behind and they both turned to see Courtney, half out of the hatch, resting her elbows on the top of the bus with a crooked smile on her face. Her pink hair was tousled around her shoulders, mixing with the freckles dotted along her tan skin.

“You don’t just un-love someone.” Courtney said in her Australian know-it-all way. But her words had a soft certainty to them that drew Sharon in. “Sure, the other emotions, the new experiences might pile on top, might stifle the love. But it’s always there. You can’t run away from it all Sharon. Once you slip into that intimacy with another person, you’re linked forever. You already knew that.”

Courtney’s smile grew at the incredulous looks on the other two’s faces. “Come on back into the bus, make up with Willam. We’re going to eat soon.”

+

They ate lunch around the small coffee table that rested in the middle of the sitting area of the bus. Next to it was the long couch Alaska was recovering on, bookended by the two small armchairs that smelled like mold. Lunch consisted of cold beans, granola, and limp lettuce, with chicken for the non-vegetarians.

Sharon, cross legged across from Alaska, struggled to maintain eye contact with her mash of food. She didn’t know if she was embarrassed, guilty, or-god forbid-feeling things.

Willam plopped down next to her. “So ya gonna say sorry?” she spouted through a mouth full of chicken.

“I didn’t think you were the kind of person who needed an apology” Sharon asserted, looking up from her food.

“However-” she cut off Willam as soon as she opened her mouth. She didn’t need one of Willam’s monologues right now. “-I am. Sorry, that is. You did the right thing, the plan or whatever. I just got scared.” she quieted at the last sentence, stealing a quick glance at Alaska, who had miraculously been able to sit up for her meal.

“Ha! Pussy.” Willam laughed, but it wasn’t mean. Somehow all the shit that spurred out of Willam’s mouth never seemed to be mean. Sharon joined in laughing. She was just glad to be back on Willam’s good side.

Trixie slunk in from the bunk area, finally awake. “Mornin’ sleepyhead.” Willam chidded.

“How are you Alaska?” Trixie asked, her Wisconsin accent stronger with exhaustion. She was in one of her pink nightgowns, but wig and makeup-less.

Alaska moved to sit up a little more, Michelle hovering around her cautiously. Not having her real daughters to fret over had made Michelle more protective than ever.

“I’ll be fine” she drawled. And despite the damage she had sustained - it looked like she would be. Her arm was still fractured and her head wound would sporadically start bleeding sometimes, but the dizziness and confusion was fading.

“I’d rather be in your shoes than have to have another fucking night on guard with Michelle” Trixie rolled her eyes.

“You sure missed some drama” Raja joined, perched on the arm of one of the chairs. “Sharon nearly had a conniption, and Willam was passed out for a good minute or two after the shit went down.”

“You guys get all the fun” Trixie pouted jokingly.

“You were on guard because you were the only one who hasn’t been involved in any revolutionary activities before.” Alaska explained, always the rational one.

“So I hope fucking Katya in Australia for the past year was worth it.” Willam yelled, Trixie screeching and smacking him.

“For the record it was, you cunt” she stuck her tongue out as the noise died down.

“Heard she’s a total slopabottomus now.” Willam said factually, finishing his food and slinging an arm around Courtney.

“Do you have a fucking radar for when tops turn to bottoms?” Sharon asked incredulously, having confirmed Katya’s new sexual position by the redness spreading across Trixie’s cheeks.  

“A bell goes off and a picture of the fallen top flashes in her mind, like the fucking hunger games.” Alaska replied, laughing. She made eye contact with Sharon for a second, still giggling. Sharon could feel her heart swell with pride. Making Alaska laugh was one of the most fantastically happy things a person could do with their life.

“Even halfway across the world” Sharon noted.

“There’s probably hot gay aliens Willam can sense bottoming right now.” Alaska replied, still laughing.

Trixie interrupted the two, “All aliens are gay and that’s a fact.”

“The dead dad from Contact wasn’t gay” Courtney chimed in.

“He wasn’t an alien, bitch he was just dead.” Raja said through a mouthful of food, completely drowned out by Trixie screaming that someone had brought up Contact.

Sharon, half listening to the yelling match about whether the dad from Contact turned into an alien when he died, watched Alaska’s pained face as she tug on Michelle’s arm and whisper something to her. Michelle guided her carefully off the couch and into the back room, as the oblivious queens starting animatedly discussing whether Matthew McConaughey was gay too (“He has to be, anyone who agrees to wear that priest outfit for an entire movie has gotta be on the Kinsey scale.)

Sharon waited a second before quietly stepping around the scattered queens towards the bunks. She hesitated outside the curtain, trying to make out the near-silent whispers of Alaska to predetermine how welcome her presence would be.

Michelle didn’t looked surprised to see Sharon as she shuffled awkwardly through the curtain.

“Sweetheart, I have to go talk to Shawn. Could you sit with Alaska for a while? She’s in some pain.”

Sharon sunk into a crouch next to the lowest bunk bed. Alaska had curled into it, carefully moving around her bandaged left arm, the ulna of which she had snapped.

She was still smiling a little, lips also slightly smaller now that plumpers weren’t readily available for refill.

Alaska looked so much younger, with her short hair and fuller eyebrows. But the war had aged everyone’s eyes. Sharon could remember how tired Alaska looked those first few days Trump was in office. Every racist, sexist, or homophobic executive order that got sent out was like a personal stab at Alaska’s giant heart. A heart that by now could probably barely fit in her absolutely emaciated chest. If Alaska was skinny before, she was verging on disappearance, tucked into the bunk.

It took all the restraint left in Sharon not to run her finger along the others cheekbone. Just to test and see that she was still as warm as she remembered. Still as soft. Still smelled like earth and sweetness.

“I’m sorry.” Alaska broke the quietness.

Sharon almost laughed, it seemed so ridiculous to her that Alaska was apologizing.

“We shouldn’t have deviated from the plan without letting everyone know. We didn’t account for you and Raja hearing the first explosion, or for Willam’s yell when it went off too close to her. Raja told me how much that scared you both.”

Sharon stayed quiet. She didn’t know how to reply without being overwhelmed in emotion.

“It was irresponsible and it could have gotten you hurt.”

Hearing Alaska in this executive position was definitely strange. Everyone knew she was the best person to lead the operation-level headed, calm, intelligent beyond belief, able to make difficult decisions-that’s why she had unspokenly been accepted as such. But Sharon still saw that fierce tranimal in the PIttsburgh clubs, breaking the rules and laughing about it. Watching her become this grownup…

“And I just wanted to apologize.”

“Alaska…” Sharon could feel her eyes welling up, meeting the wide blue specs of her former boyfriend, someone she never thought she’d see again…

The only words she could choke out, “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

They both stayed silent for a moment, making and breaking eye contact, flitting in and out of the past.

Sharon finally broke the silence. “Do you remember how we used to go up to Lake Erie over the summer?”

“Yeah and you’d bitch and moan about getting too tan and how your fans would be upset if you showed up anything other than ghost white.” Alaska laughed.

“That’s not… really?” Alaska kept laughing at Sharon’s incredulous confusion.

“Yes, and you wouldn’t go in the water because it was too cold.” Alaska kept laughing breathlessly.

“Do you… do you remember any good things?” Sharon took a shallow breath, distraught thinking that she had misremembered it all.

Alaska stretched out her arm, touching Sharon’s cheek gently with cold hands. “Of course.” She said quietly. “Of course.

“We’d sleep in my childhood room because we couldn’t afford to rent a beach house, and you whispered into my pillow, like it was a telephone to the past, that baby Justin shouldn’t worry so much about fitting in, because one day I’d find you and I’d be happy. And my mom would make us pancakes every morning, and you’d eat them even though you hate pancakes, just to make my mom happy. And you’d kiss me every time you saw a seagull and said it was for good luck, even though we both knew you made that up. And one summer you made me laugh so hard I peed myself in that candy shop, and I can’t even remember what the joke was about.”

Alaska blue eyes gazed into Sharon’s, inches away. Her slow voice drawled over the words preciously, giggling intermittently. Her hand still rested on Sharon’s cheek. The world had faded into that fog, leaving the only the two queens.

“Don’t you miss all that?” Sharon asked, barely audible.

“I can’t afford to think about that any more.” Alaska said, her lips only slightly parting around the weight of the sentence.

“I can’t afford to stop thinking about it.” Sharon said, surprised at her honesty.

The sentence hung heavy in the air. It was true, Sharon thought. The thought of reaching Alaska again was the only thing that had kept her going all those months.

Alaska pursed her lips softly, curling her hand off Sharon’s face and back into the bed sheets.

After moments of silence, Sharon broke eye contact, yawning deeply.

“You’re tired.” Alaska chewed her bottom lip before opening her arms, pushing back into the depths of the bunk. “I know the couch isn’t very comfortable. You can sleep here if you want.”

Sharon, slightly shocked, moved from her crouching position into the small bunk and Alaska’s arms, careful of the broken one. Alaska’s long arms tentatively crept around her waist. Sharon gripped at the other’s hands, overwhelmed that after day upon week upon month of imagining Alaska’s body next to hers, it was finally there.

Her hands were shockingly cold, but she still somehow smelled the same.

Sharon felt the other’s forehead nudge against the back of her neck, pressing her nose into Sharon’s spine. Alaska’s voice softly whispered into Sharon’s messy hair,

“The world doesn’t stop for two lovers gone wrong.”

Sharon laid silently for a moment, absorbing the thought. “Do you think we can try to get it right again?” Sharon replied quietly, but Alaska had already fallen asleep.

[caredogstips]

Ann Patchett:’ If writers are to survive we must take responsibility for ourselves and our manufacture’

The author explores buying her own bookstore, the bequest of divorce and referring to herself in the third person

In the windowpane above Ann Patchetts desk is a small steel and enamel sign that reads: What good shall I do this day? This simple dictum is the engine of Patchetts world, both on the sheet and off. In the Orange prizewinning Bel Canto , comradeship, ardour and productivity bloom among terrorists and captives; in 2011 s artful State of Wonder , a sensible research scientist faces not just the serpents and other frights of the Amazonian jungle, but the dragon of her former medical lecturer.

I have been shown so much kindness in “peoples lives”, so for me to write volumes about good, species parties seems totally natural, Patchett tells. When “theyre saying”, Oh its too nice, its naive, I just think: who killed your mother?

It infringes a literary inhibition to write fiction that hints parties might be fundamentally good. For the 52 -year-old Patchett, however, the real taboo was writing about their own families. Commonwealth , her seventh romance, publicized this week, encompasses 50 years and two pedigrees, the Cousinses and the Keatings, whose common fate is set in motion at a gin-soaked christening defendant where Albert Cousins caresses Beverley Keating.

Today, the very best that Patchett will do involves picking up a columnist from Nashvilles airport and devoting her whole daytime to zipping around township in her little silver Prius, testifying mentioned journalist her world-wide. Even if she hadnt published an paper, The Mercies, about her schooling with the Sisters of Mercy, you might guess that Patchett had been raised by nuns. She excretes that sleeves-rolled, get-on-with it ability, paired with the clarity and occasional brutality of true-blue righteousness. To watch her in action is to hear the Mother Abbess from The Sound of Music sing, Climb Evry Mountain. Patchett climbs every mountain, but she will also croak an occasional, and deliciously un-nun-like, fuck!

What do you do when the bookstores in your hometown all shut down? If youre Patchett, you open one yourself. In 2011, she founded Parnassus Books, an idyll in a shopping plaza, with her business marriage, Karen Hayes. She has since become a rallying spokesperson for independent bookstores.

I feel that writers are treated like orchids: they keep us in the hothouse, they cloud the americans and attend to our every motivation, but if this system is going to work, if we are going to survive, we need to come out of the hothouse and take responsibility for ourselves and for the health of the industry.

She takes a firm line. When customers visit the bookstore and keep telling her Amazon is cheaper: Im like, You cannot come in, soak up what we have, talk to the staff, get recommendations, then go home and buy the book on Amazon. If you do, I will hunt you down and smack-dab you guys later. Somehow, she lends with a smiling, Ann Patchett can say that in a way that your regular bookstore owned cant.

She leads the way to the offices at the back, where young women work with puppies at their hoofs and on their laps. One of the salesclerks pokes her president around the door and tells Patchett that theres an Australian fan here who would really like to meet her.

All right, here “theres going”, and Patchett psyches out to the storey to signal four replicas for her love. Later, she tells me that when people tell her how much they cherish her notebooks, Im smiling, and Im grateful, but I almost dont know what theyre speak about. Its so far away, and what I am thinking at that moment, is: I hope I am cooking my face in a way that I seem hired and grateful.

She and her husband, the surgeon Karl Vandevender, talking here Ann Patchett in the third largest being, as do her friends and peers at the bookstore. Theyll reply: Oh, we need Ann Patchett for something, and Ill run: Ill see if I can conjure her up. Ann Patchett, she reads definitively, is the label. Ive got to employed that away at the end of the day.

All of her tales, she explains, are the same floor: a group of parties are thrown together and must forge connections to survive. Ive been writing the same journal my whole life that youre in one family, and all of a sudden, youre in another family and its not your option and you cant get off. Eventually, she expected herself: I wonder if I wrote the storey that Im so carefully not writing, if I might be free of it?

As soon as she began working on Commonwealth , the story of her own parents divorce and her precede life with stepsiblings, she announced her intentions to her family. Thats brave, I say.

Yeah, it is. It was also really smart. She told them: I dont want to cut off a part of my life any more. I dont wishes to not have access to my own experience because I dont want to set anybody out. I want to be able to grow. And, I find, until I get this done, Im not going to grow. And everybody supposed: You lead, girl!

Patchett concedes that, until this stage, shed been very self-congratulatory over not having written a volume about their own families, which seemed like the strong, easy thing to do. Then she read an paper by Jonathan Franzen in which he insisted that the novelist has to do what intimidates him “the worlds largest” and, for him, that had been writing about his family. When I speak that, I thoughts: oh , good-for-nothing would scare me more. I would happily razz down the Amazon in a canoe and is being dealt with serpents[ as she did to study State of Wonder ] rather than face my family.

In the entitle paper of her 2013 non-fiction collect, This Is the Story of a Joyous Wedding , she details the lineage of divorce in her own family, including her own at the age of 25, and her eventual matrimony to Vandevender. There is a sense in that paper, which moves in steady, clear-eyed increments, of a columnist willing herself into facing and articulating hard truths, of which this is paramount: Divorce is the history lesson, that circumstance that must be remembered in order not to be repeated. Divorce is the rock upon which this faith is built.

She remembers sweat swarming down her appearance as she wrote it, while she experienced the distinct sensation that she was sitting in the middle of the road in the dark, with a legal pad, contemplation: Im going to get squashed by a truck.

She writes candidly, for example, that she, her sister and their stepsiblings werent the products of our mothers joyous wedlocks: “were in” the flotsam of their divorces. In Commonwealth , that flotsam is the intense little tribe of the six Cousins and Keating babes, each of whom corresponds to her own stepsiblings.

Its like chess fragments, she tells, as she explains that each persona stood in for a real family member. In this mode, it was very easy for me to keep track of everyone over 50 years. And genuinely, I committed everybody a high quality of life, by a very large margin. The parties in the book somehow represented my dearest desires for all the people.

Its dedicated to Mike Glasscock, her half-brother, reimagined here as Albie, a very young, whom the others find so annoying that they narcotic him with Benadryl to induce him sleep for hours. Years afterwards, as a bicycle messenger and recovering heroin user, Albie chances upon a romance called Commonwealth by a writer announced Leo Posen. He realises it is about two pedigrees, his own, about the inestimable burden of their lives: the occupation, the houses, the friendships, the marriages, the children, as if all the things theyd craved and worked for had cemented the impossibility of any kind of merriment. He wonders: Isnt that what everyone wants, just for a moment to be unencumbered?

Its surely my greedy lust, Patchett laughs. Franny, whom the nun had led to believe that God granted preference to people who did things the hard way, is a cocktail waitress when she first fulfils the famous novelist Posen.( Who wants to have a novel about a novelist? Patchett groan. But thats the way it turned out .) He becomes so drunk that she must help him up to his hotel chamber, where he has only enough time left to ask for one more advantage, which Franny thought was the deepest difference between women and men. Eventually, that dynamic is enlarged in incidents established in the Hamptons, Long Island, where Franny spots herself expected to single-handedly acquire dinner and liquors for changing hordes of Posens clients. Theyre some of the funniest of the book.

You wanna talk about which part of this volume is autobiographical? Patchett reads. That fraction. How exhausting it is, as the status of women, to always be the one who has to do the meat and change the bunks. No topic how enlightened, how much of a feminist I am, I am still doing all of it.[ With] every journal I conceive: well, if this ones actually successful, maybe I wont “re going to have to” acquire dinner any more, she laughs. Perhaps Ill finally is how to not do this any more, because its my fault. Its is not simply gender, but the 12 years of Catholic school and being trained to be a good servant. I believe in this, I truly believe that the greatest event you can do is to serve.

Oh, if I could free-spoken myself from the autocracy of good deeds, she mocklaments. Oh, there used to be no stopping me. I could be Tolstoy without good deeds. I has actually be something.

Over lunch she tells me that she read a Charles Bukowski poem that morning that aims those who/ replace/ know/ this secret :/ there isnt/ one. Its abide with her, perhaps because writing, more than any other art formation, is susceptible to regulations, premier among other issues being to write every day.

Dont you think guys are the ones that always say that? she adds. Im not sure Ive heard a woman say you have to write every day. Theyre too busy obligating dinner. I go through extended periods of time when I dont write, and Im fine. Writing is an amazing situate to hide, to go into the rabbit defect and pull the trap door down over your premier. I want to have time in my life when I dont have that cover.

She also insists that there are things that are a lot more important than me writing a novel. For illustration: If person told, OK, you can either write five more great novels, or you are able to made to ensure that the people who work in bookstores have health insurance and have some home to depart if they need assistance because theyre transgressed. At this stage I might certainly go for the very best. Nothing fuels the good of “the worlds” like gaiety, and the thing that sees me feel really alive is figuring out how I can startle other beings into doing good.

To ordering Commonwealth for 15.57( Bloomsbury, RRP 18.99) go to bookshop.theguardian.com or announce 0330 333 6846. Free UK p& p over 10, online orders merely. Phone orders min p& p of 1.99.

Read more: www.theguardian.com

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[loyola-downunder]

Penguins, Koalas, and Roos, Oh My!

Over the weekend, I went to Phillip Island, a lovely little island off the Victorian Coast. I got to explore gorgeous beaches, hang out with some awesome Aussie critters, and meet some pretty amazing people.

Day 1:

The Loyola Crew was off on another weekend trip, along with about 25 other international students. I was excited to get away and see more of the country, and not sure what to expect. I loaded my suitcase onto a trailer attached to the bus, and was met by four very friendly tour guides. Pete, one of the leaders, checked my name off the list and told me to hop on one of the two buses, hinting towards the one on his left. James, one of the other tour guides, would be our driver, and Pete was his copilot/DJ/singing partner. They were a rowdy couple of guys who kept us entertained the entire weekend. They are definitely my favorite Australians I have met so far.

We stopped on the way to play with boomerangs at a park. The boomerangs were hand carved by Aboriginals, which made the experience even more special. I was horrible at throwing them. I aimed towards the wind, and flicked my wrist as hard as I could. But my poor boomerang came crashing down. Thrown correctly, they’re supposed to turn around and fly back towards you. Someone’s boomerang hit me right in the back of my knee, giving me a nice raised red scratch for the rest of the day.

Later, we arrived at our accommodation, which was the nicest hostel I’ve ever seen. It was located next to a RipCurl surf shop and just steps from the beach. I laid on the bottom bunk of my bed and felt the sea air blowing through the window next to me. “I can get used to this”, I thought.  After a pizza dinner, we were off to see the penguins! Phillip Island is home to the largest colony of fairy penguins in Australia. Named for their small size, fairy penguins are the smallest species of penguins in the world, and are distinguishable by their bluish feathers. Summerland Beach on Phillip Island is famous for its Penguin Parade, where each night at sunset, the penguins come in from the ocean to sleep on land for the night. 

We bundled up and braced the wind, our eyes fixed on the waves, straining for a sight of the little penguins. When the sun finally dipped below the horizon, they started approaching the shore. But they were cautious to avoid the sea hawks flying above. Crossing the beach was the most life-threatening event of these penguins’ lives, with all the predators hovering, ready to swoop down and make one of them its dinner. But when they finally felt safe, the penguins huddled up in a group and waddled across the sand as fast as their nubby little legs could carry them. It was quite comical to watch, even though they were running for their lives. They leaned forward and shuffled their little webbed feet in a panic, their wings flapping out behind them. All of them made it successfully to the other side.

We walked back up on the boardwalk to get a better view of them. There were man-made wooden homes scattered on the cliffs where the penguins slept for the night. Others just burrowed themselves underground. I wished them goodnight, knowing they had just accomplished an amazing feat.

Day 2: 

That morning, we headed next door to RipCurl to see their history of surfing exhibit. There was a 360 degree movie theatre, which made me feel like I was really riding the waves. They had lots of signed photos, trophies, surf boards, and other memorabilia from famous Australian surfers. I looked around the store and had to restrain myself from buying a $60 towel. Even if I’m not a surfer myself, I love clothes that make me look like I am. 

Then it was time to hit the beach. We drove down to Cape Woolamai beach for a relaxing scenic  walk along the cliffs. I walked barefoot up the wooden staircase from the beach up to the cliff. We walked for about a mile, stopping for photos along the way. The views were so amazing, I kept repeating to myself “wow, I can’t believe I’m actually here”. From the top, I could see the ocean to my right and the bay to my left. The scenery of plants, sand, and sea formed a jeweled mosaic of emerald, citrine, and crystal. At the end of the trail was a group of tall jagged rocks jutting out from the water like the ruins of an ancient castle.

We climbed down to the other side and found ourselves on a quiet bay beach with enormous sand dunes. Our tour guides pulled out boogie boards, and explained to us the delicate art of sand surfing. Pete barreled down the steep dune on his stomach, landing gracefully in the water. As fun as it looked, I was hesitant to try it. But I knew if I didn’t, I would kick myself later. After watching a few more people give it a go, I just went for it. I grabbed a boogie board and started running up the hill. I was out of breath almost immediately. With every step forward I took, my feet sank into the sand, causing me to slide backwards. There was no traction and nothing to hold onto. I dug my board into the sand in front of me trying to pull myself up. I finally reached the top, and tried to catch my breath. But my breath was knocked out of me again when I looked down and saw how far away the ground was. My instant reaction was to panic. But before my mind had time to talk me out of it, my body was grabbing the board and throwing myself down the hill. I let out a squeal of fear and excitement and before I knew it, I was back on solid ground. It was actually really fun. But once was enough for me.

Day 3: 

On our last day, we took a quick tour of the Phillip Island Chocolate Factory. It was a very fun exhibit that brought out the inner child in me. I got to play carnival-style games and sample delicious dark chocolate. And I even won some free truffles! Then we boarded back on the bus to San Remo. It’s an adorable little fishing town just across the bridge from Phillip Island. We walked along the pier, looking down at the graceful sting rays gliding through the shallow waters. Some were as big as boats! Then, a giant pelican came waddling over to the marina. A crowd began to gather around him; it was time for him to put on a show. Every day, pelicans show up to the same spot where a woman feeds them fish. Today, Frankie the Pelican was the only one who showed up. They are well-trained birds, and are quite comfortable around humans. As long as they don’t get too close.

After we watched the pelican eat lunch, we had our own little picnic lunch by the shore. I was so exhausted that I passed out in a hammock for a little while. Then it was time for our last stop of the trip, the Maru Animal Park. This is what I had been waiting for all weekend. I finally had the chance to get up close and personal with some of my favorite animals. The first thing I wanted to see was the koalas. For 15 Australian dollars, I got to pet and take a photo with a real live koala, which is totally worth the money in my opinion. I got to meet Desi the Koala, who looked very sleepy, but content sitting in her fake tree. Her fur was fuzzy like the inside of an Ugg boot, and when I held up some eucalyptus leaves to feed her, she grabbed the whole thing right out of my hand! And when I took a selfie with her, she looked directly into the camera. 

There were a bunch of native Australian animals at the park, like wallabies, Tasmanian devils, emus, and dingos. But my favorite were the kangaroos, Australia’s most famous marsupial. The kangaroo pen was the only one that was completely open to the public, with almost no supervision. I found it kind of strange that they let just anyone walk up to these kangaroos, but I took full advantage of it. There were several groups of them, just chilling in the shade. Males, females, adults, babies, even albino kangaroos. When we approached them with food in hand, they started to perk up. I scooped up some kangaroo food in the palm of my hand and held it out towards them. One of them approached me timidly, and then took some nibbles of the food. I felt its whiskers tickle my hand and its warm tongue licking between my fingers. I was in heaven. 

I made it my mission to meet every single kangaroo in there. I found a kangaroo family laying next to a barn. The daddy kangaroo was huge; probably taller than me if he stood up straight. The muscles in his back and shoulders were visible through his fur. And the claws on his front paws made me want to stay far away. But even he started interacting with us, and the rest of his family was very friendly. Especially the baby kangaroo, or “joey”. I don’t know why, but I really felt a connection with the little joey. Even though I had no food in my hand, he still followed me around, hopping right behind me. I think the spirit of Steve Irwin just came over me and I became a kangaroo whisperer. I crouched down to play with him and take some selfies, and found out that he is one of the most photogenic animals I’ve ever met. He was so cuddly and adorable and I wished that I could take him home with me. But when it was time to rejoin my fellow humans, I said goodbye, and left him with his kangaroo family.

[mistakesandadventures-blog]

“When The Lights Go Out – The Chronicles of a Japanese Hostel”.

The Common Room…

DCIM100GOPROGOPR0897.

DCIM100GOPROGOPR0896.

These are just some of the totally unbelievable bullshit experiences I’ve endured over the last 4 nights. Yes, you read that correctly, over the last four nights only. These are meant to be funny, but not a word of them is a lie. I hope you enjoy, because I certainly haven’t.

Just a little note before we begin; this hostel does not have the usual curtains on the bunks to help create any kind of privacy, so lights and sounds are at their full effect.

Part 1: A Hands On Experience

A typical New Years Eve story this is not, or at least I would hope it isn’t. If it is, you really need to sort your shit out. The boys who had turned up to stay the night at the Guest House Kaine seemed nice, and were quite smitten with each other which made for a nice change to the otherwise cold and rather emotionless hostel. They seemed like decent roommates, that is until the lights went out and the guy occupying the bunk above mine turned out to be a jerk off.

Literally, he jerked off. I first noticed it when the bunk started to squeak and shake slightly, and then the rustling of hand against blanket at a frenzied pace. This continued intermittently as people kept interrupting his public private time by rudely entering and leaving the dormitory. You could say their coming into the dorm stopped him from…you know what that’s childish, moving on.

So it wasn’t snoring that made New Years Eve and technically New Years a living hell, but the laboured breathing and hand motion sounds of a Latino gentle man handling his business for near 3 quarters of an hour. The added fact he tried to subtly head to the bathroom after he was clearly done was near laughable as everyone in the room had figured out why the bed was squeaking. My question is…why didn’t he head to the bathroom in the first place? Common courtesy doesn’t exist these days, not within a hostel. To say this was a ‘hard to handle’ situation is an understatement.

Part 2:  Chainsaws and Creeps

 Last night was the worst night I’ve experienced in Japan. It began after I was woken up by what I thought was a maniacal bear wielding a chainsaw trying to cut through the walls roared through the room. It wasn’t said bear, but instead a Japanese man. A Japanese man, who like all the others I’ve met, cannot breathe once the lights dim. I am not a light sleeper in fact I’m a very deep sleeper, I am just bad at getting to sleep. To wake me from the depth of my slumber is no easy feat and he did it with flair. He was relentless. It was a full on assault beginning at 2am in the morning, but he wasn’t alone.

The supporting cast was made up of a Japanese man who filled the bear’s gaps with his own inharmonious rasping as his body desperately tried to leave it’s mortal coil but the stubborn bastard just wouldn’t let go. He was joined by a soft undertone of quite frequent but lighter snoring by the man across the room who on his own was not that much of a problem, but combined with these two he helped form one of the most unmelodious symphonies in the history of music.

Things would only get worse when a fourth member would enter the dorm at 5am, yes 5am entry, and proceed to challenge all of them for the lead as worst snorer around. So there I was in a 6 man dorm, with 4 of my fellow hostel members sounding off into the fog.

Things reached the height of disaster when the only other guy in the dorm who wasn’t snoring went full creeper. He was inhabiting the previously occupied jerk off bunk above me and was pretty great. That is he was great until 6am when the sounds of people waking up in the hostel started to filter down to our room. The moment he heard footsteps and the sounds of high feminine voices he leaped into action. Literally, he hurled himself off the bunk at one stage. Why did he do this? Well, it was to peak his head out and stare at the women as they walked past to use the toilets and go to the showers. When they had gone past he returned to the bunk. Then the sounds of more women were heard and this time he clunked and climbed his way down the bunk, thudded onto the floor, and again peaked his head out to see them. Leaving the door open this time, and flooding my bed with light, he grew bolder and actually ventured out and followed them up the hallway. You can’t make this stuff up…This continued another two times until he figured out the most effective method to creep was to sit on the couch outside our room and stay there.

I lay there mentally and physically exhausted from a lack of sleep I realised that my only hope was to wait until they all checked out before trying to sleep. This worked, until the cleaning lady appeared. I give up.

Part 3: Sumimasen

“Sumimasen, sumimasen, gomenasai”, anyone who has travelled in Japan will have heard this more than they’ve heard any other phrase. Just go to a restaurant and have anything happen and you’ll hear it a dozen times before another breath is taken. Which would lead a lot of people to assume that the Japanese are a wonderfully respectful and polite people right? From my experiences I’ve found that to be wrong. The rudest hostel-mates I’ve had are Japanese men and this guy was no different.

It was my first night in the Kaine Guest House and I was eager to sleep. I was having a terrible day and it was time to say goodbye to December the 29th. It was a blissful slumber until at 3.30am when in came Japanese man. Almost immediately both of the lights to the room came on and the door slide into place with a loud thud. The bags were the first to be thrown about and right next to my head a thundering boom was heard as his hardshell case hit the wooden floor and flew open. So began the half an hour unpacking of his night bag which consisted of choosing which clothes to sleep in, where his toiletries might be, and of course this wouldn’t be complete without the plastic bag crescendo. Plastic is everywhere in Japan and it’s never more obvious than when you’re A) carrying your rubbish around for 3 hours because there are no bins, and B) when someone decides to pack or unpack their bag in the wee hours of the morning. Eventually he found what he needed and the lights went out. He went off to shower which did nothing if not reinvigorate his need to piss everyone off. As he returned instead of turning the lights on again he used his phone torch at full strength…right in my face…as he went back to his bag. As I told him in my traditional Australian swearwords to turn the light out he returned with the coy “sumimasen, sumimasen”. Then continued to shine the light my way as he rustled more bags. It wasn’t until I tried to get out of bed to physically stop this that he retreated to bed and apologised again.

I’d like to say that was the end of it but he was up again at 6am and repacked his bags…this took twice as long and it was as if the plastic bags had multiplied in the scant few hours since the unpacking. I never saw him again, hence why I’m not in a prison cell.

So as you can imagine dear readers right now I am very much at the “End of Blair Witch” stage of my mental break down and an escape can’t come quick enough.

Thanks for reading guys! I hope you found these funny so something good comes of this. Feel free to tell me which one seems like your worst of the three nightmares and if you have any of your own ridiculous hostel/travel stories please feel free to let me know. If only to remind me I’m not alone in this ridiculousness!

Japan – Hostel Chronicles "When The Lights Go Out - The Chronicles of a Japanese Hostel". These are just some of the totally unbelievable bullshit experiences I've endured over the last 4 nights.