Finally submitted my creative writing piece! A lot of blood, sweat and tears went into the first chapter of my supposed novel. Okay. Maybe just the sweat and tears. I think this is probably the most serious piece of fiction writing I have started. I would love to continue it.
Feel free to read it here!
If there was one thing I could say I disliked about travelling, it was flying. No. Please let me rephrase that. There is only one thing I hated about travelling and that is the sickening turbulence, which accompanies flying. There is no worse feeling than being strapped to the a scratchy upholstered seat, clinging to its armrests, praying to whatever deity you believe in that you do not regurgitate the breakfast you devoured fifteen minutes before hand. You have no idea when the next unsuspecting dip, following jolt or series of violent shakes will follow. It is only when the ‘fasten your seat belt’ sign lights up, do you mentally and physically prepare yourself for the terror that is to come.
I whine softly when the plane takes a lurch downwards then back up again. ‘So much for praying’. My left hand clutches the cold metal armrest of my chair. The other clutches Phoenix’s hand.
‘Calm down, it’s only turbulence’, he said, rolling his eyes at my behaviour. Phoenix. He lives up to his name, fiery temper and unpredictable. My mirror reflection, you could say. Best friend and worst enemy. Stubborn minded, sharp tongued … and as judgemental and impatient as ever.
“Easier said than done. I’d rather be back home.”, I replied moodily.
My brother looked at me incredulously.
“Jesus, you sound like a petulant child, and you’re the older twin. You’d rather be back in Sydney, back with Caitlin?” Phoenix asked bluntly.
I inhaled sharply and turned towards the window overlooking the white nimbus clouds. I closed my eyes. Behind the darkness of my eyelids, I recreated the painful event that had plagued me the past week: my break up with Caitlin.
“You just don’t get it, do you Jasper?”
Get it? Get what exactly. I look at the figure before me, her head bent in defeat. Her voice, faint and dejected. Long dark brown locks of hair, cascading around a beautiful face, her fair complexion wet from tears. Caitlin. Caitlin, why are you crying?
“I’ve had enough. You’re-… there’s no point in being in a relationship if a person’s affection isn’t being reciprocated.”
What is she talking about? Reciprocate affection? What the hell does that even mean. We’re doing fine. I extend my hand to brush away her tears but she backs away from me, flinching as if I’ve struck her.
“No…Jasper. I think, we need to be apart for a while. I can’t cope anymore-“
“Jasper? Jasper!” Phoenix shouted, tearing me away from the memory.
For the next few minutes that passed, I was completely silent, unable to respond.
“Fuck you, Phoenix” I said finally through my teeth. I was hurt. He knew I hadn’t gotten over her.
“As you know, we are beginning our descent into San Francisco international airport and have turned on the ‘fasten seat belt signs’. We advise you to please remain seated until it has turned off. Thank you” the Captain announced through the intercom. Both the turbulence and the announcement was a welcome distraction. Anything to divert me from Caitlin. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched guilt cross over Phoenix’s face. I felt satisfied. He let his tongue run away with him again.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up’ he said finally.
“It’s fine… but please. Don’t talk about her again”. I said softly.
I watched Phoenix remove his hand from mine to give my right shoulder a gentle squeeze. I pressed my head against the chair and sighed, exhausted from that one conversation. There was no use dwelling on the past. Instead, I turned my attention to the aisle across where our parents sat. My dad was completing a crossword and mum was frantically searching for her breath mints in her hand luggage. Beyond that, I could just make out the heads of strangers, their hair tussled and messy from static. From what I could tell, it looked like the bumpy ride had set everyone on edge. It’s a familiar sight, seeing that look of fear etched on men, women and children alike.
After another fifteen minutes, the turbulence finally eased. Stewardesses stood up from their seats, busying themselves once more with their duties. Some stopped to close the odd overhanging bin that had opened during the turbulence. Others came to collect the used air-sickness bags. I watched them walk briskly up and down the row of seats, pristine, clean, their uniforms hardly ruffled. Their faces seemed to glow almost unnaturally in the harsh white lighting of the cabin. I felt slightly ashamed of my appearance, seeing them dressed so perfectly. I looked at my reflection on the in-flight entertainment screen embedded in the seat in front. I resembled a scarecrow. My hair was straw, my black and blue checker shirt and sweatpants were creased. My eyes were heavy lidded and I smelt of plane upholstery and dust. I would have loved a hot shower.
Around 10:15 in the morning, Californian time, the plane began its descent. To me, that was a blessing. But if you’re an experienced traveller like me, these heaven sent moments don’t usually last long. As directed by mum, she ordered Phoenix, dad and I to literally run to immigration once we landed. Like I said, “Easier said than done”. Several other international flights had landed earlier, no doubt each carrying a load of a few hundred weary passengers. My legs were the consistency of jello, which resulted in me half limping/half skipping after my mother who was of course, charging through the swarm of people, her carry on baggage in tow.
Our misery was yet to come. Seeing so many people, I dreaded what was about to happen. Sure enough, it happened. The cue for international passengers was gigantic, slow moving, disorganised. I could feel every muscle in my face turn into a deep scowl. First Phoenix’s insensitive comment, delays, now cues. I grew more irritated by the minute.
“This is what happens when you don’t run”, my mum said cuttingly, gesturing to the crowd. I knew she was directing the comment at me. I bit back my tongue, too annoyed and worn out to retaliate. I just sidled into the long cue, grumbling to myself. Phoenix rested his chin on my shoulder and he flashed a tired smile at me.
‘Just grit your teeth and bear it’ he whispered.
Bear it? Bear what exactly? The cues or mum?
Bit by bit, we inched through the winding cue. For inexperienced travellers, immigration can be terrifying. You take for granted of what you can and can’t do in a public space. When you’re steered to the front desk, all luxuries and personal rights are non-existent. You’re identity is stripped once you surrender your passport to the piggy-faced security guard in front of you. You have nothing. You become nothing, exposed, even with clothes on. It’s the way they look at you up and down, just taking in your appearance, scrutinizing, judging. That little black gadget they call a camera is as distracting as fuck. It’s a third eye. You just have to stand there as rigidly as possible and stare. Stare into that tiny lens. Don’t breathe. Don’t blink. A shift from one foot to the other, a slight twitch of the nose can label you a threat. Just stay neutral, look bored. Look straight ahead and think of the adventures lying beyond this building.
There. It’s done. It’s those stamps and stickers. It’s funny how everyday objects can permit you to enter a foreign country. They’re labels, proof of identity. A brand… and I’ve just been marked.
“You can go now, sonny. You’re all clear”
I grimaced. Yes, you’re squeaky clean and all that shit. Hurry up would ya? I’ve got a thousand more to clear.
I followed my family to belt number 14 to claim our baggage. Out of the many trolleys that lined the middle of the baggage claim, I had to choose the one that was the most difficult to steer. No matter how many times I would cry, ‘Oops sorry!’ or ‘it’s the trolley!’, a series of profanities/complaints would follow after. Ten minutes of verbal abuse and embarrassment was an eternity. I never wanted to leave an airport as badly as I did then.
“Oh. It was you who was upsetting all those tourists” Phoenix pointed out, raising an eyebrow.
I shot my brother a glare as we trundled to the taxi rank.
Outside was pleasantly warm and dry. For once, I didn’t care about waiting in ridiculously long taxi cues. I savoured the warmth of the American sun on my face. I loved the feeling when you leave an airport. It’s just like a new found sense of freedom. Finally I’m here! I’ve made it to America!
Dad flagged a large taxi. More like a van then a taxi. We did have a shit load of luggage.
“A big family. Where you headed too?”
The taxi driver was a small man with pale papery skin, weathered and cracked like old leather. He looked as if he were in his sixties or early seventies at least. I couldn’t trace his accent. Maybe Eastern European?
‘The Intercon hotel’, my dad stated squeezing the last red suitcase in the trunk. I sat in the back seat, wedged between Phoenix and my mother. The taxi veered off from the bank and it wasn’t long before we were on the highway. I could smell sand, mixed with petrol. The windows were open and the feeling of the dry warm wind against my face was a welcome change.
“I’m Andrzej, your taxi driver for today”
‘Isn’t that obvious?’ As if hearing my thoughts, Phoenix nudged me gently in the shoulder.
Dad politely introduced the family and himself.
“You four aren’t from around these parts. Where you guys from?”
Never digress personal information to a taxi driver. Never say you’re a tourist or a citizen…
“Australia! I used to live there many, many years ago! I’m originally from Poland though” Andrzej replied cheerfully, easing the car into the left hand lane.
Poland… well I guessed Eastern European. Score! A Polish immigrant, he left his home country with his mother and travelled all the way to Australia to escape the hardships of the Soviet Union. His mother was young when she conceived him. I tried picturing the family. A pretty fair-haired farm girl and a tiny boy, as blonde and frightened as his mother in the arid, red outback and the bustling streets of the Sydney suburbs. I felt a pang of sympathy for our taxi driver. Forced to move from your own home and having to travel all the way across the world to another country, not being able to speak the language, no friends, must have been very painful. They, (thankfully) had family in Sydney Australia and moved in with them. His mother’s older brother ran a small but popular café, the name long forgotten, where she worked as a waitress and earned enough money for her son to attend a local public school. He was a quick learner, eager to ingratiate himself in the Australian culture. He made himself learn English, adopted the Australian mannerisms. He even tried picking up the accent. It took him twenty-three years to leave behind that ‘Polish’ identity and become an Aussie. I complimented on his learning of the English language in such a short period. Phoenix asked why he never picked up the Australian accent.
“Some things you just can’t give up. Even though I lived in Australia for twenty-three years, it doesn’t change the fact I’m still Polish. And listen here son, I’m proud to be!”
I turned my gaze to look outside the window. I could see the flat barren terrain, dotted with thorny shrubbery. In the distance, I could just make out the misty blue outlines of the mountain ranges, grey clouds at their peaks. I shrugged my shoulders, unimpressed. The landscape was pretty, enough. My mind slipped away like a fish that couldn’t be caught. To my surprise, it slipped back to Andrzej’s story. Once again, I pictured a young Andrzej sharing pink lamingtons among his smiling and laughing friends, his mother serving customers at your typical cosy teahouse in the Sydney suburbs. Poland. What would Poland look like? Would it be greener than Australia? I immediately painted an embarrassingly fantastical image of the country in my head. Dark, foreboding pine tree forests, green fields speckled with tiny white and purple blossoms, deep blue lakes etc. But his last words… those words…
His little back-story left such an impression on me. Could I ever achieve that kind of conviction? I found myself smiling at the thought.
The drive to our hotel was hour and fifteen minutes, including the heavy traffic on Main Street and Sunset Blvd. When dad discovered the ridiculous price on the taxi-meter, he accused Andrzej for deliberately choosing roads with the most gridlocked vehicles.
The hotel ‘Intercon’ was grand, and grand I mean garish. It stood in the heart of San Francisco, standing tall on top of a hill, over looking the entire city. To my mother's delight, it was also conveniently situated in the middle of the shopping district. I had to admit, the view was an impressive sight. I wouldn’t call the hotel bad per se. The staff were lovely and the service was phenomenal, just really old fashioned, stylistically. It was a large white washed stone building. Various statues of Greek men and women decorated the entrance; carvings you would often associate with Italian architecture or one of Sydney’s many law buildings. Even the entrance gates were embellished with yellow gold paint. That clean white stood out like a beacon amongst the red brick and grey-cemented buildings that made up San Francisco.
"So what do you think of the Intercon Jasper?" Andrzej asked me, as he helped dad unload the luggage from the boot of the taxi.
I craned my neck towards the intricate carvings, trying to find the appropriate words.
"It's... grand" I replied finally
"And vilely ugly" Phoenix added in a voice only I could hear. I choked back a laugh.
"Jasper, Phoenix, if you have time admiring the decor of the hotel, than you have plenty of time to help me unload the bags from the taxi!" mum shouted, startling several people for good measure.
I rolled my eyes and exhaled slowly, a little humiliated. My mother had a tendency to attract unwanted attention. She can be so obnoxiously loud sometimes.
The majority of our luggage had been hauled away by black uniformed porters, save for our hand luggage or anything containing valuables. I.e, my Apple Macbook pro for one. I couldn't help but feel sorry for them. They continued their duties with determined vigour, walking back and fourth like clockwork toy soldiers. However, their faces were shadowed with exhaustion. Poor things. I could understand how this must be a thankless job, transporting an ungrateful guest’s luggage over and over again. Instead of a tip or a ‘thank you’, the most likely appreciation they will ever receive is uncalled verbal abuse.
"Jasper, Phoenix, go inside with your mother and get checked in. I need to haggle a reasonable Taxi fair with Andrzej" Dad said, pulling his stuffed wallet filled with American dollars from his back pocket. I shook my head in annoyance. My mum's a loud talker and my Dad is as stingy as Ebenezer Scrooge. I swear parents can be so embarrassing.
Shouldering my heavy backpack, I followed Mum and Phoenix through the revolving cylinder glass doors and into the spacious lobby area. I swiveled my head round, in awe at the lobby's size. It was huge. From the high ceiling hung three crystal and gold chandeliers, which gave the lobby area much needed light. An unusual floral centerpiece stood at the centre, directly underneath the middle chandelier. It was a strange thing, entirely made out of various orchid species and in the shape of a beach umbrella. It was a work of art. To the left of the lobby was, I assumed a bar area, enclosed in opaque glass screens. To the right stood four polished ebony concierge desks with two staff members behind each one. Their black and gold uniforms matched the decor of the place, all warm browns, golds, and greens.
I tried making myself comfortable on one of the many beige suede sofas situated right in the middle of the lobby. I was slightly uneasy. I had never been in a place as fancy as this. The sofa inclined as Phoenix sat down next to me and he immediately began picking at a loose thread on the left leg of his jeans. His facial expression mirrored mine, one of awkward discontentment. Is this really where we will be staying during our trip? Men in freshly pressed pin stripe suits and women in brightly coloured sun-dresses, mingled together in small clusters, talking earnestly to each other. Their gaze fell on me and they scrunched their noses. They were disgusted at the fact it was my ass occupying the suede sofa, instead of some rich democrat.
I stood up, tense. I clenched my fists so tightly I could feel my own nails dig into the soft flesh of my palms. I couldn’t take those stares of scrutiny, this perfection, this grandness. I headed towards the glass doors.
“Hey, where are you going?” Phoenix called to me.
“I’m going outside for some air” I replied.
Outside, I was greeted with a slight rush of heat. The weather had become unbearably humid and sticky. The sun was blinding, sitting high in the sky. The little breeze that existed was uncomfortably warm, carrying the pungent scent of diesel from passing vehicles and heated mortar. The smell of city life. I raised my head to the sky using my hand to shield my eyes against the glare before turning my attention back to the guests that lingered in the shade of the hotel. Looking left and right, I watched an irritated mother push a stroller with her even more irritated toddler strapped within. A few feet away, a girl around seven cried and screamed, demanding her lethargic red-faced father to take her to a fair ground. A male porter, roughly my age stood at my left, his fingers, quickly flicking through several pieces of paper attached to a notepad. Above me, seagulls with their white feathers, tipped with blacked soared above, crooning softly to one another. Everyone seemed to be moving, going some place, somewhere and here I was, standing against a marble pillar. This way, that way, the din carried on. Completely immersed in sights, sounds and smells, I quickly grew at ease.
A hand was placed on my shoulder. I jumped slightly at the contact and my body stiffened involuntarily. I was a little startled to find Andrzej by my side. I thought he left ages ago. Didn’t he have other customers to attend to? I looked at the small wrinkled palm that was resting comfortably on my shoulder. I felt my brows knit into a scowl. Aside from Phoenix, I didn't like people touching me and doing this whole 'hey buddy shit', even if I did know them. I shrugged it off my shoulder and moved away slightly so a significant gap remained between us.
"Can you not?" I ask, stiffly.
Andrzej didn't seem to be fazed by my attitude. He just smiled, the creases on his cheeks lifting as he did so.
"Sorry there kiddo. I just wanted to ask you a question"
What the hell? If he wanted to ask something, just say it out right.
"What would you say if I volunteered to be you and your brother's tour guide during your stay?" Andrzej asked cheerfully, eyes bright and wide.
Uh... what? What the heck?
"I said what would you say-"
"I know what you said" I replied. I was in no mood for any of that polite crap. I had just gotten off a long haul flight and felt like a dishcloth run over a cheese grater seventeen times.
"Well then, what do you say?"
What was up with this guy? I crossed my arms, suspicious of his kindness. Old geezers like this one wouldn't be asking questions without some sort of motive, i.e., extra cash. I guess Dad had every right to be stingy. Telling his whole life story during a cab ride was one thing, but asking to be a tour guide afterwards and right out of the blue, is another. I've travelled the world enough. I've heard so many stories about tourists getting mugged on the streets, getting kidnapped on public transport etc. I had every right to doubt his intentions.
"And why would you do something so charitable as being a guide to complete strangers?"
"Well, you boys interest me. You especially, Jasper"
I cocked an eyebrow, ‘creeped’ out by his response. I mean, wouldn't you be?
"So what do you say? I can show you all the best places for you youngsters"
An old guy like you? I highly doubted that.
"You're serious?" I said, still incredulous.
"Bloody hell! You're a strange one aren't yah mate!"
I jumped a little, astonished. With perfect ease, he had dropped his curiously strange Polish/American accent and put on a convincing Australian one, slang to boot.
"Come on ya ding bat. An Aussie for an Aussie. It will be great fun" he laughed.
I groaned inwardly. I had to remind myself that this man was also an Australian before he immigrated here. Andrzej did have a point... but only to a certain degree. As someone from a completely different country, I distrusted him. But I couldn't distrust a 'brother from down under', even if he was a stranger.
"Ah Feck it!" I cursed softly, scratching the back of my head roughly. I always did that when I was irritated.
"Great! I guess I'll see you around then!" he said laughing at my reaction.
"That's not a yes! I'm sorry. I'll be fine on my own... I appreciate the offer but I don't need a guide. "
Andrzej's bright, jovial smile softened. It was the kind of smile an understanding parent would give to belligerent child and that unnerved me. He mumbled something under his breath. At the time, I thought he said 'disagreeable'... but thinking back, it could have easily been 'I disagree'.
"Well Jasper, if you ever change your mind, take this".
He took my free hand and placed a crumpled pink sticky note in the centre of my palm. On the small piece of paper in scrawled blue writing, read the numbers 1-546-907-3345. I examined the unfamiliar digit code. It took me a few seconds to realize it was a phone number. Why the hell, would he give me this?
"If you need anything, just text/phone me or whatever."
"Uh...". I couldn't think of anything sensible to say.
"No worries" he said, interpreting my lack of comprehensible vocabulary as a 'thank you'
I looked back at the small piece of paper clutched in my fist. He was so sure of himself. This Andrzej guy genuinely believed I would call him. I carelessly slipped the piece of paper in between my IPhone and its case. I'll throw it away eventually. He didn’t turn round to look at me as he made his way back to his yellow taxi but he knew I watched him do so, and he knew I would stand watching long after he had driven off through the black iron gates and disappear into the bustling city of San Francisco.
