Driving in Australia

I have learned that when I’m not in love, it’s miserable. For our sixth year anniversary, we flew to Australia for three weeks. Through Sydney and over to Adelaide, where we caught a little two prop plane to our first official stop, Kangaroo Island. All the while we held hands, smiled at each other, and pointed out the windows. We were going to see Kangaroos, Wallabies, seals and if we were lucky, penguins in the wild, mate. Mate! Everybody talks like this, mate! G’day, mate! So cool! This was going to be our dream trip, a fantastic, romantic, adventure of a lifetime.

And my biggest worry, driving in a car built backwards, on the other side of the road was turning out to be a piece of cake. Kangaroo Island wasn’t very populated. All the roads were two-lanes surrounded by nothing but shrubbery. I was focused and as always Christie became my little navigator; looking at maps, pointing out signs and feeding me snacks. We were this great happy, happy team. This was love.

We first drove to seal beach where we stood next to thousand pound seals sunning themselves after a morning swim. Awesome. It was like actually being in one of those Discovery Channel shows. The guide taught us things like, the seal can swim for 17 minutes without coming up for air and can dive as deep as a mile for food. That they would charge out through the waves toward Antarctica trying to escape the greatest of all predators, the
Great White Shark.

Christie and I stood against the railing overlooking the ocean wrapped up in each other’s arms. We looked at each other with deep admiration, thinking, “I love you.” “Thanks for making this happen.” I’d say, “Christie, you want your jacket honey? You cold? Here you go, let me zip that for you.” “You want a picture with that seal?” She set her love filled eyes on me with a smile that wouldn’t stop. Hand in hand we walked back to the car, ready for our next adventure.

I’m driving along the empty roads toward the exit of the seal sanctuary when Christie says, “Ohhh, look John, we have some cookies. You want some of my cookie? Huh? You want some of this?” I think, “I’m driving 25 miles per hour. No one around us. No one on the road. The long road lined each way with only shrubs. Shrubbery everywhere. Sure, I’ll have some of your cookie.” I nibble at her fingers as I drive. I look at the road, look at the cookie, look at her, then back to the road. Nibble some more. I think, “this is fun, this is love, this is living!” And as I am nibbling the chocolate off her finger tips, I make a left turn onto another empty road, into the wrong lane.

“John what’re you doing?! You’re on the wrong side of the road,” she yells. “Okay, okay,” I say. My hands casually spin the wheel into the long empty lane to our left. “O-kay, Christie, we’ll just get back over here.” I smile over to her, “I mean there is no one around for miles, so it’s okay.” My smile drops. “John you could of killed us! Aren’t you watching where we’re going?! You have to stay on the right side of the road! I mean what if someone else was coming,” she says.

“What?! What, Christie, what?! What is the risk? What is the big deal, What am I going to do drive into a shrub,” I ask.

But on she goes, “John you have to get this! I mean we are going to be driving in the city. Maybe we shouldn’t drive. Maybe we shouldn’t of rented this car. Maybe this is a big mistake, John. This was a bad idea! I mean do you even think what could of happened?!”
All I can think where is the love? It’s like all the love’s getting sucked, phoomp, out the window. It’s like she’s hitting my head and hitting my head and hitting my head with her words. Boom! Boom! Boom! You’re wrong! You’re wrong! Wrong! Hitting me down. She’s taking my head and just rubbing my face in it. It’s like I’m that one seal that charges out through the waves and runs right into a mouthful of huge white teeth and blood and chomping. And chomping! Chomping!! She’s completely changed. One second she’s feeding me cookies, it’s this romantic trip and the next second, I look ... and she’s the great white shark. AAAhh!!

That’s when my wall goes right up. I think, “You don’t want happiness? Fine. I’m not going to talk, not going to turn on the radio. I’m just going to drive. I’ll be the perfect driver for the next three weeks. No fun. Not going to sing, not going to smile, or look for animals, or make cute voices. I’m not going to think anything. I’ll just be the perfect driver for the next three weeks our romantic anniversary trip.” I hate this feeling. Why do I turn into this pulsing, frustrated, angry man? I could just take this steering wheel and just bend it right in half. I could get out, rip out the seat, take the car and throw it off a cliff. But... I don’t.

I try to hold on, because this has happened before. I used to clench my fists and sometimes hit my leg. Then she’d say, “Oh, what are you doing, John? You want to hit me? Is that what you want to do? Am I your leg you’re hitting?” “No,” I say, “I don’t want to hit you, Christie. I am not a wife abuser. I am just angry at the situation, Christie, can’t you see?” So, I just get quiet and don’t say anything. I just breathe.

She says, “Oh, okay you are just going to be quiet and not say anything? You just do that, don’t talk to me.” And that stupid last word tennis match starts. “I won’t.” “Fine.” “Okay.” “Good.” And this is our trip. I feel so ugly. In the silence my brain the questions pour in. Racing through my head in an instant. “Am I really in love with this woman? Is this going to happen for the rest of my life?” This mood feels permanent, like being tortured in hell. That scares me. I just want to be happy with her, nibbling at her fingers, like I was one minute ago. One minute ago! Feeling inside like I can’t wait to be with her. Like when I get home from work and see her standing in the door with her cute smile and hug. I’ll just want to eat her face up, gobble up her cute little lips and cheeks and hair and all of her and that’s love. That’s where I want to be.

Instead, all I can see is myself getting out of the car saying, “you drive. No? Well, that’s it. I’m going back to LA and you can stay here with the seals.” I think, “Where is that Australian girl from the airport? She’s cute with that accent. It would be fun to get to know her. She wouldn’t complain about my driving. She’d think I was doing good for an American. No, she’ll probably complain about something. Everyone has something. Everyone has something.”

I think, “Okay, I must be doing something wrong. How could I have dealt with this better?” I hear another man speaking through me. My perfect man in his perfectly calm voice, saying, “Okay honey, yes drive on this side of the road. Thanks for reminding me, little navigator. No, I won’t kill us, you little jokester. I was eating your cookie and nibbling at your sweet fingers. Can you blame me, really? We can’t be doing that anymore. Yes, I was bad, bad, bad.”

And she could say what ever she wanted. And I would just smile unaffected. I’d be like a porous sponge. It would soak into me, but at the same time, it would just go right out of me and it wouldn’t mean anything, because I know she’s acting this way because of her own fears or something.

But, unfortunately, I’m like a big net that catches all her comments, tones, and feelings; trapping them inside. They glow red like lava and want to explode out like a volcano. That scares me. That volcano could ruin everything. I could ruin this marriage. So... I sit... in silence... breathe.

A couple of hours go by, sometimes more, sometimes less. It seems like days and months. It feels like a dessert waiting for rain. No life around, only hot steamy air that’s suffocating, and dry-hot sand to crawl on, and no relief. Where’s the rain? Where’s my relief?

Then, finally, the clouds break. A laugh, or an accidental touching of elbows, a look at her cute lips, or a touch of a hand pulls me away from my wall of angry solitude. I get to the end of my cycle remembering, falling over what really makes me happy. Her gift of love, encouragement, a team mate, a playmate through life, for life. Kisses and closeness and sharing. Our relationship, our six years. How I can’t imagine it any other way.

I let go and see clearly what love is. It’s not me leaving or the other girl. It’s me, not hitting my leg or raising my voice. It’s me wanting to be better, to grow, to evolve so that we do live in the happiness, in the love, more and more. And then I know... I do love this woman.