Hello, Goodbye

I spent my last De Bier Haus night at Alley’s.

She threw a midnight dinner party that Sunday, and everyone dressed up. All the girls wore dresses and brought desserts, and all the guys brought savory. Everyone brought a bottle. (My contribution was, admittedly, pretty lame). Aaron and Ryan mixed cocktails, while the rest of us sampled everything from cheeseburgers to cheesecake. We played Drinking Jenga, and within hours, the couches were pushed to the walls to make room for dancing. (Within hours of that, blankets and pillows were laid down for an epic slumber party. Everyone slept fairly comfortably, considering.)

We went out for sushi the next day and spent a little time playing in the park. Then, after a much-needed nap, my next concentrated effort was killing time until Wednesday, when John would arrive.

I kept myself as busy as I could: doing the predictable things, namely, reading a trashy sci-fi novel and watching even trashier television. At night I’d count down to myself: two sleeps left. Not tomorrow but the next day. Finally: tomorrow. Twenty-four hours. Eight hours!

I spent Wednesday mostly shopping. After lunch, I took the bus to the Pak-N-Save, and filled a cart with fruit and vegetables, pasta, cheese, beans, tortillas, soup – enough for three days. Then I went home, put everything away, and started to bake bread. I measured the water and the sugar, added the yeast, and waited for it to bubble; then added flour and salt. When the dough was formed, I pushed it against the floured countertop, concentrating on the music playing, allowing the rhythmic motion to calm me.

While I waited for the dough to rise, I made a pasta casserole ready for John’s arrival. After nine hours on a bus, I knew he’d be hungry.

Almost before I knew it, the clock read twenty past seven, and I started my walk to town to meet him.

On a normal day, it took me half an hour to walk to town. Today, though, I was there in fifteen minutes (although I wasn’t consciously rushing). With more than fifteen minutes to wait, I decided I had time to pick up my glasses from work.

I couldn’t help myself from half-running back to the bus station.

I saw the Intercity bus pull away from the curb, and after it had passed, it revealed a familiar figure watching for me in the wrong direction.

I ran full-stop toward him, across the street. He heard my footsteps approaching and turned. A foot away I almost hesitated, but then threw myself in his arms and breathed in deep.

It was the best hello I’d ever had.

We took a taxi home, not allowing the air to separate us, putting aside John’s bags and the flowers he’d brought me. We ignored the driver completely, but tipped him well when we arrived at home.

After two months’ separation pining for each other, it is no surprise that we spent the next three days in bed. With difficulty I convinced John to come upstairs and eat – he followed close on my heels, and kissed me in the kitchen.

Unfortunately, we did have some practical matters to take care of. We had to pack, for one thing: we would leave for Rarotonga the very next day. We also had shopping to do (we planned to take as much food as we could), and a million little errands -  library books to take back, film to develop.

Donelle called, and it was hard to say goodbye to her. Meeting her and her family, spending time in Ward and hearing the stories of her life, these were some of the highlights of the trip for me. New Zealand would have been a very different place without Dee, and I am so grateful for her time and love.

I stopped by De Bier Haus to say a final farewell to my co-workers. I would miss them all too, I realized, but I was also so looking forward to the next leg of my adventure. I was anxious to be home, and I was ready to be back in Polynesia.

So, with an early day in front of us, packed and ready, we went to bed for the last time in New Zealand.

We rose with the sunrise. On the kitchen counter we found two tumblers of rum and a note: “Happy travels and take care. To start your trip off right, drink in one. Andy.”

We eyed the alcohol without much enthusiasm, and finally downed our glasses after our cornflakes, shuddering a little. Straight rum at 7 a.m.? I hoped I would not regret it on the bus.

Our journey was underway without a hitch, though. We hadn’t forgotten anything, the bus was on time, and, miracle of miracles, when we arrived at the airport, it turned out that our luggage was exactly the right weight. If we had brought just one more can of vegetables, we’d have been done for.

John was so excited to be going. He curled up in his seat with a movie and a grin, rubbing his hands together with mirth and anticipation.

As the jet engines propelled us away from New Zealand, I felt ready for the next page of my adventure.