The New Year’s Kiss

DAY: Six
LOCATION: Melbourne, Sydney

My immune system lost. I was officially starting out 2017 with a cold, maybe even the flu. Either way, I definitely had an embarrassing bout of regret. The thunder of the midnight fireworks had shaken me from my sweaty slumber, but I’d felt too ill to climb the two flights of stairs to witness the visual. Now, having listened to Aaron’s recap and viewing it online, I was beating myself up for having missed it.

“Why do I even care about something so trivial?” I moaned to my best friend Monika. “I just feel dumb because I was literally awake downstairs.”

“Well stop it. You’re sick and didn’t see some fireworks, big whoop,” she told it to me straight. But I still felt bad. The path to acceptance is a long one.

With a couple of hours to burn before my flight, I checked out one last café – Pillar of Salt. I ordered the Golden Latte, a turmeric tea and coconut milk concoction. Odd, but it grew on me. As I wrote in my journal, tales of last night’s debaucheries floated around. I smiled. I might be sick, but at least I’m not hung over!

Although by the time I boarded the plane I felt that way. Foggy headed, delirious, nauseous. Seeing Tim was going to be a delight. But in the words of Eminem, I only had one shot, I would not miss my chance to party with him in Bondi and meet his new girlfriend Rachel whom I may or may not be jealous of.

Sydney greeted me with muggy grey skies and a jovial Uber driver. We talked electronic music and Trump on the way to my Airbnb in Surry Hills. Laurel, my host, gave me a quick tour of her basement flat. It was hip and funky, with low ceilings, cement floors, five different contraptions for brewing coffee, and a decorative book on cheese.

Word to the wise: if you’re going to Sydney last minute over New Year’s on a budget, don’t. This was by far the most expensive and challenging city I’d booked. My first two private rooms cancelled (each around $100 a night), and so I’d ended up getting Laurel’s entire apartment for one night for $160, and a private room in Ultimo the next two nights for $140. Not ideal, but at least I liked Laurel’s place.

Not that I got to spend much time in it. By the time I’d figured out how to work the espresso machine, Tim was on my door step (Rachel was already at a party). I invited him in, threw on a swimsuit and beachy dress from a resale store, and attempted to make my face look healthy.

“Alright, I’m ready to do Bondi!” I exclaimed, the caffeine kicking in.

“Great! I thought maybe we’d grab a bite first, so we can catch up one-on-one before we hit the party?” he suggested. That was just fine by me.

We noshed at North Bondi Fish, clearly not a vegan restaurant, but one with decent veg options and a great view (plus it was open).

“I have to tell you, the conversation we had last summer was one of the more profound I’ve had,” he told me. I’d been in London just after going through my vegan awakening, and I’d been vibrating really high when we’d spoken. “I’ve stopped eating meat, and just have a little fish here and there, and sometimes a little dairy. But I’ve really felt the difference.”

“That’s amazing!” I loved hearing stories like this. “It’s honestly just been one wild, eye-opening ride since then. To vegan is to begin.” I tried to sum up my shifting paradigms in an hour and a half, from the prospect of a Blue Ocean Event to Pizzagate to getting back together with James.

“So yeah, that’s where I’m at. It probably all sounds insane, or maybe it sounds brilliant, that’s part of my human design,” I laughed. “People either get me and think I’m a genius, or they don’t and think I’m a freak. I’m learning to live with it.”

The ocean beckoned, and we went for a quick swim in spite of the grey drizzle (rain or shine, Aussies go to the beach in the summer.) The salt water tingled, refreshing my skin. I inhaled some of it, using the ocean as my nettipot. The evening was far from over, and I needed all of the natural defenses I could get. Not that anything could prepare me for what was coming…

From the second we approached the building, I had a weird feeling about the party. The bouncers, the guest list without our names, the drunk glittery shirt guy in the elevator, the crazy bathroom line upon entering—it was not my scene.

“Hi, I’m Amy,” I shook the hand of one of the many attractive douches waiting for the loo.

“Levi,” he replied.

I shook another hand. David? Jake? Alexander Hamilton? The part of my brain responsible for remembering names had been pulverized into snot and jammed down my throat.

“Let’s get a coconut water,” Tim suggested, and we pushed our way towards the bar.

And there she was. Rachel. An effortless beauty, with the most perfect butt in the most perfect little black dress. She looked like Margot Robbie. (Maybe they’re sisters? I mean, they’re both Australian.) And her charisma! I wasn’t even jealous of her – I was mesmerized by her. No wonder Tim had fallen in love so quickly.

As I tried to focus on hydration and my own self worth, Levi came up and started chatting to me. He was cuter than I recalled from the bathroom line. And his accent was unbelievable.

“Coconut water?”

“Yeah, I stopped drinking about a year and a half ago.”

“How do you deal in this sort of environment?” He smiled.

“Eh, it was tough at first, but now it’s easy,” I melted. “And it’s nice because I no longer have bull shit conversations.”

I demonstrated this to him by revealing 18 different secrets about my beliefs in 20 minutes, including higher dimensions of being, the shadow government ruling the earth, and the evils of Monsanto.

“So you’re a conspiracy theorist?” He mused.

“I prefer conspiracy realist,” I smiled, surprised that he was still standing there and not trying to bang the 8 foot blond in the skin tight white dress that had just sauntered past him. Maybe I had misjudged this particular douchebag.

We kept talking, and talking, and talking until I couldn’t breathe anymore.

“Wanna head out to the balcony?” I tried to disguise the internal war taking place between my failing organs and my growing desire to crack open this man’s soul.

On the balcony we probed further into literature and philosophy and the potted plant I was being pushed into. I added some of the books he’d been reading to my Notes list: Start-Up Nation, Daniel Yergin’s The Prize, Lord Chief Rabbi Sacks’ The Great Partnership. While not a complete portrayal of character, books can tell a lot about someone and how they think.

“What’s your favorite book?” I asked him, hoping he wouldn’t ask me back. I could never choose just one.

“Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” he said definitively.

“Interesting. I’ve actually never read it, just saw the Mos Def movie. How come?”

“It’s brilliant, funny, entertaining.”

“And now on the top of my list!”

Maybe 30 minutes passed, maybe two hours, all I know is I had three more waters before I finally had to call it quits. I made a failed attempt at the restroom, and when I had to beg the balcony guard (!!) to let me back to Levi, I knew I had to go.

He left with me. I honestly didn’t expect this, even though during our balcony time I could’ve sworn the whole world disappeared at least once and we had one of those moments that was so charged that my whole being came soaring up into my throat and if he had kissed me right there I might’ve died.

I finally got to pee in a nearby Mexican restaurant, and then there was some talk about food. But not until he changed. So we went back to his Airbnb, where we proceeded to get stuck on another balcony for another indeterminate amount of time.

But this time he did kiss me. And it was magic.

We both felt it. Or at least, we both said we felt it and whatever was happening in my body was stupidly amazing and whatever sickness I had was put on pause while he activated some chemicals I didn’t know existed. I love when time stops, when energies merge, when humans connect.

I couldn’t really believe it. Only 5 hours earlier I’d been telling Tim about how James was watching my cat and how maybe we might try again. This trip was about finding me, not having a passionate affair with an Israeli South African who lives in Switzerland.

But there I was, being lowered onto an aged carpet, trembling and bursting in sexual ecstasy. WHAT THE HELL WAS HAPPENING?!

I had to leave before we spent the night together and ruined any chance for any sort of future whatsoever. I don’t know why that’s a law of dating, but it is, and so he called an Uber and I somehow made it back to mine, sick and ridiculously happy. Not even a huge spider in my bedroom could wipe away my smile.