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Topic: someone relying on strangers
The Breakup
?I want to break up.?
My abusive boyfriend is an alcoholic. He drinks to have ?fun?, but his kind of fun is filled with indoor boxing matches. His punches were persistent and often. I needed to get out, and I needed to escape this relationship.
?You will never find someone who loves you, I'm the best you can get. I will be with you forever, you will do whatever I want, whenever I want.?
?I'm going, you can't stop me!?
I saw it coming, my martial arts training kicked in before I could think. I blocked his hook to my face, but his jab busted my jaw. I literally saw ?red?, I don't think I've ever been this angry. I started kicking, scratching, doing anything I could to fight this asshole.
I left him on the floor laying in a pool of his own urine. I drove straight to my parents house, and became a refugee. I fled from my war torn relationship.
?
It was a Saturday morning, lovely and bright; a typical North Queensland summer. It had been 4 months since my break up and my face was finally normal. The bruising was my badge of honour, I fought and I won.
Marching with purpose, I stormed into Flight Centre and decided on the spot that I was going overseas. I need the space and I want the adventure. I have never travelled by myself, but hey I was 23, what could go wrong?
?So what were you thinking? Maybe South East Asia??
?Vietnam.?
?Ok are you sure? There's quite a few offers for other locations.?
?Vietnam. I'm going by myself and I know it's cheap over there. Book it.?
Before I knew it, I was $2000 out of pocket, but had the ticket and I was to leave in two days.
?
The flickering lights were blinding. Dragging my suitcase I looked around and felt a sense of dread.
What the fuck have I done?
There were chickens casually strolling around. Beggars lining the sides of the room, chancing themselves, trying to persuade the gullible tourists for their newly converted Vietnamese Dong.
The town was called Danang, and it was a beautiful place, albeit the surroundings of garbage and rats the people are absolutely gorgeous ? but I didn't know that yet.
I was walking out of the airport and the pick-up service I had arranged (and paid for!) was not there. I was trying to ask around but no one spoke English. I start to panic. There were seedy looking taxi drivers that I'm sure would've ripped me off. The hotel was at least 20km away, I didn't want to walk that far in the dark. Just as panic starting to make itself at home in my stomach, a small woman maybe in her 40's or 50's starting beckoning me over. She's said ?come! Come!? Waiving her hands frantically. I had to look around, surely she's not talking to me?
?I don't want to thanks?? I replied, I am scared.
?Come! Come! I look after you!?
Thinking back I realise that this was probably a really bad idea, like it could have gone really bad. But I'm a dickhead and chose to follow her.
I don't know what it was?but there was something so trustworthy about her. Her English was broken but you could tell she understood what I was saying.
We started walking, I was dragging my bags and trying to keep a lookout. I'm following this strange lady through houses that look like sheds and shacks, they look all joined together. We snaked our way through shanties, family gatherings and men gambling. Soon she stopped and looked back at me. She gestured for my bag. I wasn't keen on giving away my stuff. Oh my god what am I doing? For all I know I could be getting sold into a sex slave ring?. Oh my god I'm going to die.
She grabbed my bags with a strength that was deceptive of her size. She disappeared through the clearing, lifting what looked like a sheet that was acting as a door way.
I stood frozen, now genuinely afraid that my bags are now gone and I'm probably now going to be killed!
?Come! Come!? I hear from the other side of the sheet. My heart is pounding. Shaking, I pull back the sheet and sigh in relief. Behind the ?curtain' was a lovely little family, all sitting on the floor having dinner. They had a little scruffy dog that immediately came over for some pats and cuddles. The lady brings me over and tries to introduce me to her daughter ? her name was Ahn.
?This my daughter, she study, she need tourist?? she gestures at me to indicate that I was the tourist. Ahn was smiling in a shy way, she looked at me with a glint in her eye.
?I would like to take you to my class tomorrow, to show my class. I'm studying tourism.?
Relieved that she spoke perfect English I started to ask all the questions I was dying to ask.
?So your mum brought me here from the airport, so I can be your show and tell??
?Yeah pretty much. We all agreed that a young woman would be a good choice. Ya know, wouldn't mind or be hard to get along with.?
I started laughing in relief.
THIS IS A TRUE STORY!
Its been 10 years now and I still keep in touch with Ahn and her family. I stayed with them for a couple of days and met many of their relatives. The average family in Vietnam live on $50 Australian a year. They work extremely hard and live in less than humane conditions. With all this, they are the happiest people I have ever met. I went to Ahn's class the next day and the other students were delighted. They spent 40 minutes asking me questions about Australia and what they could do as a Tourism Agent. Ahn today runs a tourism company with her husband and son in Danang. Meeting Ahn and her gorgeous little family was one of the most amazing experiences of my life.
John sat alone in a booth at a coffee shop seemingly frozen in time. The quaint and humble Diner could easily double as a 1960's museum proudly displaying its wear and war-torn scars from decades of patrons both 'kind' and 'not so kind' to its care or wellbeing.
"Cream?" Asked a voice aged with years of smoke and cheap liquor.
"Excuse me?"
"Would you like cream with your coffee sir?"
John smiled as he looked up at the waitress, "Oh,.. no... no thank you, never touch the stuff."
His response was met with quick and immediate pause. A small pause mind you, but long enough to seem a little out of place.
Steeped in this awkward moment, She gave a slight nod, turned and walked away.
Peering over his menu he was met with the cold gaze of each and everyone in Destiny's Diner.
"What?" John asked, looking around for a response.
He took a breath to say something. He had no idea what, but just something to cut the silence.
The word fell as empty as the Diner.
His cellphone ringtone tore through the deafening silence nearly launching him off his feet.
Fumbling through his jacket pocket for his phone he found the screen to read "Restricted Number"
The phone vehemently refused any additional information and finally fell quiet stating simply...
The Phone let out a tone to remind him of the pending message.
Icy tentacles of fear reached into him, clawed at him.
John looked at his phone, then retrieved the message.
?You should've taken the cream?
In the reflection he could see something hovering behind him.
To his surprise, it roared to life.
?Where we headed?? announced a voice from the backseat.
John slammed on the brake with both feet sending the BMW careening into a flat spin.
Opening the door he rolled out and then pushed himself to his feet.
John Finny was not a fighting man. He had no military background, no training in martial arts and a serious fear of firearms. He sold insurance. Everything he knew in life was in exact opposition to the skills this situation was more than screaming for? so? John magnanimously turned to his left and puked.
?John? John? John? We really don't have time for that do we?? came a toying voice.
Wiping his chin with the backside of his left hand, John steadied himself and stared over at the young man leaning against his car. He looked to be maybe 25 years old or so, slim build, clean cut, no facial hair and a look on his face that could only be described as a cross between the Gerber Baby and The Joker, with a little Tom Cruise mixed in there too.
?Who?.? John Turned and spat on the ground trying to clear the rancid taste from his mouth. ??the Hell are you??
?I believe there to be far better times and places for that discussion John.?
John took one step towards the car.
?Wait, how in the Hell do you know my name!??
The stranger held a playful grin and a calm demeanor that was absolutely maddening.
?John, I think we should talk about this in the car.?
John recognized the far off buzzing sounds coming into earshot. Although it was much more pronounced than before. He turned to see at least 20, maybe 30 drones off in the distance and closing fast.
The stranger stood awaiting a response. Blue jeans, white t-shirt and the same unchanged expression.
John figured a smarter man would think of something clever to say, or do, or some sort of hand gesture at the very least. John sold insurance.
?Get In?, he grunted.
They both got back into the car, the stranger opting for the passenger seat up front this time. John hit the gas and they were on their way.
?Who? the hell?.. are you??
The long protracted annunciation was dipping with angst and held with it a definite demand of an immediate answer.
?My name is Jim? was his complete response.
Although the stranger seemed content with his response as a whole, John was less than amused.
The cutting gaze from John's eyes accompanied his response.
?and?..?
?And what??
John screamed, ?What the hell is going on!?
Jim made no recoil or aversive reaction at all.
?Well, it's like this?.?
John interrupted, ?I should've got the cream?!?
Jim smirked, ?Something like that.?
?Jim. What is going on! What am I supposed to do and why am I having to do anything at all!??
The impact of the first drone on the windshield was enough to produce a crack and a sound loud enough to cause John to duck and veer the car to the left.
Following this, a hail storm of drones descended on them smashing into the car from all sides.
?Faster? Jim announced in the midst of the chaotic modern day Hitchcock inspired nightmare.
Pushing passed his instincts John pressed the accelerator to the floor.
?Why is this happening?? he gritted through clenched teeth.
?Keep going!? Jim responded pointing forward, ?Get to the other side of the overpass?
?You're almost there!?, Jim called out, more angst wrapped around his words.
The Driver's side window burst inwards allowing one of the malevolent machines to enter the car, blades thrashing and cutting john's face before he was able to thrust it out with his hand through the smashed window.
This was followed by the two rear windows exploding giving access to two more.
Glass, blood and pain mixed together in a cocktail garnished with the blades of two determined war machines now described the inside of John's BMW Coupe. Slouching down as low as he could he left his foot pressed to the floor pushing the accelerator what felt like through the bottom of the car.
The light dimmed as they careened through the underpass at a speed John could only guess.
Bursting to the other side, the sun once again flooded the car, the engine stopped and the brakes slowly engaged bringing the car to a stop.
John lifted his head and slid back up in the seat.
There was no nefarious machines crashing into the vehicle.
?Well played Sir!, Well Played!?
John pushed open the driver's side door and pulled himself out only to see?.. nothing?
No Drones.
No Jim.
Nobody.
John stood on a dirt road 100 yards past an overpass? alone.
?Wha?. What? the ??? he trailed off.
The car stood sat, it's wounds boldly apparent and deep. It looked as though he had driven through a war zone only to stop, turn around, and drive back through the other way.
After what seemed like hours, John got in the car and turned the ignition.
Once again, to his surprise, it started.
?You need some help?? said an old voice wrapped in overalls with old dirty red baseball cap.
?I just don't think you'd ever believe a word I have to say.?
The old man smiled, ?Oh you look like you did pretty good. Have a seat and I'll take a look?
The man looked over a John and asked, ?Did you want cream??
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