Family Meal
Today was a beautiful day in Fiji. The sky was grey all morning and it rained from the early afternoon, through the whole night. But we were surrounded by people who like us, who care for us, who take good care of us.
Matt is from England. He is tall and hefty with a bit of a receding hairline, blonde hair and blue eyes, and the most familiar face you've ever seen. He speaks the world of his father but never mentions a mom. Back at home he lives in a huge house with all of his siblings, their significant others, their children and, of course, his father. He loves cooking. In fact, he cooks for us often. He asks only for a few bucks towards groceries and refuses any help. He's a good cook. He talks a lot, and often about himself, but he explained to me once, on the mattresses on the floor during movie marathons, that he isn't bragging, he just wants people to know who he is and what he's about. He is very genuine.
This morning the three of us walked up the road to Jetpoint, the nearest supermarket. It had been on and off drizzling and although it was only 78 degrees, the 100% humidity had us all sweating profusely. They whistled, "Hi, Ho" while we walked. I ignored it because I had just woken up from a nightmare and it was too early for whistling and also too early for Disney songs. We got our groceries and took a cab back to the hostel. We spent the day watching The Walking Dead, eating, smoking, just hanging out on the couch. All day we sat there, in the common room, on the couch, gasping at the computer screen, yelling at it when a character did something stupid or someone got eaten by a zombie.
Evening came and the sun fell, thought we couldn't see it through the clouds. Gee came home with Michael Murdoch, the skinny Scott with a crooked nose. He's brutally honest and very sweet, at least, he has good intentions. Gee is a local girl. Her brother Simon basically runs this place. When you imagine what a Fijian man looks like, it's him. Tall, muscular, cheek length curly black hair, chiseled features, did I mention muscular? Gee isn't in as good of shape as her brother but boy is she adorable. She is always coming back to the hostel with bags of groceries. What she does here is unclear. In fact, I'm not sure she works here, or anywhere, as she's always running around with Gemma, another English transplant whose been here since January. Nevertheless, Gee came home for the fourth, fifth, time in a row with bags of food. She spent hours cooking a huge pot of soup for everyone. When it was done she came in and told not only Sam and I, but everyone else, to come eat. She loves to cook for everyone. It's beautiful and king.
The rest of the evening was spent in a similar fashion. Though I did get to take a bath in the private room. It was spectacular. I'd been dying for a bath and luckily, the shower clogged. Gee told me to use the one in the en suite room. To my total surprise, there was a bathtub. So I spent about forty minutes soaking in hot water, listening to my heartbeat under the water, watching my body rise and fall over the water. Now it is early in the night and we are in bed. I spent some time looking at photographs of my siblings, my mother and I, notes friends have given us along the way, flowers I've pressed and a photograph of Gary as a baby. On the back he'd written, "I miss you." first in pencil, then in pen. His infant face is close up and crying on the other side. He sent it to me in the mail when I lived in Florida. We have always been separated from each other for long periods of time. Today was his birthday, yesterday for me though. He turned 24. He was 21 when I met him, the age I am now. This is the second birthday of his we'll be apart for, the first birthday of mine. I guess it really doesn't matter if we are physically near each other. He is always mine, and I, his.
Matt is from England. He is tall and hefty with a bit of a receding hairline, blonde hair and blue eyes, and the most familiar face you've ever seen. He speaks the world of his father but never mentions a mom. Back at home he lives in a huge house with all of his siblings, their significant others, their children and, of course, his father. He loves cooking. In fact, he cooks for us often. He asks only for a few bucks towards groceries and refuses any help. He's a good cook. He talks a lot, and often about himself, but he explained to me once, on the mattresses on the floor during movie marathons, that he isn't bragging, he just wants people to know who he is and what he's about. He is very genuine.
This morning the three of us walked up the road to Jetpoint, the nearest supermarket. It had been on and off drizzling and although it was only 78 degrees, the 100% humidity had us all sweating profusely. They whistled, "Hi, Ho" while we walked. I ignored it because I had just woken up from a nightmare and it was too early for whistling and also too early for Disney songs. We got our groceries and took a cab back to the hostel. We spent the day watching The Walking Dead, eating, smoking, just hanging out on the couch. All day we sat there, in the common room, on the couch, gasping at the computer screen, yelling at it when a character did something stupid or someone got eaten by a zombie.
Evening came and the sun fell, thought we couldn't see it through the clouds. Gee came home with Michael Murdoch, the skinny Scott with a crooked nose. He's brutally honest and very sweet, at least, he has good intentions. Gee is a local girl. Her brother Simon basically runs this place. When you imagine what a Fijian man looks like, it's him. Tall, muscular, cheek length curly black hair, chiseled features, did I mention muscular? Gee isn't in as good of shape as her brother but boy is she adorable. She is always coming back to the hostel with bags of groceries. What she does here is unclear. In fact, I'm not sure she works here, or anywhere, as she's always running around with Gemma, another English transplant whose been here since January. Nevertheless, Gee came home for the fourth, fifth, time in a row with bags of food. She spent hours cooking a huge pot of soup for everyone. When it was done she came in and told not only Sam and I, but everyone else, to come eat. She loves to cook for everyone. It's beautiful and king.
The rest of the evening was spent in a similar fashion. Though I did get to take a bath in the private room. It was spectacular. I'd been dying for a bath and luckily, the shower clogged. Gee told me to use the one in the en suite room. To my total surprise, there was a bathtub. So I spent about forty minutes soaking in hot water, listening to my heartbeat under the water, watching my body rise and fall over the water. Now it is early in the night and we are in bed. I spent some time looking at photographs of my siblings, my mother and I, notes friends have given us along the way, flowers I've pressed and a photograph of Gary as a baby. On the back he'd written, "I miss you." first in pencil, then in pen. His infant face is close up and crying on the other side. He sent it to me in the mail when I lived in Florida. We have always been separated from each other for long periods of time. Today was his birthday, yesterday for me though. He turned 24. He was 21 when I met him, the age I am now. This is the second birthday of his we'll be apart for, the first birthday of mine. I guess it really doesn't matter if we are physically near each other. He is always mine, and I, his.
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