BED & BREAKFAST

CHAPTER 4 - Shoo, shoo, images of others in this bed before me!

I wish! I wish often, in similar situations, that my indulgent fantasies would switch places with the real, rather shitty/tragic circumstances and that HE would appear at my side- like magic. Poof! Some smoke and then... voila! (A word Marie used- often.)

But, I was kinda meeting him. Who stays at a 'couples only retreat' on their own, right? My particular he, however, was packed snugly in the black patent leather messenger bag- probably snoring too, right about then. Hmmm, have I asked him if he snores? *Note to self: Ask if you've asked. *Note to self: Not in those words! *... Note to self: Just plonk it on the pile of other unasked questions- yes, THAT large pile.

I have love. I did, in fact, connect with said love in my suite later- so much later due to him being the other side of the world, my chatty host was most probably sound asleep. But not me, no. I had fingers clacking on the laptop, I was taking pics of the room to forward, I was... okay this part I'll keep to myself. I have love though. Of that I am certain. I have romance, lust; I have the challenges of distance and my living just that bit forward in time so that everything is enough out of sync for me to not be able to settle into complacency- a fate worse than loneliness, in my thinking?

Virtual love. Both singular words mostly foreign to my living yet the statement itself defining this present reality. So much so, some days, I am certain I am official flag-bearer for the online dating movement. Who survives sixteen months (who's counting?) in a regular relationship these days, let alone one sustained with mere words and the odd shared pic or vid? I mean we've not even spoken, as in voice TO voice, let alone face to face- even virtually!

We're Richard and Elise (ever-lost Somewhere In Time), we're Helene and Frank from 84 Charring Cross Road, (including care packages, book recommendations and the high probability one of us will get to the other too late) we're Andrea Bocelli's Vivo Per Lei and Leonard Cohen's Light As The Breeze. We have an official emblem: The sunflower. My lover-in-a-laptop and I are a fantasy. We are also a bloody miracle. Attached by undersea cable we share an umbilical chord; feeding off the same nutrients- you know... wishful thinking, grand imagining, mutual fascination, shared respect and so, so much yearning! We're also, connected to the same emotional mother-lode: Literature.

Sounds pretty good right? We sure got us love. You want communication? We've exchanged more words in the past sixteen months (I'm NOT counting!) than most couples would in a decade. From politics to home decor, from nutrition to insurance disparities, from death to the absurdities of life; from half-remembered dreams to sex-toys, yep... we certainly have covered many a topic. You want friendship? We're there; from fashion advice to child-rearing tips to... recipes. Mutual support? It's there too- "Hey!!!" (Usually me, whining.) "Hey, I'm here for you babe." (Usually he, trying to keep me together.)

Silliness? Plenty of it- there's oft lunatic-like laughter projecting from my mid-of-night open window. Tenderness? Ohhh... them words! Spicy friction? Loads of it, enough to fend off any complacency. (Teetering either side of the jealousy /insecurity high-wire mostly assuring it.) Lust? You ever try explaining it with words? We have. Often. From agony to ecstasy, between comedy and tragedy, we exchange stuff brimming with it!

We got it all baby.

So I have love. The best love of my life. Not what most might consider ideal but hey- what it lacks in physicality, it more than makes up for in other ways- love compensates, I've since discovered.

I didn't meet LOVE love, however - the love I want to talk about here (yes, I'm getting to it!) until the next morning. My plan, sharing a night of romance (in a New-Age digital way- how hip are we?) not quite... going to plan? It was bloody freezing; the only heating provided by the now-very-narrow-to-my-eyes hearth. Two small logs at a time to heat a room the size of two large rooms - why I paid the damn $300 a night for this 'suite' - and... those small logs burned very, very quickly I discovered.

It had been an agonising time that night: Staring at the quickly depleting pile of logs in the wooden crate - the newspapers and kindling going first; the dilemma of whether to start scrunching up pages full of Lady Chatterley's love thus emerging as a possible necessity (strike me down, ye Gods of Literature!) then at the fire itself- not so hard to do since I was huddled as close to both as I could, (on that eeewww , possibly semen-encrusted rug ?) only freeing my arms from the beach wrap (what was I thinking when I packed?) for a minute or so at a time to shove another log in, before I tucked them away again under my folded knees.

In the end, I did what any couple would do: I gave in and snuggled underneath the doona, fire go to hell! (Shoo, shoo, images of others in this bed before me... think about the weather instead... Melbourne summers... God love 'em!) But I should have known- it's always, always much colder in the hills after sunset.

My night of virtual romance shared by the person other side of the packets of data disassembled and reassembled faster than the blink of an eye somewhere in spacetime and, delivered exactly as I clacked them- I recall bitching to him a lot? I remember sounding like my mother? That realisation had finally sent me scurrying under the covers. And to a very, very hot climate in my head.

I so love this man. Seems some days like I'd lived my whole life just to arrive there- to the moment we first connected. (A still contentious issue as to which of us first took the leap. If you have ever tried scrolling through sixteen months of dialogue you'll understand why it's contentious... I once had the romantic notion of some day publishing our 'love affair' in full - least the parts that won't give either of our true identities away since he, too, is a big fish in a faraway small pond but- my computer kept crashing. "Too many words, you fools!" It protested, over and over!)

I also love the me with him. I can BE me, simple as that. I can be crazy, irrational, demanding, flighty, impulsive, brash... (I once emailed him 100 insights I'd supposedly excavated from his personality- most of them of the unflattering kind? That exercise had sent me to the doghouse for many a day, and, between us, I don't think he's ever really gonna forgive that bout of brashness.) But I can also be mushy and lovelorn and- as I recently discovered, smutty?

What's age? I can wear a corset and a black tutu (okay, the tutu was purchased from the kids 'dress-up' section of our local $2 shop) and still pass off as somewhat exotic. Least he thinks so? Least he tells me he thinks so?

I have love. The kind most would covet. A person to call my own, someone who has my back and vice-versa... despite only existing in my screen. What I don't have (and now mostly wish I hadn't discovered I don't have) is LOVE love. Bitch!