The train slowed, and we could see from our observation car that we were coming into a town along the dark sand of Kaikoura Peninsula.
“Look!” Jill pointed to the ocean. “Dolphins!”
A dozen of the gray creatures were leaping in the blue water less than a quarter of a mile from the train.
“Wow! Did you see that one jump? It looked like it spun around in the air.”
The train came to a stop, and the mellow-voiced conductor let us know we were taking a five-minute respite, in which we were allowed to get off the train and stretch our legs.
“Let’s get off,” Jill said. “We can take a closer look at those dolphins.”
We exited the train, aided by the kind hand of a uniformed railroad assistant. Stepping through the small train station that doubled as a souvenir and snack shop, we walked out onto a broad cement patio. Below us, down the stairs, was the dark sand and pebble beach and beyond the sand were the rolling waves and playful dolphins.
“Look at them!” Jill pointed to the ocean. “They are having so much fun out there.”
As the next large wave curled, we could see more dolphins rising in the surf.
“They are so sleek,” she said. “I think dolphins are amazing, don’t you? Look at how happy they are.”
“They are.”
Jill turned to me, “Come on! Quick! Let’s run through the sand and touch the water.”
Suddenly Jill was the land dolphin, dashing down the stairs, ready to play. “I’ll race you,” she called over her shoulder as soon as her feet hit the sand.
I rushed down the stairs and fiddled with my shoes and socks until my feet were naked.
Just then the train whistle sounded. Our five-minute respite already was over. The train was ready to leave.
Jill was at the water’s edge, waving with big arm motions for me to join her. I pointed back at the tracks and yelled, “The train is leaving!”
She motioned again for me to come, her feet playfully kicking a spray of salt water in my direction. In a split second, I made my decision and ran to the water. One of us had to be the designated driver when Jill went into her intoxicating flirt mode. This time she was flirting with nature. I barely touched my toe to the wet sand and hollered over the roar of the surf, “We have to go!”
“Wait! Just look!”
A nearly translucent wave was cresting so close to shore that we could have swum out to meet it, if we were strong enough. In the curl of the wave we saw two dolphins, their noses jutting forward like the balancing arm of a surfer. The dolphins were riding the wave together.
Jill and I turned to each other with expressions of wide-eyed, open-mouthed wonder. We tilted our heads back, shooting our full-hearted laughter into the air the way the care-free dolphins were shooting the curl.
Over the blend of joyous sounds we heard the faint train whistle one more time. Jill blew a kiss to the dolphins and the sea. I grabbed her by the wrist, and together we dashed bare-footed through the sand, up the cement steps, and through the gift shop. The conductor was just lifting the footstool and giving the all-clear sign when Jill and I blasted out on the landing and cried out, “Wait!”
“Almost missed the train, ladies,” the conductor said.
“No, we almost missed the moment,” Jill said with her fabulous, free-spirited laugh following me into the train compartment.
We bustled our way back to our seats as the chugging motion of the train began. Our faces were bright as sunbeams. Our hair was wild and crazy from the sprint in the wind. The sedate passengers in our car gave us strange looks.
Jill didn’t seem to mind them a bit as she took her seat. “That was awesome,” she said, alive with glee. “How incredible! Wow!”
I nodded, still catching my breath. My heart continued to race. We twisted in our seats as the train pulled away from the Kaikoura station, and we strained to see another glimpse of the surfers.
On the table, invisible, but definitely left there from before the train had stopped, was the possibility of my going back to school. The possibility of my becoming a speech therapist.
At that moment, anything seemed possible.
Two days later, I confided in Tony all the thoughts I’d pondered during the last part of the train ride. The morning was crisp, and I’d joined him on his walk to work so we would have a chance to talk. The last two days he had been working extra hours, and I wasn’t ready to present the topic of going back to school until I had his complete attention.
“What do you think?” I asked after I’d spilled out all my ideas for school options.
“Go for it.” Tony leaned over and planted a kiss on the crown of my head. My husband is gifted at seeing the big picture and editing it down to its most concise form. I knew I had his blessing, and it was up to me to think it through from there.
Later that day I sat with Dorothea for four hours and told her everything about the trip. This time, Mr. Barry didn’t hide discreetly in the kitchen. He pulled up a chair and listened to my stories about Evan, the singing punter; Hika, the descendant of a Maori warrior; and Jill, the dolphin chaser.
I stopped in the middle of my description of the calm-water crossing we had on the ferry and realized that what I enjoyed about the getaway hadn’t been the sights we had seen or the foods we had tried. The experience was rich because of the people.
He tangata, he tangata, he tangata.
It’s the people, it’s the people, it’s the people.
I spent the next few days thinking a lot. When the rain kept me inside on Thursday, I sat in our one comfortable chair for many hours listening to the pings on the garage’s roof. I had two medical books Mr. Barry had loaned me when I told him I was eager to learn more about what happens when a person has a stroke. When Tony came home, I summarized for him everything I’d learned. I couldn’t believe how energized I felt.
The next morning, I toted my umbrella and took off on the slick sidewalk to meet Jill at the Chocolate Fish. I anticipated a long, leisurely, all-morning conversation, but Jill started off with a question that redirected everything.
“I have a huge favor to ask,” she said as soon as we took our places at what had become “our” table by the window.
“Whatever it is, the answer is yes.”
“You better wait until you hear what I’m asking.”
Before Jill could say anything else, Tracey came over to our table with grand “hallos!” and lots of hugs. Pulling up a chair, she looked at us and said, “Do tell all. I’ve been dying to hear about your trip.”
Jill and I took turns with the highlights, as Tracey listened intently.
“You girls have it made,” she said brightly. “Where are you off to on your next lark?”
“We don’t have any plans,” I answered for both of us. “But wherever it might be, you’ll have to come with us.”
“Right!” Tracey paused before adding, “Or we could just drive around town and see how many lawn ornaments we can run over.”
The three of us shared a great laugh.
Tracey stood and pushed in her chair. “The kitchen calls!” With a more serious expression she added, “This is my place for now. My time will come to flit around like you two, but for now I belong here. For you two, this is the time of your lives to have the time of your lives.”
Tracey left Jill and me at our window table with a flippant, “Ta!”
I looked back at Jill. She was biting her thumbnail.
“So, what were you going to ask me before Tracey came over?”
She took a sip of her mocha latte. “I had such a great time in Christchurch.”
“I did, too.”
“So much has changed for me since you showed up here, Kathy. And that’s part of why I want to ask this favor of you. I was going to ask on our way home on the train, but I didn’t want to sound like I was imposing.”
“You? Imposing? Never.” I knew what it was like to suddenly feel flustered when everything was going great. Apparentl
y neither of us was willing to push too far in one direction or another and risk upsetting the balance that had come to us so easily at the beginning of our relationship.
“Okay, here it is. My niece is getting married next weekend. I told my brother-in-law I would come, and I know they’re counting on me, but ever since I mailed back the RSVP card, I’ve been, trying to think of how to decline.”
“You don’t want to go?”
Jill closed her lips, hesitating before quietly saying, “I want to go. I just don’t want to go by myself.”
“I’d be glad to go with you.”
“Well, there’s another little detail you should know before you agree. The wedding is in Sydney.”
Australia?” I asked. “The wedding is in Sydney, Australia?”
Jill nodded. “James was planning to go with me, but now he’s pulling back because of exams.”
I’d met Jill’s youngest son, James, the day I went to her home to book our on-line tickets for Christchurch. He was a tall, good-looking young man with dark, expressive eyes. He seemed intently interested in everything his mother had to say, which I thought was amazing and admirable.
Then I realized that James probably had been trying to fill the void his father had left and was trying to be responsive to his mom’s concerns.
“I told James I’m fine going to the wedding by myself. It’s a very small family affair, which is why my brother-in-law was so persuasive about James and me being there. We’re the closest relatives on his side in this hemisphere, and there’s no reason for me not to go.”
“But …” I tried to draw out of Jill what she was thinking but not saying.
“But I don’t think I want to go to Australia by myself. Traveling is the last ‘alone’ thing I’ve had to tackle. I didn’t think anything of the trip when James was planning to go, but now …”
“Jill, you don’t have to say anything else. I would love to go with you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. I’m sure Tony will be all for it.”
“It’s such short notice.”
“That’s okay. I don’t have anything on my calendar I need to cancel.”
Jill still looked hesitant, as if she were asking too much of me.
“Hey.” I reached across the table and gave her hand a squeeze. “Relax, it’s dolphin time. The sun is shining; the surf is up. Let’s ride the wave together. What did Tracey just tell us? This is the time of our lives to have the time of our lives. We’re going to Sydney!”
A smile came to Jill’s face.
I told her about one of my longtime friends in California who had been sending e-mails to me via Tony’s work e-mail. “Last time she wrote, she said that I’m supposed to have an extra adventure for her. See? I have to go to Australia with you so she can vicariously experience the adventure.”
“Well, then, since she’s counting on it, I guess we can’t let her down. You won’t have to go to the wedding, if you don’t want, and we can stay several extra days to play.”
As I predicted, Tony was all for the excursion. He drove Jill and me to the airport the next Friday and added his encouragement for us to have the time of our lives.
I kissed him good under Gollum’s gruesome gaze, grabbed my gear, and followed Jill into the Wellington airport for the second time that month.
The clerk at the flight desk asked to see my visa. I pulled out my credit card and handed it to him.
“No, your visa, if you don’t mind,” he said in a weary voice, as if one too many travelers had pulled the same prank on him. I wasn’t trying to pull a prank. I only had one credit card, and it was the Visa I held out to him.
Jill leaned closer. “He means your visitor’s visa for Australia.”
“We can buy our visitors’ visas here, can’t we?” she asked the clerk.
“Yes, of course. And how would you like to pay for that?”
I held out my credit card for the second time. “May I pay for my visa with my Visa?”
Jill stifled a giggle by coughing to cover it up. The clerk took my credit card without comment. Some sort of giggle enzyme must have kicked in at that point. I tried to swallow the impulse to burst out laughing and kept my mouth shut, as Jill and I purchased our visas with our Visas.
From then on, everything seemed funny to me. Maybe it was like a nervous tick. Or perhaps that’s what happens when two mama chicks start flapping their wings. All the feather fluttering turns into a merciless tickling of each other’s funny bones.
Once we were on the plane with seat belts fastened, Jill adjusted the magazines in the pocket in front of her to make more room to cross her legs. A bag fell out of the cloth pocket and landed on my foot. I leaned over to pick up what I assumed was the airsick bag and was surprised to see it was a mailer to send in film for developing.
The top of the bag had two statements in bold red and orange letters. The first statement read, “Introductory Photo Offer Only $5.99.” The second announcement was, “If affected by motion sickness, please use this bag.”
I laughed and showed the bag to Jill. “Talk about making practical use of a bag! You can either use it to get sick, or you can use it to mail in your film.”
“But it probably shouldn’t be used for both,” Jill said. “Oh, look at this line: ‘Please take this bag with you and pass on to family or friends.’ ”
I looked closer and read the rest of the sentence for her. “… pass on to family or friends if you are unable to use.’ That’s a very important phrase: if you are unable to use, then you should pass it on.”
“Right, because if you did use the bag, not for the film developing option but for the other option, you might not want to pass it on to your family or friends.”
We laughed so hard neither of us could stop. It was silly. I didn’t care if people were staring at us. Jill and I were off on a lark, and this was only the warm-up.
The giggle enzymes were at peak effervescence as we tried not to laugh at the flight attendant who pointed out the emergency exits with the routine dignified pose of her two fingers stuck together.
I asked Jill for a tissue to wipe my dripping nose, and she offered me the photo developing bag, which we tore in half and shared in the absence of tissue.
“I don’t think any of my family or friends would like me to pass this on to them now.” Jill folded up her bit of damp paper sack. “I’m not sure what to do with it.”
I rifled through my magazine pocket, pulled out my photo bag and turned it into a trash receptacle.
“Yet another use for the amazing, multipurpose, mail-in-your-film-developing-slash-motion-sickness bag.” Jill said.
Giggles spent, we settled in like more respectable adults, as the pilot announced that this would be a three-hour and forty-minute flight.
“You know, I always pictured Australia and New Zealand right next to each other,” I said. “I didn’t realize they were so far apart.”
“When you meet my brother-in-law, don’t tell him that’s what you think of Australia. He’s lived there for thirty years and considers himself an Aussie.”
I noticed that Jill said the word Aussie the same way I would say Ozzie, as in Ozzie and Harriet.
“They really are two different countries on two different continents,” Jill said. “Kiwis and Aussies don’t link themselves together.”
“Well, that’s good to know before I try out my New Zealand slang in Sydney.”
“And exactly what New Zealand slang were you thinking of trying out?” Jill had lived in Wellington for six years and still sounded like an American. I’d been there two weeks, yet I was the one collecting slang terms.
“Okay, test me on this. See if you understand my use of Kiwi terms.” I cleared my throat and pieced phrases together. “Last week I went to the chemist next to the dairy and was so buggered I got the colly wobbles and had to use the dunny before I could buy my cotton buds and sticking plaster.”
Jill cracked up.
“Don??
?t laugh,” I said. “Translate for me.”
“Okay let’s see. Last week you went to the drugstore next to the 7-Eleven, or corner market. You were so tired that you got that nervous, queasy feeling in your stomach and had to use the restroom. Then what did you buy? Oh, wait, I remember. Q-Tips and something else.”
“Plasters.”
“That’s right, plasters. Band-Aids. I must say, Kathy, that’s pretty impressive.”
“We all have our hidden talents, don’t we?”
“I’m not sure that sass is a God-given gift, but if it is, you are doubly blessed with it.”
Our flight ended with a steep landing. Since our seats were in the middle section, we couldn’t see out the windows and compare the view of Sydney from the air with the view of Wellington. The little snatches of color and light I did catch from the window seemed to be lots of blue water and red-roofed houses dotted everywhere.
Jill led the way through customs where a trained dog sniffed every bag that came off the luggage carousel. We turned in our paperwork, answered questions about whether we had food, plants, or animals we were bringing into the country, and made it to the car rental booth before most of the crowd.
With a distinctly different accent from the one I’d been adjusting to in New Zealand, the rental agent asked, “Will both of you be driving, then?”
I may have jumped at the chance to drive Beatrice on an isolated, two-lane road in Wellington, but being cleared to drive on a motorway in Sydney in a rental car was too intimidating at the moment. At the risk of losing all my newly acquired “cool” status, I turned down the offer.
“No worries,” the clerk said. “We’ll just, process this for you now.”
“I’m a little nervous,” Jill said to me once we were in our small silver rental car. “I’m used to driving in Wellington, but this might be different. You keep an eye out for me, okay?”
We went slowly at first, merging into the traffic and heading for the motorway.
“Do you know where you’re going?” I asked.