Fucked in Jakarta (Part 9) -- the true story of my fantasy times in Indonesia

The man in the khaki jacket pulled the gum out from his pocket and shot me with it.

I felt sudden weight on my chest and staggered backward. I felt the blood drain from my face and I couldn't breathe. It was like being punched in the sternum really hard.

I checked my chest. Nothing. No blood, no gaping wound, no horrific throbbing pain.

Wait, gum? It wasn't a gun, it was gum. And the khaki guy hadn't shot me with it. He had just unwrapped it enthusiastically and flipped a couple of pieces into his mouth like a bad actor in an 80s Juicy Fruit commercial.

He must have caught my weird expression just as he passed me, because I swear ha flashed me a wink. I can't imagine what my face might have betrayed, but I felt embarrassed immediately and made it my number one mission in life to avoid further eye contact.

Sheepishly, I glanced back over my shoulder and fuck me if he wasn't he was looking right back at me, chomping on his chewing gum happily. His expression said he thought I was some kind of amusing freak.

And I realised at that moment I was.

Why I was thinking about hit men hired by women scorned? By me no less! Why had I created this fantasy world where women fall for me like I'm licensed to kill, and are willing to kill me over a few million rupes?

Was it because deep down I realised I would never be more than a footnote in the life story of a girl like Hannah?

Yeah probably. For all her flaws and shenanigans, she was gorgeous, charismatic and resourceful. She would move right along, and remember me no more than I would remember a mosquito I swatted on my leg 6 months prior.

I became aware of my surroundings. Somehow I teleported back to the office lobby -- presumably I had walked, but I had been so much in my idiot head that I had barely noticed.

I walked on numbly through the security scanners, rode the elevator, and sat down at my desk. And after a while staring blankly at my laptop screen, I started laughing, and didn't stop for a long time.

---

I didn't hear from Hannah again after that. I saw her on Facebook a few times in the following month or so, and at one point her status switched back to "In a Relationship." I checked with who -- I shouldn't have been surprised to find it was Gavin.

A few days after that, they both blocked me.

Seven and I finished our last few days together in a strange mix of happiness and melancholy. I felt this sinking certainty that we'd never see each other again after I left, so I savored the remaining time we had together with a sense of sad resignation.

I wasn't sure if she knew, but it seemed like she did. Neither of us wanted to spoil what little time we had left by giving it voice.

When the time came, I sat down with Seven in my hotel lobby, on a small mock-leather sofa out of view of the reception desk. For some reason I thought if we were in the lobby, it would be less of a scene.

Plus, if I'd taken her to the room, I would have been tempted to...

See, even in writing this story it feels wrong to denigrate the moment with thoughts of sex. Seven and I were way beyond that now.

Even so, I'd be lying if I said my body didn't ache for her as we sat there on that sofa. We looked at each other sadly, each waiting for the other to speak. I could feel the blood pumping through the veins of my neck, making my face hot.

My time in Jakarta had ended. I was 5 minutes away from having to leave for the airport. And I couldn't find a single word to say to her.

After a long pause, I decided I should tell her not to come to the airport. It was going to be too painful if we drew this out.

"Can I come to the airport?" she asked, before I could take breath to speak.

"Sure, if you want," I said, immediately regretting it. I quickly added, "but... are you sure you want to? I mean, isn't it better if we just, you know... tear off the band aid quickly?"

She looked confused so I performed the motion of tearing off a band aid, hamming up the pain as best I could. Even so, there was no real humour in my mime.

Seven took a moment so speak, and when she did it was quiet and nonchalant.

"Oh I see. Why? You think I care that you're going? Pff! I'm glad I can finally find someone new! Maybe a few guys!"

I looked at her, shocked, but her eyes were smiling, twinkling with moisture. It was almost as if she was begging me to laugh.

"Oh you too, huh?" I said. "Yeah, man, I can't wait to find a girl with straight blonde hair... maybe a fat one this time, to match my own physique... and definitely without the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen... Definitely without those..."

She sighed. "Yeah. Good luck getting her, idiot."

It was funny, but the underlying sadness cancelled it out in a weird way.

"You know, I don't really have any reason to ever come back to Jakarta." I said.

"I'm not going to cry for you," Seven said, as if she had never heard me. Was that bitterness in her voice?

I sighed, "Hey, we knew this would happen. Didn't we know? I told you right at the start..."

"All Bule say that at the start. You're not supposed to mean it."

"Well, if that's true, what do we say when we do mean it?"

She laughed stiffly and looked at the ground. "I don't know."

There was a pause and then I said, "It's better if you don't cry."

"Why?"

"Dunno."

"Why?"

"Coz you know."

"What?"

"I might too."

"Pussy."

"Exactly."

I wondered if we were using single-word sentences to avoid filling our lungs with enough air to let out a sob.

Seven looked at me for a long time, and I watched her face transform. It softened somehow. She was suddenly just an innocent girl with no pretence or veneer or façade. She was just my Seven.

And I knew I had hurt her.

"I love you Harvey," she said, and before she had to watch my face react she leaned in and hugged me hard.

I put my arms around her and buried my face in her curly black hair. I smelled it. God I'd miss that smell!

"I lo --" I tried to say it but it was more than one word and my breath collapsed into helpless sobs. There was no turning back now, so I gave up and bawled into her neck like a baby abandoned by its mother.

I heard a voice saying "Sir, your taxi..." It was the concierge. Who knows how long he'd been standing there. I couldn't separate myself from Seven or he'd see my tears, so I just put up a finger and said "Just a moment."

I took a deep breath and held it. Seven did the same. We managed to regain control. We looked at each other and breathed.

"It's allergies," Seven said, emotion and humour welling up in the back of her throat at the same time.

Then we both burst out laughing uncontrollably for what seemed like a really long time.

Finally, I just said "C'mon, we had a good run, don't make me miss my plane!"

There was no further discussion about whether or not Seven would accompany me to the airport. She gripped my hand tightly as we walked to the taxi and didn't let go the entire ride. I don't think we even spoke to each other during the trip, each just thinking our thoughts.

Seven waved goodbye helplessly as I checked in and headed toward security. I didn't even turn back as I passed the screening. I guess I was afraid I'd start bawling like a pathetic little bitch again.

It was time to harden the fuck up and be a monger again. This love stuff was hard, and what for?

I sat in the airport lounge waiting for boarding. I kept playing back my final exchange with Seven over and over in my mind.

I thought about all the cheesy romantic comedies I'd seen where the guy would run back out to the departure area at the last moment and scoop his girl up in his arms. Is that what I should do? Could someone really do that in real life?

The announcement came for my plane to board. I stood up and joined the queue. The flight was under-booked and I got to the front of the queue quickly.

As the stewardess scanned my ticket, there was a part of me that wished it wouldn't work. Maybe it was the wrong day, or the barcode had worn away and I wouldn't be admitted. But I got through without trouble.

I walked about halfway down the boarding bridge and stopped. They guy behind me grunted and shuffled past.

I realised, I had never said it. I had never told Seven I loved her before I left. For some reason, the thought filled with regret. I should have said it back.

Another passenger pushed past, slightly knocking my shoulder and causing me to stagger forward slightly. I took advantage of the momentum and kept walking.

Jesus Christ, who was I? Hugh Grant from the 90's? What the fuck was I thinking!?

I found my seat, stowed my bag and sat in the tiny seat. I tried to thrust my hips forward to grab the seatbelt under me, but I couldn't get to it. Why did they always lay them flat on the seat so you end up sitting on the fucking things!? How was anyone supposed to maneuver in these tiny little seats!? FUCK!

I gave up, panting, and pulled out my phone. I created a new text and added Seven as the recipient.

"Sorry sir you'll have to turn your phone off." A stewardess said as she passed.

"In a minute," I said.

She stopped and backed up. "Sir, I need you to turn that phone off now. The plane is about to undock."

"In a minute," I repeated.

She stood there while I stared blankly at the empty screen on my phone. She wasn't going anywhere until the phone was off. "Sir..." she said.

One last chance at it. I started typing on the tiny touch keyboard. I could hear the stewardess breathing angrily.

On the phone screen, all I had was, "Seven, before when ". Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the stewardess looking around for help.

I couldn't think of what to write. What was I trying to say?

And then suddenly, everything went dark except the phone screen. I began typing, as if the universe knew it was the last few seconds I had to make it right.

"Seven, before when I stuttered I was trying to say I love you."

I hit send. I felt a hand on my wrist. It was a man this time. Without lookin up, I pressed the power button and held it until the screen went dark.

I looked up at them both and said "Happy!?"

"Do up your seatbelt, please sir."

"I will once I work out how to get it out of my ass!" I said.

The female stewardess stifled a laugh. "Would you like me to fasten it for you, sir?"

"No I've got it."

The man let go of my wrist and they both continued their pre-flight checks. The seatbelt finally came free -- I hadn't realised it had been fastened the whole time.

That's it, fasten a seatbelt under a fat guy's ass, real smart. I bet they laugh about it in the cockpit when no one is looking.

I heard the stewardess's voice in my head: "Would you like me to fasten it for you, sir?"

Wait, had she been flirting with me? I looked down the aisle and checked her out a bit.

In those days Air Asia stewardesses wore this tight red skirt and blazer... and man it fit her well. She paused and turned slightly, as if she were thinking about coming back toward me.

Yeah, a stewardess, I've never been with a stewardess before... Wait till she comes back with drinks...

---

When I arrived at the next faceless airport, I turned on my phone and it vibrated immediately. It seemed Seven did get my message after all. I clicked on it and read her reply.

"Pussy."

---

Despite my best attempt, I never did forget about Seven. Throughout the years, she remained in the back of my mind.

I'd occasionally recount the story to friends where she had asked me to hold her handbag in the mall and I'd refused. It had led to a multi-hour argument. She claimed that's what men did for women in Indonesia and I said fuck that, I'm Australian and men don't carry handbags.

I'd tell the story as an example of how crazy women can be, but Seven wasn't crazy. She was amazing.

The last I heard from Seven was on Facebook. I used to have an old fake account, but Facebook cracked down and began verifying names, so I created a new account with a more realistic name. One day, about 2 years ago, I wondered if the old account was still open, so I found the old password and logged in.

There was a single message in my inbox, and it was from Seven. It said, simply, "HARVVVEEEY!".

The message had been left unanswered for over a year. I clicked on her profile and Facebook reported it was inaccessible or had been deleted.

Our final thread of contact was severed.

I wonder what she would have said, why she got in contact. Was it some kind of medical emergency? Maybe she had found a new guy and was getting married? Maybe she just wanted to say hi and I miss you?

I'll never know. All I know is I had something special and I lost it -- and unlike all the great romances, I doubt there was a single thing either of us could have done to change it.

I'd love to go back to Indonesia sometime, but at the same time, I want to leave it a memory. A perfect, fantastical story in my mind and I can enjoy and replay whenever I feel unworthy of love.

It reminds me that I had it once, and I can have it again, if the winds of luck happen to ruffle my hair once again.

---

This post is the final of a 9 part series.

If you want to start the story from the beginning, go here: https://steemit.com/life/@krackerkarakas/fucked-in-jakarta-the-true-story-of-my-fantasy-times-in-indonesia

I believe story is the key to human knowledge -- the native unit of storage that is understood by our brains.

So I share this personal story, despite the fact that it makes me vulnerable, because I believe someone out there might learn something from it in a way I can't even predict or understand.

If you get something from it, please leave me a comment. Or, even better, share your own story and give me a link to read it.