She’s icy at first because she claims I’m in her seat… I check my stub. I know she’s wrong. It doesn’t matter, so I agree, apologize and smile. She returns the greeting, and we take off.
Tired of all the crying, I close my eyes and find myself in mid-flight.
We commence small talk.
Thembisa was in Johannesburg for government business. A mover and shaker, a mother of two. She’s in her mid-30s. Studying a three-year security degree through UNISA. Her red handbag is full of brochures, pens, books and a massive smart phone. She sells things on the side, Avon style; always ready to sport her catalogue of products wherever she goes.
She’s fierce.
I tell her my story. He broke up with me over a text message, on my birthday. Now that I’ve said it, I can’t help but chuckle. Did this really happen to me? Something straight out of FML website. I was pining away for someone who treated me worse than a stranger. No trace of kindness whatsoever. I scoff to myself.
Thembi wants men to treat her with respect, the same way she is with them.
“Tell me where you are going, the same way I tell you. Not that I don’t trust you, but I’m just being considerate. You know, this guy I am dating for three years, I told him… You’re like cancer. You’re all over my skin, my bones: you are everywhere. I told him the other day. One day, I will have the strength to get rid of this cancer. One day, you and I will be in our cars at a traffic light with our windows open. You will look over to me to say hi, and I will look at you and say, ‘you remind me of someone I used to know. Remind me who you are again?’ And he said I’m cruel. But whether I’m cruel or whatever, you love me for who I am.
But you know… when it’s over, I can’t help but wonder if I see a red Polo driving around… I wonder if it’s him in that Polo. And I see the license plate, and he’s not in the car, and I am always on the lookout for his red Polo.”
Then she slaps her lap and starts to laugh. She also tells me about an ex who messaged her recently, her name on the message. Her reply: “Sorry wrong number” He tried to call her and she doesn’t answer. She says men move on, date other girls, and realize how great she is and tries to get back with her. But she won’t entertain sloppy seconds.
“Doesn’t matter if you’re black or white. There is no gray. It’s black or white. Either you love and show me or you don’t. There is no in between. There is a commitment.”
The pilot tries to descend past the thick blanket of clouds, but after two failed attempts, nothing happens. Thembisa jokes that we’ll have to fly to East London, 3 hours away, and be shuttled to Mthatha.
The pilot announces matter of fact-like, “We are unable to land. We’re going back to Johannesburg.”
Is the pilot playing a practical joke? Funny how we make everything about ourselves, forgetting that it affects not only people on the plane, but also those who are waiting to take off, collect and drop off people, as well as the airline staff that must make alternate arrangements…
I laugh out loud to myself.
Is it possible to simply return to the place from which we departed from, without ever getting to the final destination? Never having touched ground… can we say we never left in the first place? A limbo…
The journey will have to continue the next day. Two young black boys are without chaperone. My friend offers them a place to stay. He lets them use his phone call their mom and cousin to come and get them. We wait until we believe they’ll be okay for the evening.
The next morning, as we descend through the clouds, we break into an applause. We have arrived.
I play DJ as he drives. We talk. Things are going well. We draw comfort in each other’s company. We don’t feel the need to fill the silence. It hangs and lingers like welcome mystery.
The beginning of every relationship is often hesitant. Am I offending? Am I too much? Am I too little? Am I boring? What should we do next?
What happens at Coffee Bay? Very little.
Nothing concrete comes to mind aside from delicious seafood buffet at the backpackers.
A wooden plank about 20cm wide and 60cm long sits atop a piece of plastic pipe. You must balance yourself without falling flat on your face. My snowboarding experience pays off. The audience applauds. I bow.
On our last day, my friend locks the rental car key in the trunk – I almost made the same mistake just the day before. We don’t stress but we are running out of time. After spending hours on the phone to get a locksmith to the middle of nowhere, my friend runs out of patience, smashes the small window on the backseat, and we’re off to Mthatha once again.
We embark yet again on the magical plane to return to the city of Gold.