Where Sea Meets Sky by Karina Halle
I’m about to tell Amber something like “nice name” but Gemma struggles with the clutch as she pulls away from the curb and the van jerks forward. I quickly slip on my seat belt while Nick turns to her. “God, Gemma, ease up.”
“Sorry,” she snaps at him. “I’m not used to driving this old thing.” She gets used to it fast though, and we’re zipping through the city as quick as the van can go, which isn’t saying much.
It’s an old thing, but it’s pretty fucking cool. Her uncle must have taken really good care of it. There’s a sink, a fridge, a counter than runs the length of the back, seats behind the drivers, passenger seats that flip up, a table that pulls out in the middle, loads of cupboards, and colorful curtains at the windows. The bright blue seat Amber and I are on folds down into a bed, and above us you can see where the top pops out into a bunk. It’s surprisingly spacious considering there are four of us in here, and there’s a lot of distance between where I’m sitting and where Gemma is.
When we finally make our way out of the inner city, I lean forward on my knees. “Got any tunes?” I ask loudly, trying to see if they have an MP3 outlet for my iPhone.
Nick laughs. “The radio in this shit-heap is broken and we only have a cassette player. Total dodge.”
“But,” Gemma says, flashing me a quick smile in the rearview mirror, “my uncle left us all his cassette tapes. I hope you like Pink Floyd because he only has The Wall, Dark Side of the Moon, Wish You Were Here, and Meddle.”
I do like Pink Floyd, though I can tell the music will color the trip a little differently. But driving round New Zealand in an old VW van seems like the perfect time to listen to them.
After we pull over for “petrol” and get a few coffees to go with strange names like “flat white” and “long black,” we’re on the motorway heading south. Gemma slips in one of the cassettes and the sound of whistling wind comes over the scratchy speakers before the overly dramatic bass line of “One of These Days” kicks in. It certainly sets the mood, making the start of our trip even more epic.
“Nice,” I yell at her and she gives me the thumbs-up in the mirror.
I lean back in my seat and see Amber is staring out the window, lost in thought. She’s not one for small talk, which I don’t mind at this stage of the morning. I sip my coffee and am lost in the passing scenery and the psychedelic sounds. Despite the potential awkwardness of the four of us in this van, I’m curiously content. A bit anxious, a bit nervous, but I’m also happy. I try not to question it. I just relax and let the morning sun wash over us, coloring the passing fields a million shades of green.
Though Gemma and Nick occasionally chat up front, we’re all silent for the most part. By the time we pull into the city of Hamilton to grab a few egg “sammies” and quiche from a bakery, plus more coffee, Amber perks up and becomes more talkative. She tells me a bit about herself, how she’s been living at home with her parents in San Jose, California, since graduating from one of the state universities with a degree in English.
“Pointless degree,” she says quietly, shaking her head. “I really thought there would be jobs for me. I thought my work experience and my education would be good enough, I mean, I’m smart, I have a lot to offer, but it took me all summer to find a stupid office job. It barely paid and they let me go two months ago so they could hire fucking interns for free instead.”
She sounds bitter. I don’t blame her.
“Well, you’re definitely not alone in this,” I tell her, trying to make her feel better.
She sighs and sips her coffee. “I know. That almost makes it worse. I’m out there competing with a million other hungry grads. You know, they could have warned us in high school. Instead they told us we were all fucking special snowflakes and the world was at our feet. Such bullshit.”
She swears an awful lot for being such a quiet little thing. She looks at me with big green eyes and seems abashed for a moment, as if she’s aware that she doesn’t know me very well. I smile back and she relaxes. “Anyway,” she goes on, brushing her curly hair behind her ear, “I decided to take all my savings and say, ‘Fuck you America, fuck you economy. I’m taking my money and I’m spending that shit somewhere else.’ So here I am.”
“Is New Zealand your first stop?” I ask her.
She nods. “Yup. After this I’m on to Australia, then Thailand, then Europe. My dream is to find a small village somewhere on the Mediterranean and teach English.” A wistful look passes over her eyes. “It could happen.”
“I’m a big believer in anything is possible if you want it bad enough,” I tell her, and my eyes briefly fly to the front where Gemma is concentrating on driving shift and eating at the same time. Nick is listening to his own music with headphones so he doesn’t have to put up with Pink Floyd—or us, I suppose.
“So what brought you here?” she asks me, and I have to watch my words. I can’t exactly say Gemma with Nick sitting up there with her.
“Curiosity,” I tell her. “That, and Flight of the Conchords.”
“Good choice,” she says appreciatively. She really is quite pretty. Maybe a little too innocent looking for my appetite, but she balances it out with a style that reminds me of Stevie Nicks.
She’s not Gemma though. She doesn’t have the mischievous eyes I keep trying to get a glimpse of in the rearview mirror.
“So, Gemma tells me this trip is pretty much all for you,” I say. “Which would definitely put her in the running for cousin of the year, wouldn’t you say?”
“She’s pretty awesome,” Amber admits.
“My ears are burning!” Gemma shouts from the front and flashes us a cheeky grin over her shoulder.
“I’m only saying good things,” Amber protests. She looks at me. “I said I would be happy going wherever Gemma wanted me to go, but she’s thrust all the responsibility on me. Now you’re here though, so you can choose.”
I shrug and lean back in the seat. “Honestly, I have no idea. Everything I’ve read about sounds amazing. I’m happy with pretty much everything, too.”
“Great,” Gemma says, “the plans are in the hands of the most indecisive people in the world. I thought you North Americans were all about enforcing your choices on people.”
“Well, I’m just being polite,” I say. “All the blame goes to Amber for being the American.”
Amber playfully punches me on the shoulder and giggles. “Hey, I resent that.”
I grin at her and sense Gemma watching us. I glance up and see her eyeing me briefly before looking away. For that one moment, she looks kind of bothered.
Gemma clears her throat. “All right, kids, since you both can’t make your own decisions, I’ll let you know what we’re doing. We’re heading down to the Waitomo Caves for two nights. I haven’t booked any of the tours yet, but the one I want to do is tomorrow morning so just give me the okay and I’ll call them. The cheapest one is ninety-nine dollars so I don’t know if that’s out of your budget.”
I raise my hand. “Excuse me, teacher, but what are the Waitomo Caves and why would I pay a hundred bucks to see them?”
Amber looks at me aghast. “You haven’t heard of the caves? Glowworms! Like, for real.”
I frown at her. “Okay . . .”
“The whole area is a spelunker’s paradise,” Gemma explains. “Hundreds of caves, big and small, though there are only a few that have tours available. The tour that I think would be choice has blackwater rafting, abseiling, and the whole glowworm thing.”
“Blackwater rafting?” I repeat, confused by everything she’s just said.
“They outfit us in wet suits and we sit in these inner tubes that take us down an underground river, through caves. You can see the glowworms hanging overhead. I’ve never done it but I’ve always wanted to.” She looks at Nick to see if he’s going to jump in, but he’s still got his headphones on and he’s looking out the window, t
“Wow,” I say. “Kind of a crazy introduction to the country.”
She shrugs. “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet. Go big or go home, we say. Or, I say. Wait till we hit Rotorua on the way back and you get shoved down a hill in a giant hamster ball.”
I have my budget written down in my sketchbook but I don’t feel like pulling it out and analyzing it like some cheap bastard. Traveling around in Mr. Orange and having most of the accommodation and transport covered is saving me money in the long run. I have enough money now to make the occasional splurge in the adrenaline capital of the world.
“Count me in.”
“Me too,” Amber says quickly, and I have to wonder how much money she’s saved up for her around-the-world trip. Something tells me that her parents are helping out a lot.
“Awesome,” Gemma says. She turns to look at me and me alone, it seems. “You’ll be starting your trip out right. Good thing you’re fearless.” Then she nearly swerves into oncoming traffic and quickly corrects, swearing under her breath.
I’m not fearless, but I let her believe that.
It doesn’t take more than two hours before we’re pulling into the village of Waitomo and everything is cave this and glowworm that. We stop in a local grocery store and get beer for me and Gemma, wine for Amber, and nothing for Nick because he says he only drinks twice a week before noting that sugar is the enemy of metabolism. I briefly wonder how on earth Gemma deals with him, but seeing as she’s eager to drink beer, I think she’s dealing with him just fine.
We pile our cart with sausages, buns (gluten-free for Amber), eggs, bacon, water, and other foods that will tide us over for the next few days, then putter to the local camping spot, or “holiday park,” which happens to be close by.
Even though it’s a busy time of the year, it’s still mid-week and doesn’t take us long to secure a spot. Gemma has stored a tent and extra camping chairs under our seats. The flip-up table inside of the bus is removable, and soon we’ve set up camp outside by a fire pit.
It’s hard not to feel immediately at ease. Even though the holiday park is commercial and filled with neatly mowed grass, noisy families, and fences, there’s this total sense of wilderness just beyond the trees. The birds here are different—even the pigeons are pretty—and the plants have this tropical feel that you don’t see at home. The late afternoon sun shines down on me with a kind of clarity and strength I haven’t seen before. It burns beautifully and the sky reaches above us in never-ending blue.
I itch to sketch, to paint, but I know I won’t produce anything good here. There are too many people, too many distractions. I’m drinking too much beer called Tui, with a bird on the can. I need focus and privacy to do this world justice.
When the sausages hit the grill, we’re all eager and relaxed, even Nick. He eventually starts drinking Gemma’s share of beer. I guess it was too much being the odd one out. I know it’s petty to feel triumphant about that, but I can’t help it. The guy rubs me the wrong way, and it’s not just because he’s with Gemma.
It’s because he’s a fuckmuppet.
We run Mr. Orange’s battery for a bit to play side two of The Wall. Gemma starts singing along to “Comfortably Numb,” and though I want to join in, there’s something about her performance that seems very private. Her voice is clear and strong and it seems she’s just singing for herself, lost in her little world with the band. I can tell the song means something to her, and because of that it means something to me.
So I just watch her and appreciate it, even while Nick goes for another beer and Amber downs her gluten-free hot dog. They don’t get it. But I do.
When the tape is over, we turn off the engine and are enveloped by the sounds coming from various campsites. Someone has an acoustic guitar and is playing Eric Clapton—badly.
Another site is listening to children’s songs, like the classic “Banana Phone” by Raffi. The couple closest to us is bickering. Our fire provides enough crackles and pops to blend them all into one strange melody.
“So, Josh,” Amber says as she pours white wine into a red cup. “Gemma mentioned something about you being an artist.”
It’s not exactly a secret but I still find myself shooting Gemma a furtive glance. She looks a bit melancholy for some reason but manages to smile at me. “Cat’s out of the bag,” she says.
“An artist?” Nick almost scoffs. “What kind? Graffiti?”
“Actually,” I say, giving him a steady look, “I have done street art before, and I’m pretty good with a spray can. But I got charged for vandalism after high school, just for painting a woman on the side of an abandoned building. Charges were dropped but it scared the shit out of me.”
I’m surprised I’m even admitting it to them—I haven’t told anyone about it, not even Vera. Of course, Nick tilts his head back in an I knew it manner. Yes, yes, I am a dastardly criminal. Naked ladies, ooooh.
“Josh is writing and drawing his own graphic novel,” Gemma says, and I’m begging for her to shut up. Who knew she’d remember all that shit I told her? It’s not that I’m ashamed of what I want to do, but it’s funny how easily someone can twist graphic novels into draws silly cartoons for fun. At least that’s how my family seems to view it.
Nick is no different. I can see amusement in his donkey smile, but he doesn’t say anything. I’m not an especially violent person, but I’m wondering how many days it will take before I hit him. He thinks he’s stronger and that’s why he can be a douche, but I can take him. Probably.
“Have you told him about your dad, Gemma?” Amber asks, and Gemma seems to freeze.
“No,” she says, taking a sip of her beer. She looks uncomfortable.
“Why not?” Amber asks, shaking her head at her. She looks to me and smiles. “Gemma’s dad married my mom’s sister, so he’s my uncle in a way.”
“Was,” Gemma says bitterly.
Amber frowns. “Just because someone dies doesn’t mean they stop being related to you.” I’m not sure if she’s oblivious to how sensitive Gemma seems to be about the subject or what, but she goes on. “Anyway, he was an artist, too. A really good landscape painter. I grew up with his paintings all over our house. I felt like I knew New Zealand before I even got here.”
“His stuff was big even in Australia,” Nick says, rubbing Gemma’s back appreciatively. Hmmm. I think I like the guy better when he’s being an ass.
I want to ask Gemma more about her father but I can tell it’s something she doesn’t want to get into. I could tell that the first time she brought him up, when she was lying in my arms, in my bed, naked. Dear god, sometimes it seems like a crazy dream that I had ever been inside of her.
At that, I gulp back the rest of my beer and take another out of the cooler.
Then I have another.
And another.
Darkness descends upon the campsite and the air is filled with dying embers and a choir of crickets. There’s a chill with the sun gone. Before too long, I’m growing tired, and so is everyone else.
It’s time to decide where everyone is sleeping.
Gemma flicks on a light from inside the van that illuminates us, making the shadows darker, and pulls out the tent. “I guess we should have set this up earlier,” she says, throwing it to the ground like she’s already given up. Setting up a tent in the dark, when you’re drunk, is the worst.
She looks at me. “Do you guys mind sleeping up top? Nick and I can take the foldout at the back of the bus.”
I exchange a look with Amber and shrug. I had assumed that’s where we would be sleeping anyway.
With some effort, we manage to pop the top up so it expands like a giant blue tent over the bus.
The beds are narrow but long enough for my height. I sit slouched over on the edge of my bunk, my head pressing against the roof, while Amber sits on hers across from me, our legs dangling into the middle of the bus. “I hope you don’t have a habit of tossing and turning,” I tell her. If she does, she’ll roll right off onto Gemma and Nick below.
She smiles impishly. “I guess it depends how much I have to drink.”
“No one is falling on us,” Gemma warns from below as she folds out their bed. It occurs to me there’s zero privacy in the bus, which might get extremely uncomfortable for me and Amber if Gemma and Nick start fucking. Make that extremely uncomfortable and nausea-inducing.
I grab my gear and head to the block of washrooms and showers in the middle of the site. When I return in my loose pajama pants and white T-shirt, the bus looks downright cozy from a distance, a single light emitting a warm glow from the inside.
Once I look through the open the door, though, I see just how cozy it is. Nick and Gemma are under the blankets, giggling and moving around.
I wince and look up at the bunks. I can see the edge of Amber lying in her bed and the soft sound of her snoring comes over me. Just fucking great. Now I have to be the only one awake to listen to this shit.
I step into the bus and close the door behind me—hard. They jump under the covers and stop whatever the hell they’re doing but they don’t poke their heads out either.
Deep breaths, Josh, I tell myself.
I pull myself up into the top and wriggle into the sleeping bag I bought a few days ago. I close my eyes and the light below switches off. I can hear Gemma giggling again but then she’s whispering for Nick to stop whatever he’s doing.
The envy I’m feeling at this moment is incomparable. It sickens me, straight into my bones, and I hold my breath, trying to ignore and listen at the same time. I’ve touched her before, felt her skin beneath mine; I’ve seen her eyes roll back in her head because of something I gave her. I felt that sexual, feverish frenzy that enslaved us both.