The sun rose majestically over Table Mountain, and the air started to bustle with summer anticipation; soon the beaches would spotted with colourful umbrellas and towels, tourists would be visible in large groups at almost every historic landmark, and the city and its surroundings would give itself over to every activity, fashion, musical instrument, artwork, and person that may find itself wanting to indulge in the country's magic.
Mychaela stared at the large buildings surrounding her apartment from her living room window; she always smiled at the way lady fortune had blessed her when she found this place: the owner was a born and raised yuppie who inherited millions from his father, married a top-of-the-line twice-divorced cougar twice his age and spent most of his time (and his money) either abroad or in high class strip clubs and casinos, until she caught him with a trio of surgically enhanced blondes and bludgeoned his head in with a R50 000 antique artefact he had gotten her on the second night of their second honeymoon after they had renewed their vows. Needless to say, since they didn't have any children and the woman pleaded guilty almost instantly, most of their assets were either up for auction, charity, or for a very big sale. And Mychaela, having worked day and night for four years and in a stroke of luck made the right choice of investment, didn't think twice about putting down the deposit.
The place was magnificent; two bedrooms, two baths, an island kitchen and a living room surrounded by large windows that offered a view only the rich could afford. It was in the centre of Cape Town, overlooking the tip of the Mountain and half of the Waterfront. Every morning Mychaela was awoken by the sounds of seagulls and seafarers, and as she sipped her coffee the enticing smell of the ocean and sea breeze gave her the contentment she needed to start her day.
She was going to miss it.
She was going to miss all of it.
Mychaela poured herself another cup of coffee and leafed through the packet on the kitchen counter. Ticket, check. Flight information, check. Passport, check. Sighing, she headed into the bedroom to see if the bags were on order. There were only two - it wasn't worth it to take a lot, since England had more than enough stores and there was more than enough money to last at least a year on. She wondered what it was going to be like. 'Different' just didn't seem like the right adjective for her.
The front door opened and the smell of fresh croissants and muffins filled the air. Smiling, Mychaela rushed to the kitchen, and her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. 'Tall, dark and handsome' was just one of the adjective phrases that described him, and Mychaela was more than happy with that. His hair was still wet from the shower, and tiny droplets of water rested on his shoulders and in his beard. He looked at her, and her heart skipped another beat.
"I brought breakfast." It was a simple sentence, used every day by almost everyone, and was nothing but a statement, a fact, something to start the day or sometimes to surprise and entice. For them it was different. Today, that simple phrase was loaded. Behind those three simple words lay so many questions - Why? Why are you doing this? Why aren't you staying? Do you not want me anymore? Are you not happy? Why can't me and this life be enough for you? Why are us not enough for you?
"Thanks, it smells amazing."
Again, questions. What are you trying to do to me? Why can't you understand? Can't you see that I have to do this, that this is an opportunity of a lifetime? Is it so difficult for you to put yourself in my shoes and see how hard it was to make this decision? Why can't you just support me?
Those questions lingered everywhere, all the time. Every look they gave each other, every kiss, every touch and every conversation was loaded with everything they weren't saying. And even today, their last day, they refused to say it.
Silence draped over them as they ate, and every now and then a car would backfire or someone would walk by selling fish or vegetables and Mychaela would be reminded of how alone she was going to be, and especially how she was going to miss this unique part of the world. When she first met Jason, he had told her more than once how much he hated South Africa, and how he couldn't wait to someday leave; all he ever wanted to do was pack up and start over somewhere else. And she had convinced him otherwise. She had made him see the country through her eyes: beautiful and with so much potential; everywhere you went - from the tip of the South that was The Cape of Good Hope to Durban in the East, from the very metro and cosmopolitan Johannesburg to the very quiet and desolate area that was Namaqualand in the West, and everything else in between, South Africa was always vibrating with an amazing culture and an amazing people. Nowhere in world would you find eleven national languages, women carrying baskets on their head walking side by side with woman in high heels carrying briefcases, or classrooms filled with a multitude of children from almost every race and ethnicity you could think of. Down the street you would find an authentically Indian restaurant, right next to an up-market club that played nothing but Euro-trance. On Saturdays the boys would be watching rugby while the women chatted in the kitchen, while a Mosque rang its sounds loudly over the city. Braais, beer, brandy and beauty, followed by afval, atchar, intense ANC debates and an array of conversations in easily five different languages at the same time.
Mychaela and Jason bonded over all of that, and fell in love. Now it would be gone, maybe forever.
The hours passed slow, and rather painfully. Finally it was time to go to the airport. Mychaela stared at Jason, and he tried his best to avoid eye contact.
"I'll phone you when I get there?"
"Don't..please, don't. When I drop you off, it has to be the end."
A few minutes passed where they didn't - couldn't - say anything. Finally he dropped the bags and held her. All the days leading up to this moment, Mychaela spent every moment crying her eyes out; the last thing she wanted him to remember was her with tears running down her face, her mascara smudging and awful sounding sniffles that she couldn't hide. No one looks good when they cried.
But she couldn't help it. She sobbed against his shoulder, clutching him, remembering.
They sat holding each other for a long time, until Mychaela pulled away, announcing that it was time to leave otherwise the plane would leave. It all seemed like a blur to her; the drive, check - in, passport control. Eventually the great Boeing was in sight, tearful people of all kinds begrudgingly boarded. Mychaela sort of smiled at the variety of passengers; it was the normal group of being you would find on a plane: the single mom with her one year old, the heavily overweight man and woman who sat in the middle row keeping two normal sized lawyers from their armrests, the group of foreign twenty years olds hung over from a final night in Cape Town, the sullen looking teenager with at least five piercings and music blaring from the newest ipod, and of course the family of four so content with their trip that they might as well have been wearing matching sweaters.
Mychaela observed all of them, and wondered what their stories were, where they came from and where they were all going. The airport, for her, was always a reminder that outside of her world there was a greater, vaster world to experience.
Finally the door closed, and Mychaela imagined the seatbelt sign coming on. In about five minutes a stewardess would be explaining where the emergency exits are and after that the enthusiastic captain would reassure all the passengers, telling them what time they would arrive and when dinner was going to be served.
Before the plane made its ascent, Mychaela turned away from the big airport windows, bought a Coca Cola, and drove home. Two weeks ago, when Jason told her he had been offered a job in London, she knew she wouldn't be able to watch the final take-off. She knew that she would leave before he did, fool herself into thinking she was getting closure that way, and go home. Once there, she took her own passport out of the drawer next to her bed, picked up the packed bag she had hidden in the closet, phoned to confirm her flight details, and took one last look around. When Jason her he was leaving, she knew she wouldn't be able to stay; she knew she would have to leave - at least for a little while - and come back a different person, even if it was to the same place. Mychaela locked the windows and closed the curtains, turned off the appliances and switched off the lights. She picked up her bag, took one last look at Cape Town and the mountain, made a mental note to buy a cup of coffee, and left.
(1593 Words)
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