Fernweh

I wake up from a nightmare where my mother bursts through the bedroom doors to ask just why I thought I could leave the country without her permission; my father standing behind her with a reproachful look. I’m covered in a thin film of sweat and my hair is sticking to my body.

“West,” I groan in the direction of Westerly’s bed. When there’s no answer I drag myself out of the bed to make sure no one’s come in and murdered her. I plop down on her bed and it takes me just a second too long to realize that no one’s in the bed. Cursing at her mentally I track down my bag and dig through it, looking for my phone; the first thing I do is check the time. I check the time and groan. It’s seven o’clock, to late do go out and do anything alone. I dial West’s number, intending to call and demand where she is before I remember that we can’t use our phones over here.

“Screw it. I just hope she doesn’t get murdered, I’m not explaining that to her family,” I mutter into my bag before pulling out clothes comfortable enough to sleep in and a ratty towel, the only one I could get to fit into my bag. I track the room key down from under my bed and making sure I bring my sandals with me I step into the hallway outside. It sounds like there’s a party going on from downstairs and I want to go join in but not in this state. I get half way down the hall before I remember that I forgot my soap and cursing at myself I backtrack to get it.

I manage to track down the bathrooms, having to stop and ask directions from a girl with a British accent so thick I’m sure that it’s fake. I’m mildly surprised by the states of the bathrooms. There’s individual stalls instead of a community shower and the floors look clean enough but who’s going to trust their health to looks? I strip down- forgoing modesty; this is Europe after all- and slide into a bathroom stall, the hot water rushing over me.

A low moan escapes me as the hot water hits my skin. This is what heaven is. Now all I need is a bright-eyed and frisky Irish boy in the steam with me and this will be the ultimate vacation. I can’t help but grin at my fantasies; West always calls me to visual-minded. She just doesn’t understand.

I scrub down fast after standing under the water for five minutes not liking the way it feels to take a shower with sandals on and when I step out of the stall with my towel wrapped around me I can’t help but feel baptized. The last shower I took was in Texas and now I’ve taken one in an entirely different country. Strange, the water didn’t feel that different. But, you know what they say, all water is old water.

I get dressed slowly, West probably isn’t back yet and I don’t want to go to an empty room, that’s just depressing. I drag my feet down the hallway and the sounds from the common room are louder than they were before I left. I make a split second decision to go down and join, trading my sandals for a pair of socks and pulling my hair into a ponytail that drips water behind me. At the top of the stairs nervousness hits. How the hell do you just join into a random party?

Come on, Hilda. Just remember they’re all traveling just like you are. There’s probably a few foreigners down there too. Just strike up a conversation it won’t be that hard you awkward mess.

I was never one for pep talks.

Or one for people, I remind myself as I take the steps slowly. It’s true, I usually clam up and say the wrong things around new people because really, why do you need new people in your life? It’s the same-old same-old for me any day. But I did this to break out and become a new person and damn anyone to Hell, including myself, who keeps me from doing that.

I take the last step and look around, not surprised but expecting what I stepped into. Someone produced an extra-large Twister mat, which really just looks like a bunch of regular Twister mats taped together. I quirk my eyebrows but then I notice the bottle of amber liquid surround everyone. Perfect, drinks always make it easier to talk.

The boy from earlier with the long dreadlocks is twisted around a girl wearing shorts that have to be cutting off her circulation and I notice that he’s trying to sneak a hand up her shirt. I roam my eyes around those watching them, my eyes catching ahold of a shock of blond hair and busy brows: it’s the boy who checked us in. My heart skips a beat of happiness; at least I’ve broken the sound barrier with him, starting a conversation won’t be that hard.

I throw on what I think is my winning smile, though West says it looks like a smile someone would wear if they were going to eat someone. I step up beside him and I catch his eyes flicker down towards me just a second before he turns to look at me.

“Well, you’re new. No, you came in earlier today didn’t you? I remember you, your friend was struggling up the stairs with her bag and you started yelling at her.”

He’s talking slower than he did when we checked-in; probably something to do with the alcohol bottle clasped in his hand but it still takes me a moment too long to understand just exactly what he’s saying.

“Yeah, she always over packs. So, whose idea was all this?” I ask pointing to the Twister board feeling like a complete idiot trying to make small talk.

“That idiot with the dreadlocks, Ryan. He said it would be fun but I really think he was just smoking a little too much,” he says with a wink, giving the international sign of smoking weed. I grin; I can get along with him if he knows that sign.

“Gotta have fun one way or another. I’m Hilda, by the way. Hilda Beard.” I put my hand out and he slides his in mine. It’s awkward to shake hands but at least I can say we’re acquaintances now and that’s at least a new with me.

“Hilda, what kind of name is that?” He asks a teasing lilt to his words. I narrow my eyes and purse my lips. I’ve never liked people making fun of my name. It’s a brilliant name; a strong name.

“It’s really Hildegard, after the saint but it sounds stupid if that’s what I go by. What is your name, by the way, if we’re going to be introducing ourselves?”

“It’s Roran, a chara.”

I turn my head sideways, trying to figure out if he means his name is Roranachara or Roran Achara. Either way it’s a weird name and he has no room to say anything about mine.

He must notice the way my face looks because he lets out a rumbling chuckle and bends down to speak, his voice carrying over the influx of noise as Ryan slips in the Twister board and takes the girl down with him.

“A chara means friend, it’s like saying ‘love’ or ‘sweetheart’. It’s not my name. Speaking of friends, where is yours at?” He looks around the room, trying to spot West. I shrug my shoulders and explain that I haven’t seen her since I woke up from my nap.

“Well, if she’s having a little fun why don’t you?”

He extends the bottle he’s been sipping from towards me and I hesitate for a second. I’ve had my fair share of drunken nights (mostly at parties thrown by douche bags) so the alcohol isn’t what’s worrying me. What’s worrying me is the idea of getting drunk in a room full of strangers and drinking from a bottle offered by a strange Irish boy.

What the hell, might as well live it up while I can. I take the bottle from it and swig, almost coughing at the strength and the taste. Whiskey was never my forte and the Irish aren’t joking about there’s.

Roran reaches back towards the bottle but I pull it out of his reach.

“Dig up another one.”



I don’t know how many hours have passed since I took the first bottle from Roran but I’ve barely made it through the bottle and I’m already stumbling. Somehow I got pushed onto the Twister game and my arm is wrapped over the torso of an Australian boy who’s just ‘passing through’ on his way to find fate. I snorted when he first said that but now that we’re on the board and he’s whispering his ideas about the future and he’s almost got me a believer.

Roran is sitting down beside the board, cheering me on and sloshing his drink around. He’s been stopping everyone that will listen to tell them I have a strange accent and he’s been getting me to say random words like ‘arm’ and ‘pool party’.

I’m trying to tell him to shut the hell up and I turn my head, busting my nose against the Australian’s torso. Groaning I rest my head on him.

“This guy smells like a kola bear,” I tell Roran my voice slower than usual and my words slurring slightly. Roran starts laughing and lifts his drink towards the ceiling and wiggling his eyebrows.

“I like you; you’re a lot of fun.”

I don’t know if it’s the booze or the fact that we’ve been talking a lot but I understand him through his accent better and better with each minute.

I start laughing and my hand slips from under me. I crash into the Australian and we both go down, my foot accidentally kicking someone. Groaning I lay on the ground until a pair of hands rolls me over and I’m looking up into the face of Westerly.

“What are you doing down here?” She asks her face screwed up in anger.

“Meeting new people. West, this is Roran and the boy over there with the dreadlocks is Ryan and this guy,” I tap the Australian with my hand, “is from Australia and smells so weird, West.”

She presses her lips together before rolling her eyes.

“You’re drunk. How much have you drank?”

“Not even a bottle, but I don’t think ten proof means the same here as it does back home.”

I can almost feel the patience flying out of Westerly. She snaps her fingers at Roran and tells him to grab one of my arms. He complains but she blames him for my ‘inebriated state’ and he sets his drink down grumbling. They pick me up and set me on my feet, West brushing my back off.

“We’re going to bed; do you have the room key Hila?”

I dig it out of my pocket and she grabs my arm and pulls me towards the stairs. I wave good-bye to Roran and Ryan, the Australian busy talking up a pretty blonde to notice me. West is grumbling underneath her breath and I can’t help but roll my eyes at her.

“Aw, come on West. You went out and roamed around without me and you expected me not to get into any trouble. You know me better than that.”

She grumbles under her breath before making me climb up the stairs before her. There’s a pause in the conversation before she sighs.

“For a drunk you sure can hold a conversation,” she says sounding tied. I scoff and wave my hand in the air.

“I’m not drunk. This is a buzz. If you would have waited another hour or so I probably would be gone by now; might have been making out Ryan. But I mean I broke the conversation barrier with three people.”

“Oh yes, and the Irish whiskey had nothing to do with it?” West sounds condescending as we reach the top of the stairs and I turn to look at her as she comes up.

“It has everything to do with it. But I made friends and I’m proud. What did you do while I couldn’t find you by the way? Did you find any cute Irish rouges to sweep you off your feet?”

She shorts and pushes me towards the room.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow when you wake up. Now come on, my feet hurt and I smell bad I want to take a bath.”

When we get into the room I fall down on my bed, breathing in the scent of a bed that’s been slept on by hundred and hundreds of people. West tells me to stay here as she goes and takes a bath and I mean to interrogate her about what she did and where she went but I pass out before she gets back.