My spidey senses tingle. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse why—a guy glancing at me out of the corner of his. He’s looking at my legs, and I’m mentally telling him it’s not gonna happen. Cockblocking with my own thoughts. Don’t even try it. I’m Out of Order. 

And out of sorts.

I’m sitting in Federation Square, smack dab in the middle of Melbourne, Australia. It’s barely into the New Year and we’re off to a rocky start. I’m trying to reach the guy I left two hours and one train ride ago, but Jason’s hopeless with Snapchat. And I’m slowly realizing that’s not the reason why. He’s slipping away, I can feel it and I’m trying to hold on. Fighting the current. But you can’t hold running water and you can’t stop the page from turning after a chapter finishes.

Sometimes the heart needs time to accept what the head already knows.

And sometimes (often, if you’re me), you resist the very thing you need. Stuck midstep, in need of a nudge.

This new guy and I perch on a low wall that’s both plant border and people seating. A concert plays on the park’s stage. A train screeches into the station across the street while another one swooshes off—an apt metaphor.

I’m in that awkward stage of development, My Early Forties. Hormones raving rather than having their final swan song, brain too smart to fall for the usual pick-up lines, and a seasoned heart that isn’t as devastated by endings (Thank God) but still longs for the excitement of new beginnings. 

I traveled almost twenty-four hours and over 9,000 miles to be with my best friend, Shane. Best friend doesn’t quite describe it. Romantic potential would open between us from time to time when our paths crossed, but the roads led nowhere. I was madly in love with him when we first met, but he wasn’t interested. Then, a few years later, when we were in Colombia and his appetite for me increased, I was starting to taste someone else. 

But two nights ago—after ten years of missed moments in various zip codes—we were on the same page on a bridge, kissing in the New Year while fireworks blasted above the announcement of us finally merging. 

It’s the stuff romantic movies are made of. 

That kiss didn’t land like I thought it would, though. It wasn’t giving. It was taking. Sucking from me. Neediness, dry like a drought soaking up my raging river. 

Lying next to him later, I couldn’t sleep. I read the verse tattooed across the wingspan of this man I’d elevated to angel. It’s from A Course In Miracles—the book that brought us together in The States and the teaching we traveled Colombia offering. Shane was there when I got my first stamp in my passport. 

Waiting in the Customs line, I’d made the exasperated remark, “We’ve been traveling all day!” (It’d been about eight hours).

Mr. Around the World Ticket Holder scoffed, “Not even close. Travel to Australia. That’s all day.”

That comment had been the start. It took years to actualize. Being here now, my breath against his inked back, felt like the end. I wonder if I was sensing what was to come, my emotional distance preempting the physical.

Shane and I had logged hours on Skype, making plans to travel the country in his modified van. But he was backpedaling like a bait-and-switch salesman. A weird kind of control had set in. I wasn’t free to just come and go from his place. I couldn’t have my own key. 

You don’t really know someone until you live with them, even if it’s just for a few days.

Out wandering the neighborhood one night, blowing off steam and searching the stars for guidance, I met Jason. Over cups of tea and a joint, we got to know each other. He took pity on my plight and I melted into his gentle generosity. We talked and touched for hours on his porch, an ocean breeze adding its own caresses.

Things imploded the next day between Shane and me. Jealousy? Whatever it was, he was too guarded to tell me, his heart made of bullet casings. 

I left. Took the train to meet another Aussie friend for coffee and a strategy of where I could stay instead. And then I came here to Federation Square for WiFi in hopes of connecting with Jason. My fingers swipe, press, hold, and hope that my phone will ping back, already suspecting it won’t.

A sudden, strong wind whips through my semi-denial and tips the styrofoam 7-Eleven coffee cup between my next-door stranger and me, much to his horror. 

“Oh my gosh!” He jumped up and looked frantically about for a napkin. “The wind took it! I’m so sorry!”

I trace the milky tan stream snaking its way down my shin, then put my finger in my mouth, smack my lips and say, “Cream, two sugars?”

Our laughter leads to talking, which leads to walking around. As I snap some photos of the view from a different bridge, he stands just behind my shoulder, eyeing my shot and adding anecdotes. I switch to video in time to capture the sound of his next words forever. 

He breathes an invitation, warming my ear and tickling my clavicle. “You need a tour guide.”