Flight. Fight. Fix. Part 3

Part 3: The Fix 

by D.A.Cairns

Rhys had never told Rhonda why he had perpetually resisted pushing her to go all the way with him. She didn’t understand him, and that was his fault. He’d never told her that he wanted to wait. He had said that, but never in such a way as to make it plausible or acceptable. It didn’t make sense to her. The culture clash left her crippled, bleeding but unrelenting. He chugged on his beer draining half the bottle. It was cowardly the way he had handled this relationship. Rhys saw that now, felt the sting of remorse, of self-recrimination. He had not been honest with her, but that was not the worst of it. Rhonda had loved him despite his unwillingness to tell her the truth. What was the truth?

The sun began to set over the sea brightening the room, making it glisten here and there, throwing random slivers of blinding light into his eyes. Rhys stepped out on to the balcony and looked down to the pool below. He could see Rhonda in the water. Gliding, diving, surfacing, shining. What was the truth? She was beautiful. A beautiful person; so full of life and irresistible positive energy and so full of grace. That word again. It was an irritating quality to those who lacked it. An aggravation born from subconscious envy. The truth was he was a bloody idiot.

Dashing for his suitcase, rummaging for his boardies, stripping faster than he ever had, after a few frantic minutes, Rhys was ready to hit the pool. Ready to dive in. Ready to quit the stupid game he’d been playing. Ready to be the man Rhonda had fashioned him into courtesy of unrelenting patience and love without strings; without visible limits. Once he left the room, he began to rehearse his apology en route to the elevator. Several versions came to mind, but in the end he was left with a choice between exuberance and humble contrition. Both of these were out of character for Rhys and when this realization struck him fully, he panicked. Pressing buttons on higher floors to reverse his course, to give himself more time, but the lift proceeded stubbornly to the lobby. The doors opened. There were people waiting to get in, waiting for him to get out. He was stuck.

‘Coming or going mate’, said a man with a large rose coloured and unshaven face. He stopped the door as it began to close and entered without waiting for Rhys to answer or move. Others followed. Among them was a fragile looking woman who appeared to be with the redneck Aussie. The doors closed and up they went.

‘Are you scared of water or sunlight,’ said the man without looking at Rhys. ‘Or both?’

For reasons unknown to Rhys even years after this moment in his life, whenever he regaled audiences with the magnitude of the moment, he said to the man; ‘Neither. I’m scared she won’t accept my apology.’

The man turned his huge bull head and stared at Rhys as though he might be insane. ‘Well you’re not gonna find out by riding up and down in the bloody lift, are ya?’

Rhys held the man’s gaze, marveling at his temerity, envying his conviction. ‘I guess not.’ He shifted his gaze to briefly meet the eyes of the man’s wife who smiled knowingly. She smiled from her eyes and it was genuine; simultaneously warm and wise. Rhys looked away, embarrassed by the attention.

‘What’d ya do?’

It was too late to escape now. Rhys wished like hell he had simply strode confidently out of the lift as soon as the doors parted. Marched to the poolside and quickly do what he had come to do. Damn the theatrics. No more charades. Just straight up, sincere remorse which was exactly what he felt. He could have been in the cool clear water now, playing around with Rhonda working up his appetite, stoking the fire which would eventually lead them exactly where they both wanted to go. Instead, he had baulked and now he was trapped. These were not the kind of conversations he had with anyone, especially not with complete strangers in elevators. Yet, some weird compulsion pushed words from mouth. ‘I’ve been acting like a dick.’

The woman laughed politely; self-assured, but not arrogant. ‘Pretty standard behaviour for boys, isn’t?’ Surprisingly, nothing happened in the deliberate vacancy she left at the end of her question. ‘Care to be more specific?’

‘Playing around with other girls?’ suggested the man.

‘Ignoring her for the sports feast on satellite TV?’

‘Planning the whole holiday around what you want to do?’

‘Drinking too much?’

‘Okay,’ said Rhys, raising his hands in surrender. ‘Okay. Okay.’

The elevator stopped. ‘Why don’t you come and have a drink and tell us all about it,’ said the woman. ‘I’m Jean by the way and this lovely big oaf is my husband Jack.’

Rhys was trying to politely refuse the invitation and share his name as they bustled him out of the lift and into the hall. ‘Come on love,’ said Jean. ‘We’ll sort you out and get you geared up for your big moment.’ She walked away as Jack’s heavy hand fell on Rhys’s shoulder, causing his knee to buckle. ‘You wouldn’t wanna go off half-cocked, would ya?’

Soon they arrived at an open door. Jean had already retrieved three beers from the fridge and loaded them all into stubby holders. 

‘Have a seat Rhys. Tell us all about it.’

One hour later, Rhys left Jack and Jean’s room and the security of their not so gentle wisdom, prepared, he hoped, for his encounter with Rhonda. Doubt jumped on his back as soon as his closed the door. Fear landed on his shoulders from a great height. His throat once again craved the sweet bitterness of cold beer. The elevator met him. He pushed the button and waited. The counsel of his new friends rolled around in his head while he fought to put everything in order, to bring some discipline to the chaos. His mind was a playground filled with children hyped up on sugar.

The door opened. Rhys entered. His feelings did not change at all as he watched the descent of illuminated lights on the display panel. The lift stopped. The door opened. He stepped out.

‘You changed your mind.’

Rhys looked up to see Rhonda’s radiant smile and was instantly paralysed from head to toe. She entered the lift, pushing him back in as she did. Others followed her in and was trapped. It seemed he was destined to never reach the lobby.

‘Are you okay?’ asked Rhonda.

‘I’m really sorry,’ said Rhys without looking at her as they stood side by side, shoulder to shoulder. At least he though he spoke those words.

‘What did you say?’

Rhys finally turned to look at Rhonda, only to discover she was already staring at him. ‘I said I’m really sorry.’

Rhonda looked away, mysteriously silent. The silence persisted all the way back to their floor where they exited the lift, at the same time but not together. This was going to be much harder than Rhys had imagined. He hadn’t counted on the longevity of Rhonda’s antipathy. Surely, the pool had cooled her temper as well as her body. She looked refreshed, she smelled fresh. Shed smiled at him when she entered the elevator. Had his first pitifully soft and ineffective apology destroyed any chance he’d had at earning her forgiveness. It was unlike her. Rhys didn’t feel like himself, and Rhonda was also askew; out of character as well. Had he fallen into a parallel universe? Did he unwittingingly step through a portal somewhere? What was going on? Rhys felt an urgent, nagging and tension in his stomach as he followed her along the corridor. She said nothing. He might as well not have been there. He wished he wasn’t.

At the door, Rhonda turned and looked at him. She seemed surprised: unsure what to say; perhaps conflicted within herself. Rhys attempted a smile. Rhonda turned away, pushed open the door and entered the room without waiting for him. Rhys stood still. He thought for a moment he’d be well advised to go back to see Jean and Jack and give them an update on the situation. They’d be able to boost his flagging spirit; redirect his reconciliation efforts. Or they would just say the same thing. F=Give him another beer and a kick up the backside and send him back to Rhonda to sort out his problem. The problem he created.

He didn’t want the relationship to end. In fact, now as he stood, helplessly trapped in Rhonda’s rejection of his words, even his presence, he knew he would do anything to keep her. Anything to make it right. Summoning hidden reserves of courage from the four corners of his mind, Rhys opened the door and walked towards Rhonda who was sitting on the bed staring at the wall even though she’d switched the television on.

Sitting beside her, Rhys carefully lifted her hand and held it firmly in both of his hands. Rhonda didn’t pull away. Thus encouraged, Rhys began, this time in a contrite but intelligible tone. ‘I’m really sorry,’ he said.

After a very long pause which caused Rhys to again wonder about whether he had actually spoken the word aloud, Rhonda said, ‘It’s okay Rhys. I understand. It’s over. I’m in love with someone else.’