Us and them

Further from the ‘trifecta’ – Job? No. Home? Living with the parentals. Partner? Long distance – than ever before, I’m surprised by my current state of calm. But I am calm, and strangely happy.

In the early hours of Sunday morning I woke, pulled on Saturday night’s clothes and prepared myself to drive Boyfriend to the airport. We’d had an interesting 48 hours.

On Friday a bunch of us drove up to Copacabana Beach on the Central Coast to celebrate a friend’s thirtieth. In a convoy of four cars we embraced the sunshine and freedom that comes with taking a self-imposed long weekend. But at the pit of my stomach was a niggly dread that a night with our mates was the thing I wanted. After all, Boyfriend was flying out at dawn on Sunday, and I knew that however gorgeous our beach surrounds, the last thing we’d be doing would be spending quality time together.

Sure, catching up with friends is great. Chucking meat on the barbeque, tossing together salads, and chatting about life is a very pleasant way to end the working week. But what starts off civilised always turns to debauchery, especially when you get together a bunch of boys who’ve not seen each other in months – even years. So come sunset the plates were stacked and the cards were out. A drinking game was called for, then another and another. After three the girls sat out and the boys continued on their binge. At midnight it seemed the perfect opportunity for them to go check out the memorial lookout (being pitch black and all), so we girls headed off to bed.

I showered, moisturised and took to our loft bed. Twenty minutes later the boys returned, the music and the lights put back on and our previously cosy loft bed location the last place in the house that a girl could get any sleep. I passed the boys, all drunkenly unaware of my seething form, and headed downstairs. I found a room with two bunks, climbed to the top of one (I figured the top to be the safer option given a boys propensity to throw himself on the first mattress he sees) and tried to resume a state of sleep.

After forty-five minutes of tossing and turning in walked two boys, ready to call it a night. Fifteen minutes later, their symphony of snoring was added to the doof doof pumping from upstairs. I managed to fall into a semi-unconscious state until woken by the crashing thud of someone falling to the floor: 2.54am.

Thanks be to mobiles, I texted Boyfriend the likes of, “Baby, please keep it down,” – to which he replied, “Sorry baby,” and managed to keep his mates quiet for all of five minutes. My next text, “Seriously, turn that shit down” got a little more notice, until at 3.25am Boyfriend texted me to come back upstairs. Thinking they had all decided to end the festivities, I made my pyjama-clad way past a dreary-eyed, somewhat grey-looking boy who was heading to bed, only to find another three still nattering away in the lounge room – right under our loft! I was fuming: my body actually shaking with rage. Innately aware of my anger, Boyfriend moved further across the bed.

I lay there for another half hour until the boys downstairs finished their political debate and finally went off to bed. When the sun rose three hours later, I got up, showered and waited until enough people were up for us to say our goodbyes and head back to Sydney.

I guess the reason I’m calm now is that far from getting angry with his disapproving girlfriend, Boyfriend understood why I was mad and so kept quiet. We managed to get back to his place and finish his packing without one harsh word. After almost five years we’ve found a really nice balance – ‘us’ and the rest of them. Both exhausted we shared an afternoon nap, enjoyed a farewell home cooked meal with his parents and were in bed before 9pm.

It was then that we cuddled, reminisced, laughed – and I cried. It would be our last night together for at least seven months. But then what’s seven months out of a whole lifetime? Nothing.

We have all the time in the world.

Note: Above pic taken last atop the Eiffel Tower, October 2008