The Chapters - The Magic of Mystery
The first instant movie romance. A very true, very short story.
Eighteen, three months off nineteen years old, dreaming of being a hard hitting travelling print and photographic journalist and then potentially author of a best selling book, illustrated by me, of course. First semester of university and literally drinking life through the straw of a bottomless glass. I was unstoppable, enraged with enthusiasm and pounding with confidence – that was until I had to do a quick passport visa run to New Zealand and back.
I had arrived in Australia two months earlier, after having lived in New York; my student visa still processing and my first true year at University about to start, I entered with my passport on a visitor visa, only to realise I needed to leave and enter the country again once my student visa was finalised.
Treating the expedition as casually as I did a run to the grocery store; I packed my vintage brown leather book bag from New York – with just my passport, tickets, wallet, 3 text books, a note pad, a novel, my half broken moto flip phone, my enormous only sometimes functional ipod and my camera. My intention to land in Auckland, sit in the airport for a few hours, and come back (because normal people do that, right?)
It was 2006, Facebook was brand new and comparatively, only a handful of people were on it (all university students). Myspace had been around for a few years but was slowly coming to it’s demise; there were only so many high angle digital camera shots sporting a straightened side fringe and heavy black eye liner that the world could take. Smart phones didn’t exist and Motorola Razor phones were all the rage; laptops were big and if you had the monster that was the original MacBook Pro, you had made it in life; that was about as portable as technology was ( I had one, it was heavy. )
I had probably been drinking the night before, amongst this obnoxious confidence that I had in myself artistically, I was actually, personally, innately shy – but, excitable.
On went the black eyeliner (2006) and nothing else on my face, I had a deep tan from the pool infront of my student accommodation and at the time, I had taken to dying my long hair chocolate brown, because light eyes and dark hair were the thing (again, 2006). I threw on a hemp, light green, hippy dress with a vintage blue denim jacket – and I was out.
Upon landing in Auckland, I breezed through immigration, turned left, and went to check in for my flight back – almost immediately – to the befuddlement of ground staff who had just seen me land literally less than 30 minutes ago.
With a smile on my face, I handed over my passport to the kiwi airline manager, he arched his eyebrow and said, quizzically “no luggage?”.
To which I responded, in a smart ass tone “I travel light.”
He rolled his eyes “ and not for long, I take it. Your flight back is delayed, we can’t check you in, you’ll have to wait in the departures area.”
Deflated I asked “ how long for?”
To which he smirked “Could be about 8 hours, there’s a technical issue with the plane, maybe you should have brought some luggage with you and actually stayed in the country for a night.”
I gave him a sarcastic nod and strained smile – walking away toward the outer food court, I set up a home station and started reading some text books and making notes. Important to note, I had chosen to travel with basically $30 cash in my wallet and not much else.
I had been reading intently for about 45 minutes with stereophonics plugged into my ears when I noticed a persons gaze from the table directly in front of me – I lifted my head, our eyes locked for a second and then I shrunk into myself, suddenly painfully shy, looking down, smiling. Still not shy enough that I didn’t look up to see this person again, a he, still looking at me, now, also smiling.
Being the painfully awkward person that I can sometimes be, I proceeded to lift my text book over my face, then drop it, to then shuffle through some photographs I had developed in the dark room at uni, to only then drop them and watch them scatter in slow motion on the floor as well.
Before I even had the chance to pick up the contents of my life whilst tangled in my ipod wires that I had dropped on the floor, he was standing above me – tall.
“Hi” he said. He was English.
I unplugged my headphones… “Hi” I unimaginatively half whispered back.
He bent down and helped me pick up my mess, he smelled wonderful.
Once we had collected everything, he pulled up the chair across from me at my table and sat, intently with his head rested on his hand, supported by his elbows on the table.
“ I’m Theo. I want to know everything about you.”
Hardly listening to the words coming out of this mouth, I took him in – sandy brown hair, swept over his forehead (again, it was 2006), with the slightest beach wave flicking at the ends next to his ears. He had blue eyes with a green ring, the opposite of mine. His skin was the lightest tan, he had lips that were pouty, without being big, his eyebrows were set intensely angled with his eyes – making him appear as though he was looking straight into my soul. He was tall, over six foot, his shoulders broad and body narrow, he was wearing a long sleeve hemp, sage green shirt, round neck, no buttons – relaxed jeans, rolled up at the hem, he was not of that time, in my eyes, he was a dream from a National Geographic adventure crew of 1999. He had by his side, a Northface backpackers pack, what seemed to be a few copies of the lonely planet, a Kerouac novel and a camera bag.
After what seemed like an eternity of staring I answered back. “Hi Theo, I’m Nadia, my mum actually calls me Teddy.”
“Two Teddys” he grinned.
I lifted from my neck a necklace that my mum had given me before I left for New York the year prior, the pendant was a teddy bear, and dangled it infront of him.
“Three Teddys, actually.”
For a moment, the scenario ran through my head that he might be a psychopath trying to abduct, rape and murder me – but after a little bit of naïve self assurance, and a reminder that I was in an airport – not a full moon party in Thailand, I was fine.
He pulled my books and photographs toward him on the table, sifted through them – read a few lines that I had written in my poetry book.
“What’s your story, why are you here? Where are you going? I’ve been watching you for the better part of an hour – not in a creepy way, well, maybe it’s a bit creepy. It’s not often you see a girl who looks like you buried in books, seemingly enjoying it. Are these your photographs?” Theo held up some of my prints with his eyebrows raised – one, of a flock of pigeons floating in the sky above Saint Marcos Square in Venice.
I took immediate, unnecessary defence, “a girl who looks like me? yes, they are my photos. I’m in transit.”
He looked down, shuffling through my papers and images, “Beautiful. Effortlessly, uniquely beautiful, maybe you don’t know it? And I’ve been to a lot of beautiful places where they claim that they are the most beautiful women on earth..but, somehow, the one that I find the most beautiful, is sitting in the food court in Auckland airport, of all places.”
I was taken a back. I wasn’t really used to that kind of cander. I was still very young, and despite having had a few boyfriends; not terribly used to the random nature of people meeting and saying exactly what they were thinking (whether it was a line that was used on many, I’ll never know.)
I didn’t know how to respond, so I looked down and covered my face with my hands. And just let out “smooth.”
“Are you studying to become a journalist?” he asked, looking straight into me whilst holding my war journalism text book.
“I am, I’ve only just started – I kind of wanted to be a fictional novelist; but, the idea of travelling, writing and taking photos for the rest of my life appeals to me..I like experiencing new and exciting things.” Why was I telling this random guy everything about me?
I looked straight back at him, he was smiling softly. In a much more gentle tone he leaned forward and asked
“ Where are you flying to?” I didn’t answer, instead “What about you Theo, what’s your story?”
Honestly, I didn’t have the guts to tell him that he was beautiful, to me, to look at, at least.
He reached into the front pocket of his shirt and pulled out a pair of thin framed, delicate glasses and put them on. If there was a way for me to find him more physically attractive, he had just done it.
“ Well, I’m on my way to Santiago, Chile.” He pointed at his camera bag “I’m 20 years old, I’m from Surrey and I’m travelling the world making movies and taking pictures.”
I pointed at his Northface bag “so you’re a bag-packer?”
He shook his head “ I have a bag back, I’m not a bag-packer, I’m not travelling around the world getting drunk, having sex and hanging out in tourist traps, I’m travelling the world documenting it – and I’m hoping to be able to do that for the rest of my life.”
He snapped out of his serious demeanour “so, Teddy with the green eyes, broken phone, loads of books, shitty camera but great photographs” he grabbed my hands “ please tell me you’re on your way to Santiago, Chile, to write amazing feature articles and take photos of me taking photos of the Andes.”
I kind of felt the breath fall out of me.
“Well, Theo with the blue eyes. I’m sorry, but I’m not – being that I’m 18, I’m, boringly, just on my way back to Brisbane and have to be in uni on Monday.”
He gripped my hands tighter
“Do you absolutely have to though?”
Now, 17 years later, if somebody asked me that question I could quite confidently say no, no I definitely didn’t have to. Though university was a great experience, it in no way impacted my path in life… but, that’s now… this was then.
“Theo, you seem really interesting, I’m probably way too interested in you given that we’ve known each other for all of 15 minutes.”
He interrupted me, winking.
“Technically, I have known you for over an hour.”
Trying to maintain my cool, “What would you even do if I said, you know what, I’ll come with you, seeing as I’m your dream girl.” I laughed “what would you even do?!”
He looked at me dead in the eyes, the smile on his face disappeared. “ I would pick you up, spin you around and tell the whole world that we were about to have the most tremendous adventure.”
I didn't know whether to laugh, cry or jump into his arms.
“Now quickly tell me your life story”, he said, rushed. “I want to know you. Everything. Where were you born, where are you from. What are your dreams, where have you been, where do you want to go, do you have siblings, what are your favourite things, what do you hate? Do you have a boyfriend, and am I your type.”
I giggled, I giggled in a pathetic girly way. He has a posh English boy accent, every word enunciated perfectly, obviously educated, probably rebelling against everything his banker father would have wanted for him. His face was intelligent, spontaneous, youthful, rugged, but classically handsome.
“ I don’t know where to start. I was born somewhere you’ve probably never heard of.. from so many different places. I have so many dreams, too many, I don’t hate anything other than boredom and ignorance. I have one older brother. I don’t have a boyfriend, and I think you might be the definition of my type.”
He stood up and held his hand out “ Ok, in which case, lets go on a date, would you like to go on a date with me, perhaps you can tell me every detail of this over complicated life of yours over something to eat?”
I laughed, stood up and nodded “so, where are you taking me? I know a good little Chinese place in the area” I pointed at the Chinese food outlet in the food court, the only outlet that was open.
“Excellent” he took me by the hand and ushered me over to the counter and exclaimed “ my beautiful wife and I would absolutely love some lunch, dinner. Whatever time it is. But it must be quick, we have a plane to catch to go on our next expedition.” The staff looked unimpressed, I was melting. He ordered practically everything they had. “This should be enough food to keep us eating during your life story.”
I saw the price on the till and my smile dropped, I turned towards him and said “ this is really embarrassing but I only travelled with $30 and that was just for a cab home.”
He looked at me, gently “don’t worry Teddy, I’m paying,” and rested his chin on the top of my head.
We sat down and we talked for two hours. Two magnificent hours. By the end of it, we knew everything about each other, out pasts, our present, our imagined future. We shared my ipod and listened to music together, stood up and had a slow dance; much to the confusion and entertainment of the few other people in the food court.
He whispered, whilst twirling me, “why couldn’t I have met you yesterday?”
I stopped in my steps mid twirl, suddenly solemn “ do you get paid to do what you do?”
He casually responded, “ I do, I sell my images and footage to magazines, some of the footage makes up b-roll for documentaries. It’s unpredictable but it’s rewarding.”
Inspired, I shared a goal of mine “I really want to trek the Himalayas, take photographs and write about it – is that something you would ever want to do?”
He sighed “It’s something I dream of doing, we’ll do it together, maybe.”
The loud speaker blared “Air New Zealand, flight 435 to Santiago, Check in is now open,”
With a sudden sense of urgency, his eyes widened, he grabbed both of my shoulders “Come with me.” I rested my hands on his chest “You know that I can’t, and even if I could, I can’t buy a ticket.” Without hesitation, he snapped back “ I’ll buy your ticket, I’ll buy your ticket right now.”
A bit excited, but then deflated, “Don’t be silly Theo, trust me, you’ll forget about me the moment you land in South America.” He rolled his eyes at me and said “ no, I won’t, trust me. And it’s central America, and no, really, what if I bought you a ticket right now? If you hate me you can leave immediately and I’ll pay for your ticket back.”
Before I even had the chance to respond he intensely stared at me “ I have never felt so connected to someone I barely know, I’m embarrassed to say I could probably even love you, which is absolutely ridiculous – and no I have never done this before, and I don’t think I’ll ever do it again."
I was lost for words, mostly because I felt almost exactly the same, I was just too shy and too cowardly to say it.
He asked me to walk with him to the check – in desk, and that once he was checked in, we would go to the ticketing desk; and I could then make the decision as to whether I was coming with him or not.
We walked, in silence, his arm wrapped around me, warm, did I mention he smelled amazing? Once we arrived at the check in line, with 9/11 having been not that long ago – security was tight, I was not allowed to enter the line with him. We agreed that I would just wait for him to check in, and he would come back out again. He said softly, “see you in a minute Ted.” I watched him progress in the line, I leaned on a pillar and pulled out a book to pass the time. I decided in my mind that maybe I could do it, maybe I could go on that adventure, that spontaneous, exhilarating, inspiring adventure – maybe I would. I was ready, once we walked to the ticket desk – I’ll would say yes, and I’ll go with nothing but the bag on my shoulder…and Theo. I played out the scenario in my head, I was scared, excited, worried ad happy. I put my book back in my bag and looked up with a smile on my face.
What I saw was Theo frantically waving his arms at an airline ground staff member, visibly upset and frustrated. I could hear the exchange. He had checked in, and staff were not allowing him to return back to departures – he had to progress into the airport and through security. I could hear him yelling “No, but, my wife, my wife is out there, I have to get to her, she’s coming with me, or I need to say good bye.” The staff were obnoxious and kept repeating the security protocol. We locked eyes. His mouth slightly dropped open, his eyes sad – his whole body lost it’s energy and slumped. He just looked at me, from a distance, saying nothing with his mouth and everything with his eyes. Before I knew it, the staff had eased him through the door to the boarding areas and I couldn’t see him anymore.
I was in a daze, what had happened that day. What on earth was going on?
It then dawned on me. I didn’t even know his full name, I didn’t have a phone number, an address, I had nothing. I collected myself, because I felt that warm influx you feel right before a tear, which- was insane, how could I be that upset? Then I had my light bulb moment, if I checked in for my flight to back to Australia now, then I could at least get through to the boarding lounges, and then, even if we can’t have our adventure right now; we will have each others names, contact details – something, anything.
I ran to my check in desk. The same attendant was there.
“Check in still isn’t open” he said, blandly.
“When does it open?!” I asked breathlessly, with a sense of urgency.
“hour and a half, 3 hours before departure” he said again, not even looking at me, signaling the people behind me to step forward.
I waited.
When I eventually checked in, I sprinted through security, looked up at the flight status screens and saw the gate number for Santiago alongside the status “last call”. The gate was directly in front of me – it was barricaded, not a soul in sight; and when I looked out of the huge windows I could see the plane beginning it’s taxi. I peered up at the screen one more time, the status was now “flight closed”.
He was gone, I was too late – and just like that, my Hollywood romance came to a screeching halt.
Six years later, I trekked the Himalayas alone, I took photographs and I wrote about it.
Without even thinking, I looked for Theo in every person with a Northface backpack and camera bag that I saw in Nepal and Tibet, I read the lonesome traveller by Jack Kerouac when I hit Everest Basecamp. I knew we would never see each other again, but also I knew at some point, we were both there, and how magical the mystery of not knowing anything more really is; and how lost that feeling has become in an age of no mystery.
**To all the cynics: I wasn't being sex trafficked ;)
