Lessons in Letting Go by Corinne Grant

Author:Corinne Grant
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
ISBN: 9781742691565
Publisher: Allen & Unwin Pty Ltd
Published: 2010-09-16T16:00:00+00:00

Part 4

Where It Was Rebuilt

Chapter Thirteen

I woke up just as the plane was landing. I stumbled to my feet, straightened myself up as much as possible and disembarked. I collected my luggage and slowly, carefully staggered my way into another country. I was walking through Denpasar airport like I was walking underwater, on my way to a yoga retreat in Ubud. And I was drunk. I found my driver and grinned at him lopsidedly. Just two weeks before, I had been lying on Adam’s couch crying over Thomas.

‘Are you sure this is all you’re upset about? I know you were close, but you just seem really, really upset.’ Adam was stroking my hair as I lay in his lap. I was sniffling and wiping my nose on my sleeve. I hesitated before answering him. I didn’t want to tell him the whole truth. I didn’t want to confess that I deserved to be hated by Thomas.

‘Of course I’m really upset, Adam. How would you feel if I told you that I hated you? I thought the world of Thomas and now it turns out that . . . I don’t know. It hurts. I feel like . . . there’s no words for it . . . I think it’s . . . it’s . . .’

‘Life.’

Adam was staring down at me with a businesslike look on his face.

‘It’s life, Corinne. Shit happens and you get hurt. It happens to everyone. You’re not going to be able to find the words for it because it’s too universal for that. Ooooh!’ He looked delighted with himself. ‘I sound like Dr Phil! Might I suggest that you don’t spend the rest of your life wallowing in self-pity?’

‘Dr Phil doesn’t speak like that, Adam.’

‘Well he should. I’m sorry, sweetpea, it’s just that I can’t stand you being this miserable. Maybe you should go to Bali.’

I wrinkled my nose. What a hideous ‘woman in her thirties trying to find herself ’ cliché. Next he would be telling me to enrol in an adult education course in leadlighting.

‘Go to a yoga retreat. Sit somewhere warm and meditate.’

‘Does it have to be Bali?’

‘Stop being such a snob. It’s very un-Australian not to like Bali.’

‘Have you been?’

‘Lord no! That place is for bogans.’

A yoga retreat did sound appealing, if for no other reason than I would fit in better at a place like that than at a glamorous health resort. Those posh places were full of models and people who had paid surgeons a lot of money to make them look like models; they probably did nothing but drink vegetable juices, meditate and have daily colonic irrigations. I wanted to go somewhere where I could wear tracksuit pants and stretch a bit; I didn’t want someone shoving a hose up my yoo-–hoo. And I wanted—needed— somewhere gentle. Perhaps Bali was the right place for me.

Now that I had arrived, in the wee hours of the morning with a bottle of wine still sloshing around my brain, it felt bizarre.

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