End Note

Let's not unman each other - part at once;
All farewells should be sudden, when forever,
Else they make an eternity of moments,
And clog the last sad sands of life with tears.
~Lord Byron

Adik and I are seated together on the flight from Surabaya back to Jakarta. She clutches her yellow knapsack like a nursing baby. Shortly after we take off I hear it ring. This wouldn't be noteworthy if she hadn't sold her blackberry to Wavi at the beginning of our trip. In what is possibly one of the most absurd moments of my life, I sit beside her, listening to her bag ringing while she stares blankly at the seat in front of her.

I want to say, "Your bag is ringing." or "Are you going to answer that?" or "You know you could kill us all by not turning that Blackberry off during take off an landing." But I don't. I chose days ago to let her take from me without asking and I can't bring myself to reverse my decision now. Worse, some twisted part of me is taking a perverse pleasure in allowing this to happen, taking satisfaction in discovering that she is not the helpless, beleaguered victim she pretends to be. I no longer have to feel responsible for her. I no longer have to care. She is no longer my problem. If this is really happening, and I can't believe it is,  a partial plane ticket refund and a fake blackberry suddenly seem a small price pay.

Still, in Jakarta airport as we settle in for our 8 hour overnight layover she once again acts distressed by the attentions of a fat, balding, middle aged man though she engages him in what seems to be a lively conversation. I have been ignoring him ever since I lay down on a bench, my backpack as my pillow, for a nap.

Adik shakes me awake. "He wants to take his picture with you."

"Good for him," I groan. "Doesn't mean it's going to happen," I add before falling back asleep.

She wakes me again to tell me she's going to the second floor, then again a while later to complain that the man has followed her upstairs.

"Huh," is all I say. "Where the f@##$ is your backpack."

"Oh I left it upstairs," she says, "it's so heavy."

"Geezus," I say shaking my head. "I really don't care what you do about the man but get back upstairs and don't leave your bag again."

She nods and turns and climbs the stairs.

But, an hour later, she's back again, without her backpack.

"Where's your backpack?"

"Oh I left it back there with my friends." Her friends are a group of twenty somethings she just met an hour ago.

"Geezus."

"We are going to sleep in the mosque."

"Okay. I'll meet you in the morning. G'night."

When we arrive back in Batam, our luggage doesn't. We fill out forms but I don't expect to see any of my clothes again. Fortunately for me I don't really have anything of value left to lose. My camera's broken, my bank card's gone, my phone is stolen. I have no idea how I will brush my teeth in the morning but at least I have my work uniform, the OMP's (Old Man Pajamas) so I won't be naked when the clothes I 'm wearing are in the wash.

We're about to leave when the baggage carousel starts to turn and the luggage from the next flight, also from Jakarta, starts going around. I nearly fall to my knees and weep at the sight of my red backpack, like getting one's baggage is a great miracle to be grateful for rather than expected.

I need to sleep.

When we arrive home I tell Adik to come see me on Friday, I will have money to pay her back for the cab ride. I will send her pictures, if I can recover mine, but she should remind me if I forget.

"Ok," is all she says.

But she doesn't show up on Friday and I don't hear from her again.