remember...

Our first day back in Australia was full of confusing instances that helped to reconstruct the memories I have of my husband’s culture. After making our way through customs, Steve in the Australian passport holder line, and me in the All other passport holder line, we parked ourselves in front of the luggage carousel. While waiting for ours to appear, our carry-on bags were sniffed by the cutest drug dog I’ve ever seen. I struggled to let the puppy do its job, without a pat on the head and back or maybe behind the ears to assure him he did a good job not finding drugs in my bag.

We found all of our bags and then headed to the Express line of customs because we had nothing to declare. The customs guy who took our bags to send them through the x-ray machine took my purse as I gave it to him and said, “All right ma’am, you’re good to go, have a nice visit in Australia.” And then he started to laugh. It was the first sign that I was in Australia – that the customs officer could laugh about taking my purse from me in an effort to joke about stealing it.

We were finally free to be in the country, so we left the customs area into the arrivals waiting area. Our eyes scanned the crowd looking for either Steve’s family or our friends who had all promised to be at the airport to meet us. We were having trouble finding their familiar faces, when out of the hum of the crowd I heard a very distinct bird call of “Ka-Kaaa” and I somehow knew it was Tim. We saw him then, as he pointed out that his brother Jon and other friend Phil were also there waiting for us. Hugs all around and then a request from me to use the bathroom.

I made my way into the girl’s room, and was surprised that I had forgotten what the toilets look like. They are rounder, taller, with a small amount of water in them. The stalls give more privacy here than in America, because the cracks between the door and post are almost non-existent. And then there’s the button on the back of toilet, allowing you a half flush or a full flush, depending on the job you’ve just done. For some reason, I had forgotten these differences, even though it is the main difference that I share with my own American family and friends when talking about my Australian experience. After my initial shock at how the toilet looked, I was able to do my job and smile, at yet another reminder of where in the world I was sitting.

When I was finished, I found the boys again and we wondered what we should do to find Steve’s family. We were all in need of a coffee, so as we made our way to find a good one, Steve’s brother Dave and mum Pauline walked by and Dave said, “Hey, there’s Tim,” before he realized that Steve and I were standing with him. There were more hugs, and we were able to finally leave the airport. We decided to leave with Tim, who always parks about a mile and a half away from the airport, to avert the fees for parking at the airport. We had a pleasant walk to the car in the beautiful Australian spring morning air. It was a strange atmosphere, this being my third time here. It didn't feel new anymore; I wasn't searching for the funny differences anymore, because they seemed normal to me. It felt like home, even like a different town within America, but definitely not foreign. I liked it.

We were taken to Steve’s sister Katherine’s apartment, where we would spend most of the day before leaving to sleep at Jon’s house. Our time there, though, consisted mainly of small snacks as we chatted, interrupted from time to time by a nap. After a shower, we made our way to Cronulla beach for some Oporto chicken burgers, which my mouth had been thinking of for nearly 2 years. After eating, we strolled the beach, near the big houses, and back again, ready for a trip into Miranda for a shop at the Westfield, which is what Australians call most of their malls.

At the mall, we were able to buy an Australian Sim card, so we unlocked our American phone. Steve handed me the American Sim card, for safe keeping until we made our way back to America. I stuck it in the envelope that the new Sim card came in, and placed the envelope in my purse. We then walked around looking to see if there was anything else we needed. There wasn’t, and we got back into the car and headed for Katherine’s yet again. When we were half way home, something told me to check my purse to see where the Sim card was. When I pulled the envelope out and looked inside, it was empty. I dug through my purse, pulling out books and wallets and passports – and the Sim card remained hidden. I stuck my hand in the bottom, trying to feel around for it, yet trying to be delicate enough not to break the card if I did find it. No luck, the Sim card was not in my bag.

Thoughts went through my mind about what an airhead I was. The amount of times that I’ve lost something of Steve’s or mine is uncountable. We got back to Katherine’s where I was able to dump my purse onto the ground to make sure the sim card wasn’t in there. Nothing, nowhere. Steve’s dad, Wayne, suggested we call the Donut King we were sitting near when we unlocked the phone, to see if we had dropped it there. After getting a disconnected number and calling mall security, we were finally able to get a hold of the Donut King store, and luckily, someone had just given them our card. They promised to hold it until the next day. Drama, finished.

We bummed around Katherine’s for a couple of hours, and then ate some homemade lasagna, garlic bread and roasted vegetables. It was tasty, it was fresh. After dinner, we jumped into Katherine’s car that she is letting us borrow while we’re here. We readied ourselves to drive the 20 minutes to Jon’s house where we would be sleeping for the weekend. Jon was going to be meeting us there after visiting his grandma in the hospital. As we pulled up to his house, a wave of sick feeling hit my stomach. I thought that maybe I had some gas issues due to the crazy amount of traveling we had done and the fact that I hadn’t had to use the bathroom that way since Phoenix about 2 days ago. But as I decided to relieve myself of the air in my belly, I soon discovered that it wasn’t only air. I thought, "Maybe it will subside if I just don't think about it for a while." No luck, the feeling just intensified until I couldn't bare the thought of holding on for another minute. I frantically asked Steve if there was any way we could get into the house without Jon here, because I really needed to use the bathroom. He asked if I needed him to drive me to a gas station, to which I yelled “NO” before he could even finish his sentence – I didn’t even think I could get back into the car without letting everything go. Steve gave Jon a call and asked him how far he was from the house. 10 minutes. And no, there's no spare key. I began to cry. “I can’t wait ten minutes, Steve. I need to go now! Quick, let’s get in the car. QUICK!” Steve ran to the driver’s side and I jumped into the passenger seat. I reached for the seat belt as I began to whimper. I couldn’t hold it in. I was sure I was going to mess up Katherine’s front seat.

We turned left out of the subdivision and in the distance, at the next light, we could see a gas station on the right side. Unfortunately, we were driving on a divided highway, meaning we would have to do a u-turn in order to get into the gas station parking lot. Which meant we’d have to wait for all of the traffic to go through the light before we could do our u-turn. Which meant I’d have to physically hold my bum cheeks together, ensuring a clean ride to the toilet. I began to scream for some help from Jesus, as tears ran down my cheeks. If there was ever a time I needed him to come to my rescue, this was definitely one of them.

Steve turned into the station, wheels squealing, and drove me straight to the outside entrance to the toilet. I ran out of the car and into the bathroom as he told me he’d fill up the car with petrol while I used the bathroom. I looked around at the dirty sink, with the thin, hard, bent piece of soap, left over and old from probably months of not being used. The toilet seat was up and inside was a layer of dirt, outlining the bottom of the bowl. I couldn’t even tell if there was water in it, and if there wasn’t, that would mean my mess would be there for someone else to clean. Trying to be considerate, even in my panic, I made sure the toilet could still flush, and sure enough, there was water in the bottom. I quickly knocked the seat down, causing an echoing "clang" to fill the bathroom, and looked around for some toilet paper to line the seat before I sat down. Between the toilet and the wall was an empty toilet paper roll, and there wasn’t a fresh one in sight. I couldn't wait another second, so I decided to worry about what I’d do to clean up later, and sat down to instantaneous relief. Thoughts went through my head that maybe I could just use my underwear and go commando until Jon arrived back at his house. I was starting to feel better, though, and logic was coming back into my brain. What was I going to do? I thought that maybe I could wait for Steve to get back from filling up the car, but I couldn’t make out how long I had been in the bathroom. Time had stopped making sense when all I could think of was the pain.

I then remembered there had been another room next to the bathroom, and I started thinking that maybe it had been another bathroom. I pulled my pants up to a sagging position, so that my underwear wouldn't touch anything, ensuring their cleanness, and waddled my way outside and over to the other door. And of course, in big block letters, it read STAFF USE ONLY. I hesitated for about 2 seconds, and decided I would just see if they had toilet paper. They did. Four whole rolls. I grabbed one and made my way back to the other bathroom where I could finally clean up and be done with the disgusting mess of a bathroom trip this had been.

Steve was waiting for me outside after, smiling. He said he almost wished I would have messed my pants and the car, because it would have made a good story. I told him I thought this one was good enough.