Across the Ocean (2 page)

I
’ve made it to Iceland.

******

Early 2003

MSN chat

Brooke is in California.

marxist has sent you an image.

Well of course I
’m going to open it. I’m personally hoping that it’s a picture of him. Even though I certainly love when he sends me photos of Iceland’s landscape, I’m always hoping for photos that I can drool over. I am an 18 year old hot-blooded female, after all.

Oh yeah, it
’s a photo of him
. He’s climbed a mountain near where he lives, I think. Behind him, it seems like the end of the world with how huge the cliff he is standing on is. There even appears to be a few puffins hanging around behind him. His eyes are twinkling happily in the photo, his hair is ruffled by the breeze, and his smile is simply adorable. Why does this guy have to be so far away?
It’s seriously not fair
.

We
’ve been chatting for a few weeks now and we seem to be hitting it off pretty well. Every time I see that he is online, I get a little rush of excitement. A kinship has formed, and I already feel like I can tell him anything. He’s crazy smart and he’s always teaching me new things. He makes me laugh, and often.

I feel a connection. I am fairly certain he feels it too, with how much effort he puts into talking with me. With how big his smile gets when our video chat comes on. I think I have chatted with him more during these weeks than I have with Emilia lately. I rather like it.

salemsme:
You’re beautiful. Thanks for the photo. Where are you in it?

marxist:
I’m in a place called Látrabjarg. It’s the westernmost corner of Europe. You can usually see puffins around there, it’s where they breed.

salemsme:
Wow, no way! That’s really cool. And you live near there? I want to see a puffin someday.

marxist:
I live kind of near here. It’s a bit of a drive though. About 400 kilometers away, and takes around four hours or so to get there. If you ever come here, I’ll take you there.

salemsme:
It’s a deal. I hate to tell you that I know nothing about kilometers. What are you up to?

marxist:
I’m lying in bed. I should be asleep by now. I have to be up in a few hours.

salemsme:
Then what are you doing staying up so late? How many hours ahead of me are you?

marxist:
I think right now we are 8 hours ahead of you. It’s no trouble; I wanted to stay up to talk to you. I really enjoy all of our conversations. I look forward to them.

salemsme:
Wow, you’re sweet. I really like talking with you too. I think I’d stay up for you, if everything was flipped around. How did I get so lucky?

marxist:
I think that I’m the one who is lucky.

******

Present time

2007

Emilia drives us through a small
yet quaint town with a name I can’t possibly pronounce. She spells it out for me— Hafnarfjörður. I still can’t pronounce it after several tries, but it doesn’t matter. There’s time for all of that later.
Ain’t no one got time for that, yo!
In all seriousness, though, this place is extremely pretty.

All the houses are so different from Indiana and California
, where I was raised. It’s all very Scandinavian and I’m simply in awe of everything I see. Many roofs are bright colors, bold yellows, reds, or blues.

The architectural structure of the houses is strong and beautiful. I definitely don
’t see the same type of cookie-cutter style homes that I’m used to seeing back in San Diego or Indiana.

It doesn
’t really seem like there are two houses that are the same. Granted, there are apartment buildings that look similar, but there aren’t all that many. This town looks very well loved, like it’s been around for a while.

It is probably an exceptionally wonderful and safe place for children to grow up. Lára and Sóley are sitting in the back seat chatti
ng up a storm, while I’m just nodding and smiling in awe of every little thing I see.

******

I bet you’re wondering about Emilia and why I wanted to come visit her in Iceland so much. She and I knew each other in high school. We were both involved in show choir through different schools in San Diego, and we competed against each other on several occasions. I lived a real life “Glee.” Sequins, crazy curled hair, fake eyelashes. Singing, dancing, and music. Just none of the random singing during real-life moments like we see in the show
. I mean, who does that
?

Anyway, Emilia moved to Iceland during the summer before her senior year in high school, which was right before I started my senior year as well. While Emilia and I hadn
’t really gotten along that well in person, somehow we found a kinship online and talked regularly through MSN chat. We originally didn’t get along due to teenage female cattiness. She had said some mean things to a few friends of mine and I flew to their defense.

After some time had passed, Emilia came to me and apologized for her behavior. I had been so surprised that she had owned up to her mistakes that
my respect grew for her a lot that day. She moved to Iceland shortly after and we pursued our new friendship online.

We supported and were there for
one another, even if at a distance. We gossiped and advised each other, without judgment. I have come to look at her as one of my closest friends. Having a friend who knows just about all of your secrets but lives in a different country and probably doesn’t judge you, or have any competition with potential guys, is totally great.

Even though Emilia grew up mostly in the States, her parents are Icelandic but separated. H
er father stayed in Iceland, while Emilia and her mother lived with her grandmother in San Diego. Emilia’s childhood was definitely lacking in the solid parenting department. She was a troubled teen, and I often think that moving to Iceland was the best thing for her. It gave her a chance to start over.

There was a point in time where my father had to try and help her find her mother, who was using drugs at the time and had headed off to Mexico. Emilia ended up getting stuck in Iceland with her father during her summer break
vacation due to her incompetent mother. It was so awful when we realized that she had just run off. Nobody wants a mom like that. I would know; I’ve got a deadbeat mom, too.

She
’s one of those girls who is naturally very beautiful. She has long, light blonde hair to the middle of her back, along with very large, blue eyes that stand out and are surrounded by some seriously great eyelashes. Her lush lips are quick to smile. She has a great body, feisty attitude, and an outgoing personality. She’s absolutely gorgeous without makeup, too. Emilia has all the things that make other girls jealous. She also gets along great with guys and they all want her. I imagine that there are many girls who don’t like her just for that last reason.

She
’s wearing a pair of jeans, some black Converse sneakers, and what appears to be some band t-shirt covered with a charcoal colored grey zipper hoodie. Comfortable and convenient. She’s never struck me as a girl who put too much importance on valuables. I’d maybe even consider her kind of a hippy.

Even after I moved to Indiana, she and I kept close. She introduced me (online) to several of her best friends here in Iceland. I have been excited to finally meet Lára and Sóley after chatting with them for all this time. There was a point while I lived in Indiana where all three of them were considering moving to live with me in Indiana.

I had gone through a huge effort of trying to help by looking for a new place to rent that would house all of us and include my current best pal, Josh, who I had been living with since I arrived in Indiana. It had been a daunting task that eventually fell through anyway. We were young and didn’t really know what we were doing or what we wanted. I think it was for the best. Who wants to leave Iceland for Indiana anyways? As you can see, these three girls and I have been through some stuff together; just all of it is through the Internet. Technology these days is so fucking amazing.

Then, there
’s this whole thing with Ari.

We have a pretty special connection, having been close for going on four years now. He would stay up super late to talk with me. Iceland is always many
hours ahead of California (up to 8!) and he would wait for me, regardless of the hour.

He would always say sweet things to me.
He’d tell me I was beautiful, talk to me with respect, and dedicate sweet songs to me. We would talk of how we would be together if we ever were to see each other in person. I’ve seen him during very intimate moments. Just thinking about the things I’ve seen him do to himself just for me sends a chill down my spine and makes my clit start to throb.

It
’s so easy to feel like I know him. His presence in my life has been something I’ve grown accustomed to, and is something I always try not to take for granted. He and I have both had other relationships during these years, but that has never slowed us down. We were comfortable flirting and talking about what could possibly come of us in the future, all the while knowing that the chances of those things becoming a reality were slim.

During times that one of us was in a relationship, we would back off a bit from the flirting. Not completely
, though. I don’t think we could help ourselves. While I was dating my ex, Tommy, I would confide in Ari the difficulties I was having and he would give me great advice. He’s one of my best friends and would-be lovers. The fact that I am here right now is a big deal for us.

There is really only one problem here, although it
’s a deal breaker. Ari is in a relationship. Not with just any dumb broad—he’s with Lára, one of Emilia’s best friends. I mean, I couldn’t expect him to wait for me forever, and who knew if I was ever going to actually come here. People say things like that all the time, “I’m so going to come for a visit,” but never follow through. She seems like a nice enough girl, and he’s only human.

How was he to know that our situation would ever be any different? It
’s not like I waited for him. I had just come out of a strange as hell relationship, and Ari had been a rock for me during some of the tougher times.

I can
’t and don’t blame him. I have to admit, though, that wondering what it will feel like to finally make real eye contact with him is driving me crazy. What if he doesn’t think I’m beautiful in person? It’s not like it matters anyways, what with the whole dating someone, and the fact that I have absolutely no intention of being the tornado that rips through these people and leaves nothing except destruction and drama. I’ll just have to suck it up and move on.

******

Mid 2003

MSN chat

Brooke is in California.

marxist:
All the guys know about you.

salemsme:
And why is that?

marxist:
They saw me chatting with you that one time and they’ve asked me all about you. They think you’re really hot, just like I do. A lot of them are pretty jealous that I, some guy who lives in this tiny town in Iceland, have a girl all the way in California who spends so much time talking to me.

salemsme:
You’re making me blush :)

marxist:
You’re beautiful when you do. Can we video chat? I want to see you right now….

salemsme:
Sure, I’d love to. Give me a second to connect my headphones….

The video call takes a few moments to go through, but I see him on my screen in no time, lounging comfortably in his bed. The laptop is resting on his lower belly, which has (unfortunately for me) covered his most important eye candy by white sheets; the view is spectacular.

He isn
’t wearing a shirt, and his hair is damp and curling around his ears as though he has recently taken a shower. There are drops of water scattered across his smooth, hairless chest. It’s kind of hot to think that he was just recently rubbing all over his wet, naked body and is now having a chat with me.

One of his arms goes back to rest under his head and pillow, and he gives me a
super sexy smile through my screen. His eyes glitter with mischief. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to make actual, direct eye contact with anyone more in my entire life. It’s hugely unfair.

I can
’t stop looking at him though, and I can feel heat starting to pump through my veins. I can see his nipples are hard, and I almost let out a sound of frustration. I want to suck on them so badly. I am a healthy young woman, and my sex drive isn’t lacking for anything.

My panties are beginning to become damp, and I am squeezing my thighs together repeatedly to get some kind of relief and/or stimulation without him (or my roomma
tes, if they were to suddenly come into the living room) noticing. He looks as though he has been plucked straight out of a woman’s wet dream and placed upon my computer screen. Except, I’m the only one who gets to see him like this.
He’s all mine…for now anyway
.