Sophie reached her arms above her head and stretched her body out. She let her lungs fill with the fresh, misty jungle air. The morning sun was hot. She carefully untangled herself from her hammock and rose to her feet.

“Selemat pagi, Giyang,” she called out to the tiny man cooking breakfast, wishing him good morning in Indonesian.

He twisted his small, stocky torso away from the frying pan, which contained a large fish stuffed with pineapple and nuts, and flashed her a big smile. “Selemat pagi, So-pee!” 

She pushed her hips to either side, and then bent her body backwards to stretch out all the kinks. Her nobbly knees cracked loudly. She didn’t know if she’d ever be completely used to sleeping in the crescent-shaped position the hammock forced her body into.

Four small children ran up to her, shrieking and giggling as they wrapped their tiny arms around her well-defined shoulders, and pulled her down to the ground. “So-pee! So-pee! So-pee!” They cried out, as she gave them all hugs and wished them all good morning.

“Good morning!” cried the littlest boy, in near-perfect English, showing off the big gap in his front teeth, his pink gums gleaming in the morning sun. She’d taught them well. Sophie remembered how much of a struggle it had been when she’d first arrived and was trying to communicate.

Arya was a good boy. He’d been one of the first who had been able to look her in the eye without blushing or giggling. The rest had all been much more difficult to win over. 

***

Sophie threw her bag on the floor, drained from her half-hour bike ride from work, though it was mostly downhill. 

No one was home. She kicked off her black Converse shoes (her favourites) and headed down the long hallway for the kitchen. Her Mom had left her a note saying that dinner was in the fridge. Even at 23, her Mom was still taking care of her.

Sophie hated that she still lived with her parents, who never seemed to grasp the fact that she was now a fully-grown adult who could be trusted with fully-grown adult responsibilities. Instead, she had a 12am curfew, and a ban against alcohol and drugs and anything else in the gray area of the law that people of her age tend to dabble and indulge in. Though Sophie didn’t drink or do drugs anyways, nor did she ever feel the need to stay out late, she resented her parents’ rules.

Still, she couldn’t afford to move out until she was done school.

The fridge made a loud kissing sound as she opened it. Grabbing a plate of leftover extra-cheese pizza, Sophie sauntered in to the living room and collapsed onto the plush leather sofa. With her slender build, she didn’t really have to watch what she ate, but she did wish to God that she could slim down her thick, puffy ankles. She stuck one leg in the air and glared at her hated ankles as she took a bite of her warm, rubbery pizza, stretching out a long, gooey string of cheese that Sophie wrapped thrice around her finger and licked away.

Robotically, she reached for the remote and clicked on her huge plasma screen TV – her Dad’s 55PthP birthday present from her grandparents.

Sophie’s grandparents were loaded. They lived in a posh beach-side mansion, where they had a wait staff and all the opulence rich people enjoy. Sophie cringed at being fussed over by the hired help when she went over to visit, but she put up with it because her grandma always slipped her a $100 bill at the end of her visit (and lord knows you don’t refuse Grandma J).

There was nothing on the TV. Sophie glanced at her watch – it was only 6pm. Still too early for the Discovery Channel special. 

She flipped through the channels again and stumbled upon something that caught her eye. It was a Pilot Guides special on Flores, Indonesia. Sophie thought back to the strange conversation she’d had that afternoon with Peter. It had ended rather oddly, with him giving her a final glance before sliding out the door and disappearing before she could ask him any more questions. Sophie had shrugged off the goose bumps that spread across every crevice of her body (even the backs of her knees) as a reaction to the drafty room, and tried to push Peter out of her head. 

But now all she could see were his bluey-brown eyes boring into her soul.

She shook her head as if doing so would shake her mind clear again like an etch-a-sketch. Before long, she found herself drawn in to the TV program, which featured a funny-looking 30-something British man exploring the complexities of the small Indonesian island. As the show went on, she learned that Indonesia had more different species of animals than the entire continent of Africa; she learned that Indonesia was formed when part of the Asian continent and the Australian continent slammed into each other, making it the only country in the world where tigers and cousins of kangaroos exist together. 

The funny-looking guide sat on a dirty bus, looking out the cloudy window at the poor shanty-towns going by, while upbeat, contemplative music chimed in the background. 

Sophie rolled her eyes at the TV show and clicked the TV off. It must be nice for some people to be able to travel half-way around the world just to learn things they could have read in a book, she thought, though she didn’t even really believe her own thoughts.

Stretching one arm up in the air, and putting it behind her head, Sophie lay back on the sofa and stared at the long crack that stretched from the centre of her ceiling to the far left wall near the kitchen.

Sophie had been brought up to do normal things. She went to a normal school, she ate normal food, she wore normal clothes, kept her hair a normal colour, and she dated normal boys. Her parents were both very ordinary – her Dad a dentist and her Mom a real estate agent. When her parents did make it home for dinner (which wasn’t often), they sat around the dinner table and talked about normal things. The economy, Grandma J’s failing health, the hockey playoffs. 

Sophie had not really thought much about the limitations of her life – the stringent borders that were being slowly constructed around her. But for the past few weeks – or maybe it was months – something inside Sophie had been jumping all around like a bouncy ball stuck inside her chest, pounding on her heart and lungs every so often without warning. She felt trapped in her normal life. Every time the bouncy ball hit a nerve, Sophie would feel urges she’d never paid much attention to before. She wanted to dance on tables, jump off bridges, climb active volcanoes. She wanted to lead an abnormal life.

She didn’t dare tell anyone about these urges. Normalcy was a kind of religion in her area, a meat and potatoes-eating suburb of Ottawa, Canada. To cross it would be akin to walking naked through Kabul.

The God of Normalcy was, of course, the 9-to-5 job. Everything revolved around the 9-to-5 job – it completely dictated how people ran their lives. It told them when to wake up, when to eat, when to relax, how to dress, how to behave, and it had the added bonus of healthcare benefits (and how many religions can claim that?). 

And the thing about the religion of Normalcy was that Normalites (or whatever you’d like to call them) were quick to cast out anyone who broke their sacred vows. People who dyed their hair electric blue, believed in conspiracy theories, or joined the circus, were scorned at the traditional hangouts of the Normal people (supermarkets, the neighbourhood park, and Chinese food restaurants).

Sophie resented the binding confinement to Normalcy that being born into a community like hers had dictated. She knew that if she didn’t do something about it now, her life would fall into place in such a way that she’d be trapped in Averageville until she had the mandatory midlife crisis that required her to get an asymmetrical haircut, commit adultery, and take up belly dancing.

A dull clicking sound of keys in the lock from down the hall told Sophie that her Dad was home from work. She didn’t shift from her position sprawled on the sofa, even though she knew it was her Dad’s favourite spot to collapse after work. 

He strolled into the living room, scratching at the five o’clock shadow forming on his chin. “Soph!” he said, as his long face contorted into a yawn, “how was your day?”

“It was fine, Pops, and you?”

“Oh Rodney’s son came back in with some major tooth pains and we had to do another root canal, and afterwards, he discovered his insurance didn’t cover two root canals in the same month – BIG production at the clinic.”

“Hm.” Sophie wasn’t all that interested in dentistry dramas but she tried to indulge her Dad, who didn’t really have much else to talk about. She smiled and tried to look amused.

“Ya so what’s for din?” He asked.

“Leftovers in the fridge.”

~

Later that night, Sophie was lying on her bed, trying to concentrate on her newest Jackie Collins, which she generally did quite well. Not tonight. Tonight, her mind was elsewhere.

She put a tiny dog-ear onto the page of her book and placed it on the corner of her dresser. 

Sporting her pink and purple plaid pyjamas, she sauntered down the hall to her Dad’s study, and sat herself cross-legged on his overly upright chair. He was bent over a calculator on his desk, with papers scattered everywhere around it.

He glanced up from his concentrated stare. “Oh hey Soph. Sorry didn’t hear you come in. Just going over my credit card statements.” Sophie’s Dad shuffled through the pile of papers and picked out another one, and then began punching in numbers on his giant calculator.

“Dad, that calculator’s from like 1904. Don’t you think it’s time for an upgrade?”

He looked up. “What, are you embarrassed that your old man can’t keep up with the times?” Her Dad smiled and loosened his tie.

Sophie swiveled around in the chair. “Dad?” she asked, “have you ever felt the need to do something completely crazy?”

A curious look came over her Dad’s face. “Yes, I suppose so. Why do you ask, Soph?”

“Oh…I dunno.” Sophie pursed her lips and looked at the floor. A stack of nearly-new dentistry textbooks were piled half-way up the wall. Her Dad had been planning to put up a bookshelf for years, but had never got around to it.

A few moments of silence passed, and the ticking of the clock on the wall became louder with each passing second. Looking up over his thick-rimmed glasses, Sophie’s Dad cocked his head to the side. “Have you ever thought about taking a gap-year?” he asked her.

Sophie’s head shot up to catch his expression, which she expected to be a sarcastic grin. Surely his suggestion was a joke.

“I mean, all the kids are doing it nowadays, and traveling is a great education. I’ve been meaning to suggest it for a while now, actually, but I guess the opportunity never presented itself. Your school year’s almost done – it’s perfect timing!”

Before she could respond, her Dad was shuffling through his papers again. He smiled as he found the one he was looking for. “Ah here it is,” he said, running his eyes up and down a thick letter that appeared to be from a credit card company. “It’s funny because just last week, I received a call from a lovely gentleman at American Express who said that since I had spent a certain amount on my credit card in the last month – all the new surgical equipment, you know? – I had been automatically entered into their latest draw, and that I had won. He tells me I’d won a return air ticket to Indonesia. Of course, I didn’t really believe it, but just today, this letter of congratulations arrived in the mail, and--” her Dad pulled out a rectangular, glossy piece of paper with rounded edges, “lookey here! This is it!”

Sophie took the paper from him, and turned it so she could see that it was, indeed, an open air ticket to Indonesia, via United Airlines. 

Sophie felt dizzy, as though she’d stood up too fast, though she was still sitting. This was the same father who wouldn’t let her play on the big swing at the playground when she was little, even though all of her friends were allowed.

The thought of traveling scared the shit out of Sophie. She’d only left Canada once, on a family road trip to New York City – and that had been a total nightmare of a weekend with traffic jams, border confusion, long lines, and rude tourists. 

Sophie’s Dad caught her wide-eyed grimace, and chuckled. “Well, it’s there if you want it, Soph. Your Mom and I certainly don’t have the time to use it.”

“You know what, Dad?” she blurted out, before she had a chance to change her mind. “I think I’ll go.”

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