Chapter 12
Junie
To make the most of the experience, I give up my room at the resort and move into volunteer housing.
With four metal bunk beds and a tangled nest of shoes by the door, it isn’t exactly the height of luxury, but the room is spacious and clean, it’s right by the sanctuary, and it’s dirt cheap.
If I could survive sharing a bed with Eva for two weeks, how bad could it be?
While everyone is out for the morning on the Bounty Wreck dive, I throw my bags onto one of the empty top bunks and explore the room. The warm wood squeaks under my feet, making the house feel old and lived-in.
The bathroom is filled with natural light and a breeze blows through the open windows carrying out the damp, mildewy smell. It’s cluttered, but mostly clean—filled with the detritus of four people’s toiletries, a small shower, and a ceramic hole in the ground.
I push into the stall and peer down. Where I expect to see a toilet, it looks almost like a sink has been embedded into the tile floor.
It’s white with ridges on either side of a deep black hole.
Beside it is a bucket of water and a roll of toilet paper attached to the wall.
I’ve seen a few of these squat toilets while traveling around Indonesia, but I’ve never had to use one.
Reconsidering something as ingrained as the way I sit on the toilet sets a weird tickle fluttering in my stomach.
I back slowly out of the bathroom, tilt my head back, and release a great big belly laugh.
It’s not funny, but I’m so far from home, so far out of my comfort zone, that I’m suddenly bubbling over with the absurdity of it all.
David could never imagine me here. Two weeks ago, I never could’ve imagined myself here!
In less than three weeks, everything about my life has been turned on its head.
Before I started following Grandma Frannie’s advice, I had a boyfriend, a stable job, and a lifetime of deciding what to make for dinner every night stretching out in front of me.
I was a coupon clipper. A woman of routine.
Now I’m single, possibly unemployed, and living in a dorm room on a tiny island with a squat toilet. It’s fantastic!
“You better know what you’re doing!” I say to the ceiling, feeling closer to Grannie in this moment of madness than I have since she died.
Can I really just do this? Am I allowed to cosplay as Adventure Junie and make huge, life-altering decisions without consulting anyone else? It’s only a month, a drop in the bucket of time, but what kind of person just abandons their life to volunteer at a turtle rescue halfway across the world?
Someone having a mental breakdown, my thoughts offer, cheerily.
Someone looking for meaning, I push back, gently.
Some part of me is still waiting for a Real Adult to step in and drag me back home. Saving sea turtles is not part of the five year plan. But what has all my planning ever done for me?
In a moment of indecision, I do what I always do: call my parents.
For a tense moment, I don’t think they’ll answer. It’s well after dinner time there already. I settle into the scratchy sheets of my bunk and lean against the concrete wall until Mom’s face lights up the screen, way too close.
“Hey Mom,” I say, a wave of comfort washing over me as she adjusts the angle so that I’m not looking primarily up her nose.
“Hey honey, are you back already?” There’s some grumbling and shuffling of the phone. “Your father’s here too. And Lisa and Baby Luna.” Mom’s overwhelming pride at “finally” becoming a Grandma needles me even through all the miles between us.
“Lisa?” I’m surprised. I’ve started putting my phone on Do Not Disturb since she can’t be bothered to look up the time difference and I’d forgotten about her unusual calls. Seeing her in Eastern Pines is a rarity, let alone at our parents’ house.
“Hello.” She waves awkwardly from behind Mom and Dad. Effortlessly cool with her long, purple hair and septum ring, my heart squeezes at the sight of her cradling my gorgeous little niece.
I want to ask a million questions. Why is Lisa home? What are they doing up so late? Do they miss me? Are they mad at me? But first I have to put on my big girl panties and admit what I’ve done.
“As you can perhaps tell by my background, I am not currently on a plane back home.” I choose my words carefully, showing off the drab walls of the dorm room, the piles of the other volunteers’ luggage, and the towels drying on bed frames.
It all looks a little sadder on the phone screen than it feels in real life so I quickly turn the camera back on me.
There is a collective gasp and cross talk as they fire questions at me and chat amongst themselves. Something in me softens at the chaos. My family doesn’t know how to do anything in half measures.
“Your father would like to know where you are and when you’re planning on coming back—and I have to say, I would also—”
“Mom, if you’d let me get a word in, I’d tell you. I’m still on Gili Telu. I’ve decided to stay for another few weeks.”
Another explosion of noise. One of the dogs starts yapping, adding to the cacophony. I can only pick out a few words, but I understand the gist. This isn’t like me. They can barely compute.
“Did something happen to your flight, sweetheart? Should we call the embassy?” Dad’s face takes over the screen, his brows knitted with worry. “Do you need money?” he adds, quieter.
“I am perfectly safe and I do not need money,” I say, enunciating each word clearly and hoping to be heard over the babble of sound.
“I’ve decided to use some of my inheritance to extend my trip.
” I quickly explain about scuba diving and the sanctuary.
I want to tell them what it’s like to breathe underwater, to feel like I’m uncovering new layers to myself—but the conversation is quickly unraveling.
Finally, Mom relents. “Well as long as you and David stick together honey, I guess that’s alright. We really miss you though.”
My stomach drops. “Mom, David and I broke up. I told you Eva came with me instead.”
“I know, but Lisa said you were back together. He’s not there with you?”
“No, he’s not here with me. Why would she say that?”
My parents both turn to Lisa who mumbles something inaudible and refuses to look at the camera. Trust my baby sister to show up and stir the pot for no reason at all.
“David and I are not together. My being here has nothing to do with him,” I say, feeling my blood grow hot. I don’t want to talk about David. We were talking about me.
“If you say so, honey. I’m proud of you either way.”
“You’re… proud of me?” I’d been half-convinced they were going to demand I get on the next plane home, so this stuns me. I expected surprise, I was hoping to avoid anger or those stomach-churning frowns of disappointment—but proud? I’d just set my life on fire. Is it Opposite Day?
“Do you remember that trip we took to Canada to see the Falls? You were probably in first grade. Do you remember that, Lisa? You were just a baby.” She turns toward my sister who is rocking Luna, pacing in the background. I hear a flat, “No,” before Mom continues.
“Anyway, you got your first passport stamp that day and you told everyone we met that you were going to fill every page. You asked for a map of the world for your birthday that year and you made a list of your top ten destinations. I always thought you might do a semester abroad or something.”
My mouth feels dry. I’d wanted to do a semester abroad in Italy more than I wanted to breathe air, but it was too expensive. I’d never bothered to ask if my parents would support me—it was a frivolous expense for a business degree and I never want to be a burden to them.
“I don’t think Indonesia made the list, but I’m glad you’re enjoying it. The pictures you’ve sent have been amazing.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“We should probably get going, it’s getting late here.”
“What’s it like living in the future?” Dad chuckles at his own joke.
“We love you!” They chorus.
“Love you too,” I sign off. I feel heavier and lighter all at once.
I’d barely gotten a word in edgewise, but my spontaneous decision to stay another month hasn’t ended the world. My family is crazy, loud and opinionated, but they seemed to take it well—for them.
Maybe it’s not that crazy, I think, flipping open my bag and digging to find a notebook. It’s the craziest thing I’ve ever done, but it’s not that crazy. After all, I’m sleeping in a dorm room with at least four other people who are doing something similar.
But Adventure Junie has her limits. Now that I’ve accepted my decision to stay, the hours of unstructured free time yawn before me, vast and intimidating. I’m supposed to have the day off to get settled, but there isn’t much to do. I need a project.
Since I have no idea what is happening with my life, I can’t exactly sketch out a new five year plan. But I can do the next best thing: throw myself into work.
I start sketching out a basic content schedule for the sanctuary’s social media accounts, finding comfort in the familiarity of a task I know well.
I want to be a cool, flexible, down-for-whatever kind of girl, but I love a good template. I flourish with routine.
In the back of my mind as I work is a silent prayer that I won’t have to pee until I meet up with the gang at The Local. Let me tackle the squat toilet another day.