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Writer's pictureQuimby Masters

Our first years together

Updated: Nov 22, 2021

When I met Peter, my world changed . . .



We took this picture in a photo boot at Flinder's Street Station shortly before I left for a student exchange at the American University in Cairo. I slept with it under my pillow for several years.


It was the first Sunday in April, 1995. I had only just started at the University of Oregon. I remember that day I was still wearing the dress I'd worn to church, the same dress I'd gotten for my high school graduation. It was maroon with yellow sunflowers. I'd decided to go study down in the study room in the basement of the dorms, before watching The Simpsons in the neighbouring TV room.


After about half an hour of studying, I went into the TV room to see if The Simpsons had started. And there he was - this beautiful man, the only other person in the room, studying while watching TV. (I never understood how he could do that. He never understood how I could study in silence.) I asked if he could change the channel; he stood up - I must have startled him - and changed it for me.


That moment will live forever frozen in my mind, because time stopped when he stood up.


You have to understand that I wasn't boy-crazy. I'd never so much as had a crush before. But when I saw Peter, it was like the earth shook under my feet. The mountains tumbled. The oceans rose. Something inside of me stirred, and I knew: This man was my future.


As it turns out, The Simpsons wasn't on yet; so I turned and walked away. I remember having to remind myself to breathe. I remember saying to myself, "Wow, he's hot!" I couldn't study after that; all I could do was think about him - that thick dark hair, that square cleft jaw, those eyes that seemed to see into my very soul. I went back to the TV room and settled on a couch one over from his. All during The Simpsons, I kept looking over at him, trying to think of something to say. Finally, during Married With Children, I saw an opening.


"Imagine if people overseas really thought we were like this," I said, not realising that he wasn't American.


It was a dumb line; but maybe he was into me, too, because he turned to me and we started to talk. At some point he moved closer to me.


I had spent three weeks in France the summer before, and so I thought I was sophisticated. I told him about those three weeks. He let me ramble on, grinning the entire time, before he revealed that he'd spent 7 years traveling around the world. I felt pretty silly, bragging about my three weeks! But he didn't make me feel small. Instead he said that I was younger, when I went overseas, than he was, the first time he went overseas.


He was just like that: He valued other people's experiences, too. He didn't want anyone to feel smaller because of him.


That first night we stayed up talking until 2 AM. I was tired, when we finally decided it was time for bed; but I was also elated. Excited. In love.


It wasn't until later that I learned he had a girlfriend . . . .


But I had more pressing matters first. Namely, I had forgotten his name.


Mind you, it didn't stop me from eating dinner with him most nights. He would always sit at the far wall of the cafeteria, and he'd sit there for quite a long time - after years of travel, years of living on very little food, he was astounded at the US dorm system, where every meal was an all-you-could-eat buffet, complete with desserts and soft drinks. Inevitably I would find him there, long since finished eating but not yet ready to leave. We'd talk and laugh together. By then I knew he had a girlfriend, but I figured we could at least be friends.


I would often look up to find him staring at me, and it thrilled me. He had this way of looking at me, as if I was the most important person in the world. Often this was accompanied by his smile - not the large, cheeky, goofing-around grin, but the smaller smile, the smile he used when he was truly happy and content.


I was embarrassed that I couldn't remember his name, and I kept trying to get it out of him. I remember asking my roommate, Jenny Clark, to introduce herself to him. That was very similar to the plot of a Seinfeld episode that had just aired ("Mulva!") But as an avid Seinfeld fan himself, Peter refused to fall for it. He knew I'd forgotten his name, and he liked to see me squirm.


Finally one night at dinner he mentioned he was on the Dean's List. A list of students who had made the Dean's List was posted at each table, by dorm. I found his dorm and by the powers of deduction figured out his name.

We were spending more and more time together. And he was spending less time with his girlfriend - who, at any rate, was really too busy with school. That month his parents' house burnt down. He told me over dinner, and I was worried. He said it was alright, because they had another house. A couple of days later he told me he'd broken up with his girlfriend. He had been disappointed that she hadn't had a stronger reaction to his parents' house burning down; she had barely paused from studying to commiserate. I was cautiously optimistic about this new development.


It was around this time that we watched the movies Philadelphia and Schindler's List in the dorm room I shared with Jenny. I remember joking with him that we shouldn't make out during Schindler's List - another Seinfend reference. He sat on my bed; I sat up against him; and Jenny sat on her bed. There was a little bit of making out during Schindler's List; I remember him nuzzling my neck.


It was also around this time that we went to the Bijoux, a church that had been converted into a movie theatre, with some of his friends from the dorm. I wasn't sure if it was a date or not, so I rushed ahead in the line and paid for my ticket, just in case it wasn't. We watched Before Sunrise, and the entire time I was so very conscious of sitting next to him, wanting to hold his hand.


Mostly we just flirted.


One day at church, Jude, a friend, set me up on a date with another guy - whose name I can no longer remember. We made plans to go out the following Saturday. That Friday, Peter and I kissed for the first time. As we embraced in the open space of the basement, just outside of one of the TV rooms, he asked, "So are we going out?"


"Okay," I replied, "But can it wait until after tomorrow? I have a date."


He told me later that he almost broke up with me then and there. I'm so glad he didn't.


I would've gladly cancelled the date; but I didn't have the guy's number. I don't think I even knew his last name. We met up for dinner at a Chinese place, by the mall, as scheduled. It was not a good meal. He spent most of the time telling me how much he missed his ex-girlfriend. When he wasn't telling me how much he missed her, he was insulting her. We'd also planned to watch a movie, but because of very bad planning, we had over an hour to kill between dinner and the movie. As we wandered the mall he would say things like, "My ex-girlfriend has a dress like that. You should try it on." It was all very weird. Clearly he wasn't over his girlfriend, and he seemed interested in turning me into her clone. The date was so bad, I can't even remember what movie we watched. Mostly I was awkward and uncomfortable and wanted to be with Peter.


Our first official date - a date that I knew was definitely a date - was watching Pulp Fiction at the Bijoux. For the most part, though, we didn't date much; mostly we just hung out, watching TV, eating our meals together. I remember getting together with the rest of his floor to watch movies in his dorm's common area. I must have eaten something that disagreed with me, and I ended up rushing to the toilet to throw up. He followed me in there and held my hair and patted my back as I threw up. I was so embarrassed! I hardly ever throw up, and I was sure he'd want to dump me after that. Instead he took me back to his room, gave me some orange juice, and made sure I was okay.


All of this happened in April. I remember, because for Cinco de Mayo that year we walked from the dorms to downtown Eugene, where there was a Cinco de Mayo festival. I remember watching the dancing, listening to the music, smelling the tacos and churros, and being completely happy. I remember him pushing me up against a wall on the walk back and kissing me passionately. I'm pretty sure there were fireworks - at least in my memory there are always fireworks.


Peter had planned on going to Europe that Summer. He was able to get a return ticket to Europe thrown in with his return ticket to Australia for not much more. He told me early-on that the plan was go to Europe and backpack through the Baltic states with his ex-girlfriend, Zarah. Of course that bothered me! He had a picture of him and Zarah in his dorm room; I was insecure; I didn't think he was over her. But of course I tried to play it cool. But oh, I was so relieved when he told me he'd changed his mind!

So instead we spent the Summer together. That summer, we both moved out of the dorms. I moved into a one-bedroom apartment - my sister Maren was my roommate that summer - and he moved into a two-bedroom apartment with his friend Jeff Roos, who had been an exchange student at LaTrobe University. Peter was working for the UO's Telecom installing fibre-optics in the dorms; I don't think he was taking any classes that term. I was taking classes and working for Project Saferide at the UO's Women's Center.


I have very clear memories of the Fourth of July. I wanted to make it memorable for him. We went to a minor league baseball game. It was pretty boring - the most entertaining part was the juggling at half-time. Then that evening we walked back to the field to watch the fireworks. I remember laying on my back against his lap and looking at the night sky at the fireworks exploding overhead.


That summer, we visited the Grand Canyon and Yellowstone together. We spent the night at my sister Liesl's house in Kaysville, and then hired a car and, with my sister Natasha, drove down to the Grand Canyon, spending one night at a hostel in Kenab, Utah. I remember Natasha hated the hostel because it was co-ed. I liked that hostel because they had an amazing all-you-could-eat breakfast buffet. I remember meeting one girl from the UK who said she'd heard about the breakfast in the UK and made a special point of staying there. We drove through Zion's and Bryce Canyon on the way to the Grand Canyon, stopping briefly in each, before reaching the northern rim. We didn't spend much time there, but we weren't terribly impressed.


We drove back up to my sister's house, and, after another night there, Peter and I decided to go to Yellowstone. Just before we entered the park, we passed a hitch-hiker. Peter said, "Should we pick him up?" I thought he was joking, so I said, "Sure." He pulled over and we picked him up. As I recall, he was German. He didn't spend long with us; we let him off shortly after we crossed into the park. We thought Yellowstone was a bit of a disappointment too. We stayed on the main road and followed it around, stopping every three minutes so that someone in some car in front of us could take a picture of yet another buffalo.

I felt awkward about staying in a hotel with Peter, so we slept in the car that night. It was incredibly uncomfortable and very cold. We stopped at Jackson Hole for breakfast - I had the best French toast I have ever had in my life there - and then drove back to Utah, where we caught the train back to Oregon. Peter remarked that the Amtrak train was the most comfortable he'd ever been on; but he couldn't believe how inefficient it was. Sometime in the middle of the night we stopped for several hours for no apparent reason. I was about 8 hours late getting into the Hinckley station near Hermiston, and Peter was even later getting back to Eugene.


We fell into a comfortable routine: After my classes ended I'd call his apartment. If he wasn't home I'd leave a message letting him know I was home. We'd get together in the afternoons and spend the evening, usually watching TV on his couch, often with a pint of ice cream and a couple of spoons. He'd often cook for me. He was a very good cook - much better than I was. Sometimes we'd go to the movies. Once I watched him play tennis against a friend of his. I'm not sure who won, but I'm going to say it was Peter.


That routine continued as fall classes began. But fall also brought with it some sadness. I knew our time together was quickly drawing to a close. I knew he'd have to go back home in December.


I tried to push that to the back of my mind.


He took me out to dinner for my birthday. I think he had steak. I had ribs. He didn't give me a present, but after I got back to my apartment he sent me an email saying, "You can keep the sweater." Months before, we'd been out late, and I was cold, and he'd given me his sweater to wear. I think this was when we were still living at the dorms, because I have a memory of walking back into the dorms, determined not to give it back to him. It might have even been before we were going out, because I think I'd hatched this plot of keeping it to make him come visit me and get it back. By that stage I had no intention of giving it back to him. So I replied with something like, "I was always going to anyway."


A couple of years later I showed Peter some pictures of the friends I'd made in Egypt. In one picture, taken in the evening on a sidewalk outside of a cafe, my friend Tiffany was wearing the sweater. Peter got a bit upset about that. Peter wasn't really sentimental; but every now and then it would come out. I think he thought the sweater was special, because he'd given it to me, and he wanted me to keep it safe. I still have that sweater. It has moth holes in it now and is tucked away in my steamer trunk.


Some time that fall, there was a rare hurricane warning for Eugene. Peter and I went to the movies at the mall - I think we went to the mall in Springfield. It was nearly deserted. Everyone else was getting ready for the hurricane. I remember waiting at the bus stop, not sure if the bus would come or not - I think in the end it didn't and we had to take a taxi back. The air felt odd, with that storm-like electricity in it, but there was no hurricane, just a lot of rain and some wind.


Peter was friends with quite a few exchange students. I invited Peter and Andy (another Australian) and a Japanese exchange student and a German exchange student, whose names I have forgotten, to Thanksgiving dinner that year at my parents' house. Peter and the others were going to leave after Thanksgiving to spend the rest of the long weekend in Seattle. My mom had a bit of a hard time finding space for everyone to sleep! And the dinner table was very crowded, and maybe a little uncomfortable, with my WWII veteran grandfather! They had a nice, quiet, uneventful weekend in Seattle. I think it snowed for them.


By now it was late November and we knew for sure that our time was coming to an end. Peter told me he didn't want a long distance relationship. He'd had one before, he said, and they just never worked out. So this would really be it: This was our goodbye. He was going to fly to Europe for his delayed trip, and then back to Australia via LA.

We decided to take one last trip together, this time to Vancouver. We drove straight up from Eugene. There was no way we were sleeping in the car in winter, so we decided to check into a hostel. It was in Vancouver that I got my first taste of just how low Peter's standards were, when it came to accommodation. The first hostel we looked at had several pairs of mismatched bunk beds and dead cockroaches in the sink. Peter shrugged his shoulders and said, "It'll do." I shook my head no. We ended up staying at the YMCA youth hostel instead.


I don't remember much about day in Vancouver. I remember that night we went out for Chinese food. It was an incredibly authentic Chinese restaurant - the menus were in Chinese and we had to ask the waitress to give us our options, and they only had chopsticks at the table. Peter was fine with that, but I wasn't very good at eating with chopsticks. The first bite I picked up went flying off my chopsticks and across the room, much to the surprise of the party sitting there. After that the waitress brought me a fork.


I think we rode the ferry in Vancouver. I have a bit of a memory of that.


Trouble came at the US border. I was waved through immediately. But Peter almost didn't make it. Since he was no longer studying, his visa was no longer valid. The Immigration guard spent quite a long time deciding whether or not to let Peter back in. The entire time Peter was thinking, "Right, Quimby will have to drive the car back on her own. I can give her my debit card and my pin and ask her to empty the account and send the money to me . . ." I think it was the fact that Peter was leaving soon for Europe that finally convinced him to let him through. Which is just as well - those mountain passes are kind of scary in the winter.


On the way back to Eugene, or perhaps on the way there, we stopped off at Cecily, Washington, which was where the TV show Northern Exposure was filmed. We spent a couple of very fun hours poking around there. I bought a picture of the actor who played Ed for my old roommate, Jenny, who had a crush on him. We went into every shop that would let us in (some were only storefronts.) We went into the bar, too, but I got kicked out for being underage. I said I didn't want to drink, I just wanted to look around, but they couldn't let me do that either. We made our way back to Eugene.


Peter left in early December. I remember our last morning together. We were at my apartment, waiting for the taxi to come that would take him to the airport and away from me. I was crying. We kissed. He said, "Promise me one thing." I thought he'd want me to make some grand romantic promise - that I'd come visit him one day, perhaps. I said, "Anything." He said, "Promise me you'll tell me what happens on Seinfeld." For months after I'd faithfully write him detailed reports. Several months later he said, "Why are you spoiling this for me?"


The cab came and took him away - and later that day I boarded a train for Hermiston. That was a sad Christmas. I was missing him like crazy. Sometime in late December - I think it was after Christmas but it might have been before - I realised he'd be on his layover at LAX. I called the airport and asked for them to make an announcement for him to call me. He never did. I remember I was so sad I couldn't speak. Our home teacher at the time, Brother Edwards, was visiting. Brother Edwards and I had been engaged in a years-long friendly fight about politics. On that day, he saw me, and he said, "Tell me who did this to you. I'll go beat them up for you."





Dear Quimby,


How are you doing? How was your Christmas break at Hermiston? Hopefully it wasn't as bad as you thought it would be . . .


I'm in Estonia with Zarah, and it's cold. It never gets above 0 for very long, so tough to do much sightseeing. I'm starting to think this wasn't such a good idea to come over here - I probably should have hung out in the US, then gone straight home. Oh well, only anothger week or so and I'll be in back on the farm, feeding calves, getting in cows, etc. etc. etc. - Peter


You can bet I felt better after reading that postcard! There was definitely a sense of satisfaction in thinking he regretted leaving the US - which, naturally, of course, I took as him regretting leaving me!


I later learned that Peter had a very good reason for not calling me back: After spending a few weeks in Europe backpacking with his ex-girlfriend Zarah, he'd flown back to LA, only to be stopped at Immigration. He only had one night in LA before he flew back to Australia, but this time, Immigration decided not to let him through. Instead, they marched him through the airport and put him on the first flight to New Zealand, bumping someone else off the flight to make room for him.


But it wasn't until I was back in Eugene, and got a postcard from him from New Zealand, that I knew that. Since Peter had to fly into New Zealand anyway, he figured he might as well make the most of it and spend a few weeks looking around.


Both of these postcards were sent from New Zealand:





Dear Quimby,


I'm on a plane at the moment, on my way from London to LA. I spent Christmas with Zarah's family in Finland. The temperature was -23 C on Christmas Eve and usually around -10 to -15, so I had to stay inside most of the time (and with no TV!) I'm glad that I went over there, but I was equally glad to be leaving.


I'm not sure whether I'm going straight home or stopping in New Zealand for 2-3 weeks first. I'll decide tomorrow. I guess I'm not ready for the farm yet - I still want to be on holidays!


I hope you're well and happy. Still thinking of you (a lot). - Peter





Dear Quimby,

Can you believe it, 3 postcards in as many weeks? As you an see, I am in New Zealand. I was supposed to have one day in LA, then fly to Melbourne, but US customs had other ideas. They wouldn't let me ingo the country as I had a student visa, and was no longer a student. I ended up on a flight to Auckland, NZ, and decided that since I was here . . . I'll only hang out here for about 2 weeks, then I'll fly to Sydney (my ticket has run out, and Sydney is $150 cheaper.) I'm mainly just going to hang out in the north of the country - so far I've just seen Auckland and Rotarua. I'll write again from Kerang. - Peter


PS - Note - hay on front - I'm thinking of farm work already


The first hint I got that Peter wasn't ready to let go of a relationship that I wasn't ready to let go of, either, was when one of the first things he did, upon returning to Australia, was to go to Melbourne and buy a computer. He told me it was to help his parents out on the farm, but also, he admitted, so that he could more easily keep in contact with me. Unfortunately (or perhaps very fortunately!) those emails have been lost; but I kept the letters Peter sent me during this time. They speak of my longing for him - my reluctance to end our relationship - and his feelings for me, too.


Dear Quimby,


Thanks for the letters (I think), they've given me plenty of questions to answer. I probably wont' answer many of them in this letter - I need to sit down, re-read the letters, and answer each question for you.


I got back to Australia on Jan 11th. I flew into Sydney, then had to catch a train south to Albury. I was lucky to get the last seat on the train, although it was first class (so a little expensive.) I got to Albury at 3:50 AM to find my brother waiting at the station (he lives in Albury.) I spoke to him for 1/2 an hour, then caught the bus to Kerang. Mum and my nephew Jason were waiting for me at 9:30 AM. I was really glad to get back home, and to dump off my things! I was getting really sick of lugging them around, all 120 lbs of them . . .


I haven't done much work on the farm, mainly just feeding calves, getting cows, and working out what we'll do with our new house.


I miss you very much, and I want to see you again, but I don't know when it will be. I'm not sure what I'm going to do, study-wise. At the moment I plan to stay on the farm until June, then . . .? I may get to go over to see you in the US, but I might also end up going to uni to start a Masters in July.


If I hadn't had a long distance relationship before, then I think I'd like the idea of trying to keep things going with you, but it was so hard last time with Zarah. If I had it to do over with her again, then I don't think that I'd do the long distance thing with her again. It's not a matter of you not being good enough, I just couldn't do it again. We'd just be dragging the relationship out. We'd forget any bad parts, only remember the good, and spend all of our time writing to each other and saving up for airfare to visit . . . We both have to be realistic and move on with our lives. You studying, me feeding calves and chasing (bloody) cows.


More questions . . . I didn't want to break up with you, and we would still be together if I were in the USA . . . I couldn't have stayed in the US anyway. As soon as I stopped studying the US Customs deported me on the next flight to New Zealand!


I don't regret going out with you, just that I've hurt you. If we had no time pressures on the relationship (ie both going to the same Uni for 2-3 years more), then it would've needed to change so that we had more time for friends. But as it was I'm glad I spent the time with the person I most enjoyed being with.


There isn't anyone else that I'm going out with. I haven't kissed anyone since I saw you. So you're at least a peck from Scott up on me!


I have to get to bed. I'll send this off to you tomorrow when I make my weekly trip to town. I hope you're doing better.


- Peter


Our letters - and later, our emails - were flirty. I wasn't ready to let go of Peter, and he wasn't ready to let go of me, either. He tried harder than I did - he said there was no point continuing our relationship, that it was too hard, because we were in such different places. But his heart wasn't really in ending things, either.


We called, too - about once a month I'd call him; and once a month he'd call me. Apart from the first time I called him, we always arranged for these calls ahead of time. When I knew he was going to call me I'd sit by the phone all day, waiting for it to ring, picking up the receiver to make sure there was a dial tone . . .


The first call call wasn't without difficulties! As I recall it was a spur of the moment decision. I was sad, and I was lonely, and I needed to hear his voice; so I called him, cost be damned. I had his phone number but I'd never made an international call, and at the time, Australia was transitioning to the ten digit numbers it uses today - two digit area codes, eight digit phone numbers. The first two times I called, I ended up speaking with a lovely woman in Scone, NSW, who laughed good-naturedly as I explained I was trying to call Victoria. When I finally got through to Peter, I asked tentatively, "Is this Peter Angel?"


"You mean the one with the chooks?" his mother replied.


I didn't know what a "chook" was. "Um, I'm looking for the Peter Angel who was studying in Oregon?"


"Oh, right," she said, and put him on.


Turns out, there was another Peter Angel in Kerang - the one with the chooks.


Dear Quimby,


Thanks for the phone call. It was a surprise to hear from you - yes, it was a really pleasant surprise.


There's not too much happening here. I'm working on the farm each day, pretty much doing the same stuff each day. Today we got a concreter in to lay some concrete over at the new house. I had to get up at 6:30 AM to give the guy a hand. We're putting up some decking at the back of the house. Hopefully we'll be moving in over there in a couple of weeks. We still need to paint the outside, get some grass going and get the telephone connected, but that shouldn't take too long (I hope.)


I've been looking at computers over here the last day or so. I can get a 486-100 or a 586-100; 8 mg; 850 HD; 14 inch screen etc. for around $1000 US. I want a fax/modem, CD Rom and printer too, so it'll end up costing around $1500 US all up. Not too bad as I expected it to cost more. My parents will get it "for the farm,' so I get about a 20% discount on sales tax. I may be able to get on to the internet for $1 a day! I'll let you know as soon as I get an email address (probably in a month or so - things move slowly in the country.) I'll have to arrange a trip to Melbourne to buy the stuff.


You'll have to send me a traced out boot print so I can get 'size 8' Blunnies for you. Check to see if Andy's fit you - or else ask Holly about the sizes. I think my sisters are oka for hjeans for now - but I may get you to send a pair later. Keep up the good work with the letters.


Peter


Shortly after he sent that letter, he bought a computer, and most of our communication was through email. And that's how we spent most of the rest of the year - I would race in the morning to check my email, hoping for an email from Peter (and there almost always was one.) I'd write to him, and hope for another before it grew too late in Australia (and again, there almost always was one.) And then I'd write back, so that he'd have one waiting for him when he woke up, too.


We still sent the occasional letter to each other -


Dear Quimby,


Well here's that letter I promised you. Be warned though, it'll be boring (due to the fact that the events that follow are based on actual occurrences) and it may be tough to read (I'm on a bus on my way to Melbourne.)


I was just thinking of our phone conversation on Sunday - it's amazing how quickly the time went. I think my record for a phone call is 50 minutes, as I usually like to get off the phone pretty quickly. I'm sure I could have kept going for a couple of hours on Sunday. We didn't even get onto TV shows!


I'm going to Melbourne to buy a computer for the farm (ie tax exempt.) It's a 486Dx4-100 (with Intel inside so I can upgrade to Pentium later.) 8 meg memory, 850 hard drive and 14 inch monitor. This looks like costing $950 US. I'm also getting a fax/modem ($100 US), 4xCDRom ($200 US), color printer ($200 US). This should be all that I need for a few years and will eat up the rest of my US savings . . . I'm looking forward to getting the computer, so I can email, play games, make up a resume, and do my parents' books and budget on it. There's a deal over here for 1 hour of internet per day for $1 so I'll onto that ASAP.


The last few days have been pretty hectic. On the TV was the Australian Open with Aussie Mark Philipousis (formally The Scud) beating Pete Sampras, then losing to a fellow low-ranked Aussie. This resulted in MP being renamed The Dud. Cricket was also on, with a 5 day test match between Australia and Sri Lanka - we won with about 45 minutes to spare. These distractions made working tough, but we still managed to make a 1 metre high landing out of cement for the back of the new house, and decking to join this landing to the edge of the house (16.6 feet.)


We were to move into the new house this weekend, but we have a distant relative from England coming up for a few days, along with an uncle and aunt, Deb and Mohamed, and possibly Chris. So it may have to wait for a week or so. Also the phone connection. We ran into problems (we have to dig a 20 metre trench for the cable), which may delay things.

I've been cutting hay and raking it into rows for baling over the last few days too. We have to do this between irrigation (3 days each 10 days at this time of year), so the timing can be a pain in the bum. Anyway, although it's all happening (also feeding 10 calves and helping clean up around the dairy), things are going along pretty well.


My car still works after a year, which is a bonus. It needs a tune up and an oil change, but I was really happy that (after charging the battery) it started first go.


I'm thinking of going Honours over here in 6 months or a year. It takes 12 months (9 actually) and I'd get Austudy ($100 US each week) for the year, so I think I'll do it either in Melbourne or Canberra. Canberra may be the go, as the school has an impressive name, Australian National University, and Canberra (being the capital city) may have good opportunities for networking (300,000 population) and finding work as an economist or something in a government position. You never know, it looks like the Liberal/National party coalition will get into power, making one of my old lecturer's (at LaTrobe University) husband deputy Prime Minister (a heartbeat away from the top job . . .) Maybe I could be tea boy at Parliament House or something. I should probably aim at something more obtainable (spoon polisher?) and work my way up! While I'm in Melbourne I'll go to Melbourne University to see about their programs too. It's a very good uni, one of the country's oldest and best. I couldn't have possibly gotten into Melb Uni as an undergraduate, but I may scrape in with my uni credits.


Thanks for the TV updates, they read really well. I'm a little worried about Paul wanting a lesbian love scene after finding out his sister is gay . . .

Don't worry abotu the Levis for now. I may get you to buy some for me at a later date. What about the Blunnies, do you know what size (ie cms, or foot outline) you are? I still haven't got the packages we sent, so shopping takes a while. Better go. Good luck with school I miss you too.


Peter PS - I'll email you ASAP.


In one letter he explained that his parents had been unwell while he was gone, and he was worried about them. He was also frustrated that they weren't more open with their health concerns -


I'm telling you this because it may explain why I'm not very open with my emotions, and it's one of the reasons I had to come back to Australia to study. I've been thinking about it, and I'm pretty sure (subconsciously) that this is a major reason for me coming back.


Although I'm used to things around me dying (animals on the farm) I sort of expect my mom and dad to die in the next few years, and I want to spend time wit them while I can. I sort of feel that if I can get them to get a sharefarmer on the farm to do the work, then there'll be less strain n them, and so at the very least, they'll be happier. Everyone keeps telling me how much Dad was looking forward to me coming home.


Does that make sense sense to you? I'm really only thinking around here. I'm out of space, so I'd better stop. Don't give me too much grief over the internet for this letter. - Peter




Dear Quimby,


Here's a letter you wanted. I'll try to leave some smudges or something on it for you.


Not too much is happening here, apart from the stuff I've told you about on the email. It's a warm day today, so we've just been hanging about inside the house, playing computer games. It's tough to get Mum & Dad off the computer. I've also been putting stuff away, and generally cleaning up my new room. My bedroom is quite small (abut the same size as yours in Eugene). The house itself is huge, but it has 2 bathrooms (one with a spa), 4 bedrooms, 2 lounge rooms, a study and 2 kitchens. It's set up so it can be separated into a 'granny flat" and a regular house.

About the questions, I'll write them down as it's hard to remember them all; this way I can write and look at the email you sent.

Of course I feel more for you than just friendship (more than I did for Itai,) but that doesn't change our status as being "ex's" or anything. It just means that if things had been different (ie countries, age, religion, circumstances) then we'd probably still be 'going out.'


I do miss you, and I'd love to be with you, but we both knew that it was only a temporary relationship. As you say, the good aspects are remembered, the bad parts pushed out of our heads.

I enjoy getting lots of emails and letters from you, although the depressing stuff just makes me sad (it doesn't give me a big head anymore.) I think a phone call every month would be great, but anymore would hurt both of us too much (financially and emotionally.)

Gotta go -


Peter

Those first three months, when we were closest to being apart, were difficult. Years later, I can remember things that happened during that time - a minor medical scare, meeting up with Peter's friends to call him for his birthday - but I cannot remember a single class I took. I have strong memories of most of the classes I took during my undergrad years - the lessons I learned, the classrooms themselves - but, even when I look at the transcript, I cannot remember a single thing about any of the classes from that term.


In March Peter started a Masters course, but it didn't last long -


Dear Quimby,


I'm on a train coming back from Melbourne after my first week of Uni. See, it's not so bad. I go to Uni and you get a 'real' letter!


Everything went pretty much to plan on Monday. I had to be at a meeting at 9:15 AM for Honours Students. There they told us how we were the chosen ones (top 10%), the ones that would continue to build the programs' already excellent reputation (blah blah blah.) We would be treated more like colleagues by the lecturers, than students (bs, bs, bs.)

Anyway, then I had lectures from 11-1 (cost-benefit analysis) and 2-4 (micro 4) which were disappointing. CBA is a combined 3rd and 4th year subject, graded tougher for the latter. It was okay except we have to do tutorials (no previous mention of this), and it is on a Wednesday. I don't want to take an extra day off work for a 1 hour tute, so I (along with another part-timer) told the lecturer this, and I just have to get the notes from someone else (bumpy train), and turn up once to present a paper. This may make it tougher, but it'll be right. The other class (micro) will have an informal tute on Fridays, so I'll miss that too. ( <-- Correct use?)


On Tuesday (today) I went back to Uni to buy books, but only one was in stock, and the lines were of UofO standard, so I gave it a miss. I went to the library to photocopy the closed-reserve copy of the book, but I'm still not enrolled (paperwork going through slolwy), so I couldn't do that. One of the books is 4 years old, so I looked around the city's secondhand bookstores, but none had it. So I'm still without books . . . Maybe next week.


No 'good sorts' in my class, so your worst fears are still unrealised. With me only turning up 1-2 days each week, I'm sure you have nothing to worry about. And no, the cows aren't looking good to me.


Peter


As the year progressed, so, too, did our relationship. By late spring (Northern Hemisphere) it was obvious there was unfinished business. Peter and I started to discuss meeting up in South-East Asia to teach English. I was planning a student exchange to Egypt, to the American University in Cairo, and we discussed spending the months before that started together. Peter even took a trip to Indonesia and Malaysia to look for leads, only to discover that it was almost impossible to get a job teaching English without proper ESL certification. So we decided, instead, that I'd meet him in Australia.


My parents didn't agree with this at all, and refused to let me access my money for a plane ticket to Australia. So instead I got a job. By chance that summer, the movie Without Limits was filming in Eugene. Being an extra was terribly unglamourous, but it paid well - triple-time, if shooting went over 14 hours. Alas, it never did; but it frequently went long enough to pay double-time. I was able to save enough money to fly to Australia, and have a little bit extra for spending, too.


My parents still hated the entire idea. But they also recognised that they couldn't really stop me. On October 5, 1996 they drove me to the Portland airport to catch a flight to LA and from there, to Sydney.

Why Sydney? Because it was cheaper than Melbourne. And I assumed it was only a few hours away. I explained to Peter that he could surely drive a few hours to Sydney to pick me up from the airport. He explained that his car couldn't make it that far - and then he explained just how far away it was! So when I got to Sydney, I had to buy a plane ticket to Melbourne. But in the meantime, my luggage somehow ended up on a flight to Launceston. I didn't even know where that was! Welcome to Australia!


We were supposed to be staying with Peter's sister Deb; but within 24 hours we were told that wasn't acceptable. Although we weren't doing anything untowards, her husband did not want us staying under the same roof, as we weren't married. This hypocrisy bothered Peter as Deb and her husband had lived together before marriage. But we respected it and soon found a small one bedroom apartment on Gooch Street in Northcote. At the time I felt it was a bit too far out from the city. Oh, if only I'd known!


(At the time, houses in Melbourne were routinely advertised with price guides of $60,000 to $80,000. I thought that was ridiculously cheap and wanted to buy a house. Peter said, "There's no rush, it's not like the housing market is going to explode." Peter was an incredibly intelligent man, but clearly he was not prophetic.)


I remember the flat had pink walls. Peter asked the agent if we could paint them, and the agent replied with an enthusiastic yes. We bought paint and got to work. But this caused frustration, because my idea of painting was to work hard and get the job done quickly, whereas Peter's idea was to paint for half an hour or so, then sit down and watch some cricket, then paint some more. In the end, the walls ended up with only half a coat, because I refused to do more than what I considered to be my fair share and Peter just didn't care that much either.


The Melbourne Cup happened about a month after I arrived in Melbourne. Peter suggested we go down to the race course and check it out. I'd never been to a horse race before and I figured it was a casual sort of event so I wore jeans and a sweater. Peter gave me a funny look and asked if I was sure that was what I wanted to wear. What else would I wear? It's horses! We got in the car and he handed me the Melways and said, "Here, tell me where to go." I'd been in Melbourne for less than a month. I'd never lived in a city with more than 100,000 and I had no idea how to use a street directory, or where we were going. I quickly grew frustrated because I didn't know what I was doing and Peter quickly grew frustrated because I didn't know what I was doing! We had a fight, with Peter questioning why I didn't know how to use a map and me questioning why he thought I could find my way around a strange city with a street directory I didn't know how to use. Eventually he apologised. We never got anywhere near the race course, but we did stop off at a TAB and place a bet on the horses. Neither of us won so it's just as well we only bet $2 each.


We spent a few mostly happy months in that flat. I would sometimes go off to explore Melbourne on my own. I remember getting hopelessly lost one time, but I calmly asked for directions to the nearest train station and went back to Flinder's Street, where I knew where I was. Later I worked out I was only in South Melbourne. Peter and I would go have small adventures too. He was on unemployment, and I couldn't work, so we didn't have much money; but I remember we went to Healesville Sanctuary. I was surprised at just how small platypuses are - I'd assumed they were about a metre long.

We'd go up to Kerang regularly too. We'd often spend a weekend at the farm. Peter would help with milking, and together the two of us would go round up the cows in the afternoons. I liked these long walks together. Usually Sophie, a little black poodle, would come with us. Sophie was a very good cattle dog. She was also constantly in need of a hair cut, and often had dreadlocks. Whenever I referred to her as a dog in front of Peter, he'd defend her by saying, "She's not a dog, she's a person!"


We would go to the movies almost every week - a tradition we carried on until we moved to Ballarat. And we always, right up until the day he died, made a tradition of watching every movie that was nominated for Best Picture. Peter died before we could watch of the nominations for the 2020 Oscars - Minari and The Father. I watched those on my own, through the tears. I have not yet decided if this is a tradition I can carry on without him. It seems wrong, somehow, to do something that we enjoyed doing together, all on my own.


These first days in Melbourne were quiet days, but happy days. We knew all the time though that a deadline was looming. In January I was flying to Egypt to spend a semester at the American University in Cairo. I hated watching the days tick down to our eventual separation. I begged him to come with me, but he refused. He hated Egypt and had no desire to go back there.


A few days before I left for Egypt, we stopped at a photo booth at Flinder's Street Station and took the photo at the top of this entry. I slept with that photo under my pillow for years.

I didn't want to go - a hundred times, I almost pulled the pin. But in the end I got on the plane, crying the entire way. We had a layover in Bangkok and I was so upset, I decided to fly back to Melbourne. I was crying - really ugly crying - and I asked where the nearest phone was, and a very nice man said, "Here, use mine," and handed me his mobile phone. I explained I was calling Australia and he said that was alright I called up Peter, saying that I couldn't do it. Peter assured me that I could - that I'd be alright - and that he'd be waiting for me. Somehow I got on the plane.


As it turned out, the program wasn't what I wanted it to be. The coordinator dissuaded me from doing the classes I wanted to do, which were mostly about political Islam, and instead insisted I take very tame classes. It was also more expensive than I was counting on. After about a week, I decided that I really did want to go back to Australia. I'd already missed ten months with Peter and I just didn't want to miss any more time with him.


I decided, though, that since I was there I might as well look around. I ended up spending a couple of months in the Middle East, including five days in Syria over Eid, a few weeks in Israel, and a night in Jordan. (I thought I'd have time to go to Petra but realised, once I'd crossed the border, that I wouldn't, and quickly crossed back into Israel.) Then I flew back to Melbourne, happy to be reunited with Peter.


When I got back to Melbourne Peter announced he'd been offered a job in Queensland. So we quickly made arrangements to move to Queensland. I only had a couple of suitcases, and whatever furniture we had in that pink flat wasn't really worth keeping. We loaded up his ancient car, prayed that it would make the trip, and headed up.


I don't remember much about that trip. We drove to Kerang first and then from there up through Jindabyne. I think we spent a night somewhere around Byron Bay. Peter always loved road trips so he enjoyed the drive. I think I was bored a lot of the time. It took about three days to make it up to Brisbane. We were surprised his old car made it.

We stayed with Peter's aunt Valerie and her husband Steve for a while so that Peter could learn the ropes of the job - an accounting position with an electrics company Steve worked for. Then we moved to Gladstone, several hours north of Brisbane.


As it turned out the job wasn't really what Peter was after. He'd been told the hours would be steady, that it would be a normal 9 to 5 job. But when he started work in Gladstone, suddenly it became six days a week, staying late every night - even though there really wasn't the demand for it. Peter decided after a few months that it wasn't really right for him, and we ended up moving back to Melbourne around the time my exchange at LaTrobe Uni started.


But we had fun in Queensland, all the same. We took a weekend trip to Frasier Island and got too close to the dingoes. Unfortunately I lost all of the photos from that trip, but I told Peter it didn't matter, their farm dog Arry looked just like a dingo. (Arry, or Aristotle, was Rocky's sibling, and like Rocky, she was about half-dingo.) I remember thinking Frasier Island was beautiful - I couldn't get over how clear the water was in the island's streams.


I have this memory of Frasier Island, of sitting in the sun at a picnic table, eating lunch, with dingoes prowling around wanting scraps. We weren't scared - there were too many people around to be scared - but it also wasn't entirely comfortable, because we knew these were wild dogs with wild dog instincts. It was still, at that time, disputed as to whether or not they could kill people; but they didn't seem entirely safe, either. Still, that memory - the sun, the sand, a few trees - is a pleasant one.


We also spent a weekend on Great Keppel Island. We stayed in a tent there, a sort of cross between a youth hostel and glamping - the tent was permanent and had a double bed but it was still very basic; as I recall it had a dirt floor. We were warned before we took up residency to keep all of our food in the communal kitchen, or the possums would get to it. We scoffed - Peter had had enough experience in having his food stolen from hostel kitchens, he wasn't willing to risk it. So instead we tied it up in bags and left it hanging from the bedposts. Then we went out to explore. When we came back a few hours later, all of our food was gone! The possums had climbed up the bedpost and eaten it all. We had to rely on the overpriced camp store to feed ourselves.


My strongest memory of Great Keppel Island is going to the airstrip and watching the planes as they took off and landed. Peter found this fascinating. He told me he'd quite fancy learning to fly and getting a small plane of his own.


Sometimes, I get very sad that Peter didn't get to sail around the world. That was his dream for the last several years of his life. He knew what boat he wanted; and he wanted us to pick it up for cheap in the off-season in Turkey, and to take our time sailing it back to Australia. I regret that he wasn't able to do this. It brings me some comfort to think that maybe it was just one more dream that he didn't really think would ever eventuate, like the pilot's license and small plane. Oh, he read the books, learned all he could about aviation, but in the end it didn't interest him enough to actually go through with it. Perhaps it would have been the same with sailing. He was reading the books, learning all he could about it; but maybe in the end it was more about getting the knowledge than actually following through with it.


In Gladstone itself, I was bored. It was hard to fill my days. I also worried that this would be "it" - that Peter would take a full-time position with the company, which would mean moving every few years, and that this would be my life, following him around from small town to small town,

never actually settling down, never being able to invest in my own career. We would go out regularly, to the movies (Gladstone had a very small cinema with wooden benches for seats) or to the one nice restaurant in town. But for the most part, I was bored.

I was really just counting down time until my student exchange started at LaTrobe. I didn't really like the idea of us being long-distance again, though, so when Peter told me he was going to quit and come back to Victoria with me, I was really happy. I'd be staying in the dorms, and he'd be working on the farm, but we'd still see each other regularly - much more so than if he stayed in Gladstone.


So, we packed up his car and made the journey back to Victoria. Once again we were surprised his car made it! It was such an old car - at the time it was a good 20 years old. It had originally been a manual, but had needed a new engine and was now an automatic, but still had a non-functional clutch pedal. Peter was constantly pushing down on the clutch instead of the brake. He always caught himself before anything happened, but it was a fiddly car to drive.


I had to fly to New Zealand to get my student visa. When I'd called the Consulate, a recorded message told me that it would take approximately 2 days to get the student visa, so I flew out on Tuesday, with a returned flight scheduled for Sunday so that I could go to classes on Monday. When I walked into the consulate on Wednesday, I was told to come back in two weeks for my visa. I protested; but they were firm: It would take two weeks.


I called Peter in tears. Two weeks! That meant I'd have to forfeit my return ticket and buy a new one - I'd miss the first couple of weeks of classes - what would I do? Peter got his mother on to it. A few hours later I went back to the Consulate, hoping to check on the visa. The woman behind the desk looked at me in pure exasperation. "Who are you, and what makes you so important?" she demanded. "Do you know we've had an MP on the phone to us?" I left in tears and called Peter again. I told his mother to stop - that they were angry with me and she was only making things worse. She told me to get them some chocolate and flowers and go back the next day and apologise. Sheepishly, I did. When I handed over the chocolate and flowers to the woman behind the counter, I could see her visibility relax. "Come back this afternoon," she said, "We'll have your visa for you."


Peter's mother had called Charmain Stone, her local MP, and pulled some strings to get me the visa in time. I was able to take my original flight back, and start classes the following Monday.


While I was at LaTrobe we fell into a comfortable pattern: I would go to classes Monday to Thursday, and then on Friday I'd go into the city, where I'd explore for a few hours before catching the 3 PM train to Kerang. Peter would meet me at the Kerang station, and I'd spend Saturday and part of Sunday at the farm, helping out (or mostly getting in the way) before Peter would drive me back to Melbourne on Sunday. He'd spend Sunday night in Melbourne and then leave for Kerang the following day.


I really treasured these weekends together. For the most part I enjoyed the farm work too. Mostly Peter and his dad had me feeding calves, which is kind of fun - they're cute and hungry and it's funny to watch them slurp up their milk. Peter and I would also walk out in the evenings to round up the cows, and I enjoyed holding his hand as we walked up the lane, which was a thick, rich brown, from all the years of cow manure. Usually Sophie, the little black toy poodle, came with us. She was a pretty decent cattle dog and could round them up quickly.


I remember once I almost stepped on a snake. I was going to unfasten a gate - on the dairy farm, each gate fastened differently, and I always teased it was like an IQ test, just trying to get the gates open - and Peter said, "Stop." I stopped. He said, "Don't move. There's a tiger snake." I looked at him dumbly - I was NOT supposed to move when there was a snake there? He said, "I'll go get my dad." I froze, but felt a growing sense of unease. I felt like screaming, "I'm your girlfriend, and you're just going to leave me here with a snake?" But I was too scared to move, because after all he'd told me not to, and I trusted him. Peter and his dad came back and the snake was dealt with, and then I teased him a little for leaving me there. I think he said something like, "Well, you could've come with me." Which - the guy had just told me not to move, after all.


I was going home for Thanksgiving that year. Before I left Peter and I decided to take a mystery flight. Back then you could pay a small amount to an airline, and they'd give you a plane ticket somewhere. The catch was that you couldn't choose where you were going - you'd call up the day before and they'd tell you what time your flight left, but until then you wouldn't know if you were going to Brisbane or Sydney or Cairns or Perth. As it turns out, we went to Hobart.


I remember we mostly walked around the city. We didn't have a rental car or anything, since we were only there for a day. So we walked; we probably visited a few shops. I remember we ate lunch at a restaurant overlooking the Wharf. I remember I had salmon chowder. I remember this because it all came up again that night!


I was mortified, because I was flying to the US the following day, but I spent all of our last night together throwing up. Once again Peter was so kind and understanding about it. He assured me that it wasn't my fault. In subsequent trips to Hobart, though, I made sure to always avoid that restaurant, and I have never again tried salmon chowder.


So once again we were apart. At least it was only for a couple of months though. I went home for Thanksgiving and Christmas and came back in early January, in time to do my last semester of the student exchange at LaTrobe University. We kept in touch via phone and email. I couldn't wait to get back to Melbourne. In the meantime, Peter had decided to move back to Melbourne himself. He decided to open an internet cafe.


Peter moved into a half-house in Reservoir. Literally, that was what it was - they'd split a house in half. Peter's half had a very small and narrow lounge room, a kitchen, a cramped bedroom, and a tiny bathroom. It also came with a crazy neighbour next door, who thought nothing of letting herself in at any hour of the day for a chat. He set about building computers and scouting for a location for an internet cafe.


I'll never forget the day I walked into that kitchen to see him sitting at a computer he was formatting. He turned to me and said, "If we ever have a daughter, we should name her Deltree." It was a computer command for delete all directories. My heart danced. This was a man who was adamant he never wanted children, and now he was talking about having a family - with me! He'd told me that he was so sure he hadn't wanted children, he'd almost had a vasectomy when he was 24. Zarah, his girlfriend at the time, talked him out of it. I'd always been open with my desire to have a family, but until that moment I didn't know that his thoughts were changing on it. In fact until that moment I didn't know that he saw a future "we" at all. I readily agreed and tucked the name away.


That was my second semester at LaTrobe, and I decided to move off-campus. I found a room in a house with a married couple and another single woman. My room was in the back - it was basically a converted laundry; it was only just big enough for a bed and a wardrobe. They were constantly asking for me to pony up for my share of the electricity - about once every two weeks they'd say, "Oh, we got the electricity bill and your share is - " But electricity bills don't come that often. At first I went along with it; but when then they left a copy of their electricity bill laying around. They were several hundred dollars in deficit. I moved out after that. I didn't think want to pay off their electricity account.


It took Peter about a month to find a shop front on Carlisle St, St Kilda (across the street from the National Theatre,) reformat the computers, and find the tables and chairs necessary to open the internet cafe. We plastered St Kilda with fliers and opened up. It was one of the first internet cafes in Melbourne, and for a while, business was good.


I'd spend my days in class, and then catch the bus or the tram to St Kilda to spend my evenings helping out at the shop. It was an easy job - mostly I could just goof around on computers, although during this last semester at LaTrobe, I was also busy writing my Honor's Thesis. For about a period of three weeks, I'd finish it, and then go to save it for the final time, and it would crash. Thankfully Peter could pull up the unfinished version each time; so I'd meticulously edit it again, and save it, only for it to crash again. For some reason it wasn't automatically saving throughout the editing process, even though I had that feature turned on. If it wasn't for Peter I would've had to start from scratch; but since Peter could somehow manage to retrieve the almost-finished version each time, it went a lot smoother. Eventually I managed to finish it, save it, and submit it.


Peter enjoyed operating the internet cafe. He had a long affinity with backpackers and always enjoyed meeting new people. He also liked being his own boss. He appreciated the challenge of building a business from the ground up. He'd taken out a small loan from his parents to get started; but within about a month he'd managed to pay them back. Before long the business was doing so well that he could bring other people on-board too.


Meanwhile I knew that my time in Australia was coming to a close. I was on a student visa and would have to leave when my course studied. I had one last term to do at the University of Oregon to get my degree, and because I suspected this would be the last time I actually lived in Australia, I thought I'd stick around for a few months to spend some time with my family.


I remember calling up Peter after my last final at LaTrobe. I was exhausted! I could barely get the words out: "I'm finished!" I took the bus to St Kilda and felt so happy, knowing that the bulk of my degree was behind me. I still had a term of summer school, sure, but summer school was always easier than the rest of the year, so I wasn't worried.


This was our last long separation. He dropped me off at the airport and I flew to San Francisco. My idea was to catch the Green Tortoise bus from San Francisco to Eugene. It was a legendary remnant of the hippy days. Unfortunately, my dad spoke with a colleague who remembered it as being full of pot smoke, and tried to dissuade me. It wasn't really like that anymore; and I wanted the experience. I told them that unless they bought me a plane ticket, I was taking the bus. They bought me a plane ticket.


I finished up my degree at the University of Oregon. My parents were moving house from Hermiston, Oregon to Layton, Utah, and I decided to stay in their Utah house for a few months and work and earn some money. Peter wasn't terribly impressed by this; but my sisters lived in Utah and I really did feel that my life after this would be in Australia. I wanted to spend some time with them. Still, I didn't stay for too long. By mid-November 1998 I was back in Australia, on a multiple entry extended stay tourist visa. (They don't have them anymore, but back then they were brilliant - I could come and go from Australia as often as I pleased over 4 years, staying for 6 months at a time.)


Peter met me at the airport, as always. He usually met me at the airport with a copy of The Age and a green capsicum. Never flowers. He always had this idea that if he gave me flowers, I'd think he had something to apologise for, so he very rarely gave me flowers. We settled into a happy routine. Sometimes he'd work at the internet cafe; sometimes I'd work there; sometimes we'd hang out together there. By now Peter was sharing a flat in Caulfield with his friend Itai, and thinking about opening another internet cafe in Richmond.


Our life proceeded much as it always had. We'd go to the movies once a week. We might stop by Hungry Jack's or KFC for a meal before or after. We'd rent films and cuddle up on the couch and watch them together. Most nights he cooked for me. They were just happy, pleasant days.


It wasn't like we did big things. Mostly we just stayed in and watched TV. I remember saying as much to a roommate at the University of Oregon. Heloise was an exchange student from France. She always gave me a bad time for 'ruining' Peter's accent; she didn't think he sounded Australian anymore. I told her that Peter and I mostly stayed in and watched TV. She said, "How did you meet?" I replied, "Oh, watching TV." I suppose if you find something that fits . . .


Mostly we just liked spending time together. I always looked forward to seeing him, whether it was a separation of a couple of months or only a couple of hours. We were a few years into the relationship but the butterflies were still there; my heart would leap every time I saw him, and I'd think, "I'm home now, because he's here with me." It was always like that with him. I haven't felt at home since his death.


During this time - after I finished studying but before we married - I had to go to New Zealand once, to renew my visa. A sister missionary from the ward in Caulfield called up her father and stepmother in Auckland. Her stepmother met me at the airport, and I spent a lovely weekend with their family. When we went to church that Sunday I was one of two non-Pacifica people in attendance - the other was a missionary from Utah. That night, they put on a huge Polynesian feast for me. When the step-mother found out I was missing Wendy's, she made a special trip there so I could get a Frosty. They lived in the neighbourhood were Once Were Warriors was filmed, and took me around to see the various places it had been filmed. They were a lovely family.


I flew back to Australia. By now I knew I wanted to marry Peter - but then I'd known that from the moment we met. I was getting frustrated because Peter seemed no closer to proposing. Once, about a year prior, I'd told him that if he didn't propose by the time I finished uni, that was it. He said, "Are you sure? You know how I am with ultimatums." He always said that if someone gave him an ultimatum, he'd do the opposite, just to be stubborn. I said I was sure. Then, a few months later, I rescinded the ultimatum.


One day at the internet cafe I asked him, straight out: Are we ever going to get married? He looked sheepish and said, "I was hoping to maybe surprise you. Take you away to an island somewhere and just marry you there." That was all it took. I immediately started Googling how to get married in the Pacific Islands. It didn't take much research to find out that the easiest and quickest place to get married was Fiji. We discussed it and decided we'd get married.


He didn't want anyone to know. I told my parents, much to his disappointment. I told him there were two non-negotiables: I wanted a wedding dress and I wanted a wedding ring. My parents sent me money for the dress, and I spent a day searching Melbourne before I settled on what I wanted - a simple A-line silk skirt with a matching sweater. I found the skirt in a little boutique off Collin's Street. They didn't have it in white but could order it in for me. I found the sweater in Portman's factory outlet on the Bourke Street Mall.


We went to Chadstone together to shop for a ring. At first I thought I'd want something fancy. But as we looked at the various options I realised that I just wanted a simple ring. At last I found a simple golden band with six small emeralds and a small diamond. It was $219 and looked vaguely art deco. When I told Peter it was what I wanted, he said, "Are you sure? I can afford to spend more than that." I told him that I'd rather we save the money for our life together. He purchased the ring. I started asking when he was going to propose to me. He never really did.


We quietly made the arrangements - booked tickets for Fiji, found a nice resort that had a wedding planning service, and made sure we had all of the documents we'd need so that we could legally marry there. The night before we left, we went out for dinner with some friends. Some of them were planning their own weddings. At one point one of them looked over at us and said, "What about you two? Are you ever going to tie the knot?" I replied, "Well - " and then Peter shot me a look. He was serious about wanting to keep it a surprise. I turned it into a joke - something like, "You'll have to ask him!" and dropped it.


The next day we flew off to Fiji for our wedding . . . .








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