A Karmic Return

by Natalie Elam (Thailand)

I didn't expect to find Indonesia

The fierce island sun hid behind grayscale clouds that threatened more rain. I cinched my arms around my boyfriend’s waist as our motorbike leapt forward at the flick of his wrist. We raced ahead on the slick pavement, wet from a downpour that hadn’t yet wrung all the water out of the sky. Leaden clouds waited to birth more rain, indigo bellies forecasting an imminent delivery upon our heads. The morning rain refreshed the green landscape surrounding us. Fluorescent rice fields flashed between drab walls as we cruised further into the countryside. Interspersed among the Balinese home compounds, vendors in square stalls sold standard local fares and wares. Large jugs of drinking water sat next to Absolut bottles filled with pale petrol on offer for the equivalent of seventy cents a liter; one-serving bags of chips and nuts hung like curtains next to layered cartons of brown eggs, unrefrigerated as was the norm in this part of the world. I began to sense that I knew where I was, from before. I remembered an ashram up ahead after the road elbowed and split, but I hoped I was wrong. Before I returned to Bali, I’d vowed to avoid just one road on all the island. There just wouldn’t be any reason to go down it, I’d reasoned. If I’d need to go north, there were plenty of parallel paths I could take. Multiple roads sliced through Bali’s verdant landscape. I repositioned myself on the bike, scooting back and loosening my grip on Mike. I wasn’t aware of how tight I’d been grasping his solid frame. The fork in the road now came into view. Anxiety lit my chest. This was the spot, just a little bit further up the hill past the ashram. The face guard of my helmet clicked as I raised it. I leaned in closer to Mike. “This is the road, this is where it happened, right up ahead,” I had to project my voice to be heard over the wind and growling bike. “I wasn’t sure, but yeah... this is it.” I was saying it more to myself. Heaviness swirled with the anxiety as I digested this realization. Mike nodded, his helmet over-animating the gesture. Fat drops of rain spattered on the pavement in front of us as we approached the spot I’d sworn to never see again. I nudged Mike and pointed as we sailed past Karma Homestay, appreciating the irony of the name. “There. Next to that building, that’s where the dog bit me.” The rice field flew past us, indistinguishable from any other on Bali. The memory of that day over two years before clouded my vision. I had visited this place countless times in my mind. I surprised myself. I didn’t shake or faint and fall off the back of the bike. Instead, after the initial punch of anxiety passed, there was just stillness inside. I felt objective to the experience, almost, a witness observing from the outside. Then came relief, followed by a sense of victory. Two days in Bali, and here I was back at the spot I promised myself I’d avoid. It was not what I’d imagined. Instead of the memory of the past being a deep gash, it was now a fully-healed scar. I was no longer that old wounded self, standing in a rice field pouring blood from my face, frantic. Rain fell harder now as I squared myself forward again on the bike and clicked the face shield of my helmet back down. I smiled and leaned into Mike, feeling my heart beat strong, amplified against his back.