Day 17: My Hometown is a Novelty
As a general rule I always say yes to things when I move to a new place.
Before I was 10 years old, I had already lived in seven different states. Moving was a way of life for my family. Every 18–24 months we packed up our life in one city, drove hundreds of miles to move to the next one. We lived in some cities for such a short time that we didn’t even rent a house. Instead, our family of five lived in a newly built hotel that my mom was responsible for getting up and running.
When we eventually settled in Las Vegas, I’d already learned the tricks to help myself make friends and build a life. Saying yes to everything and use the resources are your disposal.
So when my girlfriend asked me if I wanted to go to her cricket team’s sausage sizzle, I didn’t hesitate. Of course I didn’t know a thing about cricket. She has done her best to teach me, but there’s a lot of rules and three different styles in which it’s played. I was happy that it was a game that encouraged beer drinking. I could drink beer and watch her play a sport that I only half understood.
Maybe I’ll make some friends, I thought to myself. I had only been in Sydney for two weeks and was already feeling lonely.
The day was beginning to heat up when we arrived at the park. If I’d had to guess, the humidity stood at a staunch 85% and I could feel beads of sweat forming on my skin. Anxiety flutters bloomed across my chest. I was nervous to meet her cricket mates, most of whom were older blokes. It was difficult not to assume they would be more conservative and not used to being around queer people. My American-ness felt like other enough.
She introduced me to her captain first before doing individual handshakes with the rest of the team that had already arrived. The introductions were a chorus of “how ya goings” and fumbles of my name. After several dan-i-ka pronunciation attempts, I told everyone to simply call me Dani. No need for anyone to trip and hurt themselves over pronouncing my name.
After the hellos, I followed Lauren back to her equipment bag. We had been some of the first to arrive and I felt too awkward to begin mingling.
“Want to help me with my batting,” she asked as she put her shin pads on.
“Like you want me to pitch? I mean bowl,” I said correcting myself.
She chuckled, “yeah. You don’t have to run up, just some easy throws so I can practice my stance and technique.”
“Oh sure. No worries.”
We walked onto the pitch, the afternoon sun scorching the tops of our heads. She took the time to walk me to both ends of the pitch, explaining wicket placement, rules, and different positions. As she took her place to bat, I stepped back to bowling distance. We fell into a rhythm, me tossing the ball just easy enough for her to hit it back to my feet. It felt wonderful to connect over something Lauren loved, to fit into her life as simply as if I had always been there.
A while later, after more team members arrived, the captain called out asking everyone to join him so he could announce the two teams and other adjusted rules. I went back to the tent and sat down in our single folding chair, grateful to be out of the sun. As much as I wanted to believe I could stand the Australian summer, nothing could prepare me for this humid heat. I would always be a desert girl.
After the teams were situated, the tent became a flurry of white, gold, and green as everyone began to prepare for the game. I didn’t so much watch the game as I listened to it. Ralphsie, a teammate who’d been with this club for 20 years, chose to sit the game out and was more than happy to provide me a play by play. He and I drank beers and chatted about my time in Australia so far. He’d mentioned his visits to America several times, I think trying to make me feel comfortable, connected. I appreciated his efforts feeling that we might actually become mates.
A woman joined us, sitting a few chairs down from me and giving everyone a general greeting. Her loose blonde curls were pulled back into a ponytail and covered with a cap. She stared at me. “You have the most amazing hair,” she said beaming.
I returned her grin, “thank you!”
My hair was a talking point that required little effort on my part. Sometimes it felt like it entered the room before I did.
“What kind of products do you use,” she asked, “tell me all of your secrets.”
“Absolutely!”
I listed of nearly all of the products I tried over the years, what worked for my moisture deprived curls, what tamed the frizz, and what I would never use again. My biggest secret, I explained to her, was leaving my conditioner in rather than rinsing it all out.
“Seriously,” she asked astonished.
“Really,” I chuckled, “it gives my hair the extra moisture it needs and can tame the frizz. Plus, I’ve saved me so much money in buying additional styling products.”
“Sweet as! I’m going to have to give this a try,” she said. She was bubbly and full of energy. I felt immediately easy around her.
“It’s amazing the kind of community curly haired people have, isn’t it? No matter where you’re from or what your background is, we can all connect over the fact that our hair is not the norm we grew up with. I mean, we have Facebook groups and websites just for us” she beamed laughing at our not even six degrees of hair separation. “My name is Bek, by the way.”
“I’m Danika or Dani, if that’s easier for you,” I replied and we shook hands.
“You’ll have to excuse me. I need to make sure my kids stay out of trouble,” she giggled giving me a shrug.
After corralling her two kids and making sure they had activities to keep them occupied, Bek was chatting with another mother. She had a baby on her hip causing her to do the momma shuffle, moving the baby from hip to hip. A few minutes later a man came over, her husband I assumed, and offered to watch the baby so she could get a break. Bek looked at me smiling brightly and waved me over. I left my beer in the chair’s cupholder and went to meet them.
“Dani! I wanted to introduce you to Christina. She’s married to Dave, mm,” she was searching for him, “that lovely man right there.”
“Wonderful. It’s great to meet you,” I said shaking her outstretched hand. She smiled politely seeming already exhausted by social interactions.
“Dani here just moved to Australia from the states,” Bek commented breathing life back into the conversation.
“Oh yeah? What brought you to Sydney,” Christina asked adjusting her sunglasses.
I took a breath to force myself to stay present. I had been asked every form of this question, over and over, for nearly six months. My explanation varied between conversations, to keep myself entertained as I described the path that lead me to Australia. I loved a woman, she loved me, and we decided to build a life together, sooner than either of us could have anticipated. They listened, intent to understand what brought an American across the world.
“Wow, what a story. Well, welcome to Australia. Sorry that half of the country is on fire,” Christina said. Like many other Aussies I had met, she was genuine in her apology as if any of them could have stopped the bushfires from happening.
“Yes, despite the current state of things I’m happy to be here. It’s beautiful and I live 15 minutes away from a beach. So I can’t complain,” I replied reassuringly.
“Where are you from in the states?”
This question always made me laugh because it was difficult to understand if they meant “where were you born” or “where did you grow up.” It was a question that left room for creativity.
“I grew up in Las Vegas,” I said.
Now, this statement has a strange affect on people who do not live in Nevada. Anywhere else in the states or even the world, people are astounded because Vegas is a holiday destination. It rarely occurs to them that people actually live there, that there’s a whole city beyond the strip. Bek and Christina were no exception. Their eyebrows shot up from behind their sunglasses and their mouths fell open.
“You lived in Las Vegas,” Bek asked as if I had misspoke.
I chuckled. “Yes, I lived there for most of my life. My family and I lived all over the country before I was 10. We settled there since that’s where my grandparents lived.”
“Whoa! It’s such a destination spot, I guess it never occurred to me that people were from there,” Bek laughed unafraid of her naivety.
“You’re definitely not the first to think that. People who live in the states rarely know that, because they think of it as a vacation city. They go for the glamour and bright lights and the ‘sin,’ which is a shame because there’s so much more to the city than they realize,” I explained. Whenever I spoke about Vegas, I always tried to describe the overlooked places and the nature. There’s so much beautiful desert around Las Vegas.
“Oh I’ll bet. I’ve never been before. It’s somewhere I always thought would be fun to visit some day,” Bek said in a voice people always get when they think of “some day.”
“You should! It’s a fun place and something you should visit at least once. If you want to do the, you know, strip experience you really only need 48 hours max. Any more than that can be a lot.”
Christina who seemed stunned by the detail finally spoke up, “do you know Brandon Flowers?”
“Mm, Brandon Flowers. I don’t know him personally. Who is he again,” I asked feeling almost embarrassed that I didn’t know him.
“The lead singer of The Killers,” Christina sighed clearly a fan.
Of course! Despite its history, Las Vegas was not home to many artists or bands. Musicians or performers came to Vegas, they weren’t born and raised there. Still, I had a certain amount of pride for artists that were from my hometown.
“Right! No, I’ve never met him before. I have met Brendon Urie, the lead singer from Panic! At the Disco. If you know them at all. He went to my high school,” I said dropping his name as casually as if I had Urie’s phone number.
“Oh my god! That’s so cool,” Christina said.
I smiled, certain that my pride was showing. They continued on, taking turns to ask me more about my hometown and satisfy their curiosity. Bek eventually had to leave to attend to her kids and left Christina and I to chat. After a few minutes of awkward conversation, she mentioned that she should probably check on her husband and child.
“For sure, no worries. It was great chatting with you,” I said smiling and ventured further, “maybe I’ll see you at one of their games some time.”
“Oh, probably not. I never go to the games,” she replied with such finality that there was nothing much else I could do but grin and add a polite send off.
Okay, I thought, so we’re not going to hang out. My novelty must have worn off. The subtle rejection caught me off guard, but I didn’t feel disheartened. I returned to my chair and finished my beer. The day felt like a success. I’d arrived feeling like my social anxiety was another layer of skin, something that was as clear to everyone as my accent. That same foreignness proved to be a unique talking point that charmed my new acquaintances and allowed me to retrieve a little more of the confidence I’d lost. I was happy to feel more like myself.
Ralphsie tapped me on the arm.
“Your girl is up to bat hey,” He said pointing out at the pitch.
I watched as the bowler ran up and chucked the ball at Lauren. She hit it the ball square against her bat and sent it flying. She and her batting partner ran passing each other to get to the opposite wicket. It was her first run ever in cricket. A great day for both of us.
