The First Stop

“Oh God.” 

The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them as I yank my big, bright pink suitcase into the room, its wheels clattering against the doorframe. It looks aggressively out of place beside the far less obnoxious backpacks already lined up along the wall. 

I bring my hand to my mouth, suddenly aware that I may not be the only person here. A feeling I will have to make peace with over the coming weeks.  

I glance around.  

Eight beds.  

All empty of people, but coated in their belongings.  

Makeup bags spilled open. Hair straighteners coiled like snakes. Half-unzipped backpacks revealing denim shorts and bikinis.  

The evidence of girls who look like they’ve arrived together. 

I centre in on the one bed that’s clean, launch my hand luggage up to it, and haul myself up the ladder. 

Top bunk.  

Great start.  

“What the hell do I do now?” I mutter to myself, laughing quietly at how alien this all feels. 

Twenty-four hours ago I was sat with my parents in Pret-a-Manger at Heathrow Airport redistributing two kilograms of excess luggage between them so I could make it through check- in. 

Now I’m halfway across the world, in a city I’ve never been to, about to share a bedroom with seven strangers.  

None of this feels normal, but I suppose that was always part of the point. 

It's easier to reinvent yourself somewhere no one has the receipts.  

I take a breath and rummage through my bag, looking for the itinerary my travel company had sent me. Printing it felt organised at the time, but now I wish I had just saved it to my phone. 

Anything to make me feel like I have my life together.  

Uncrumpling the sheet, I take in the details of the life I’m set to live for the next three weeks.  

Three weeks. Nine stops. 

It reads less like a holiday and more like a relocation programme for my personality.  

Twenty-four hours ago my mum cried into her flat white as if I was going off to war while my dad asked if I’d thought about coming home if I hated it.  

No one asked me if he’d reached out to wish me a safe flight. 

No one asked who I’d be when I got here. 

I fold the paper back up before my brain can wander too far down that road.  

Today. Sydney.  

The first stop on my tour of the East Coast of Australia.  

I look closely at the itinerary for my time in Sydney. 

I check the time. 5:30pm. Two hours until the hostel welcome drinks. 

Plenty of time to shower and get myself ready to attempt at making some friends, or to walk in and out of a room never to return again out of fear and embarrassment.  

Let's hope I don't succumb to the second, otherwise the next few weeks are going to be interesting. 

_

No longer smelling of plane food and sweat, and looking a little more presentable, I walk myself downstairs to the lower level of the hostel that houses its adjacent bar.  

Despite it still being light outside, a luxury I’ve long missed in England, the bar is dark, almost like a club, lit by bright coloured LEDs that line each corner of the room.  

The bar centers the space, surrounded by clusters of tables, each with a plaque representing a different travel company.  

I float around the room, eyeing the tables for one with East Coast Ease written on it, trying to look purposeful as if I know exactly where I’m going, rather than like someone who has just voluntarily walked into a room full of strangers.  

I tell myself I’m looking for my table, but my eyes land somewhere else first. 

Old habits don’t dissolve just because you cross time zones. 

“Rachel!” I hear a girl call out.  

I turn, hoping it's for me. 

“Rachel,” she re-exclaims as she moves towards me, smiling like we’ve met before. 

“I thought I recognised you, from the group chat. Our table is over here!”  

I follow her across the bar to a table already dotted with people.  

Strangers.  

Or at least they were thirty seconds ago.  

One of the girls raises her drink as I arrive. 

“To new beginnings!” She says brightly. 

Everyone cheers. 

I lift my glass too, smiling along with them. 

But the thought slides loudly through my mind. 

I didn’t come here for a new beginning. I came here to avoid the ending I never finished.  

Someone further down the table laughs and says, “Right. New city. New boy. No repeats.” 

The group erupts into laughter. 

I laugh too. 

But something in me tightens. 

For years I’ve always been someone’s girlfriend. 

Maybe now I’ll be everyone’s.  

The girl who grabbed me nudges my arm. 

“So, Rachel,” she grins, “Sydney first impressions?” 

I glance around the table.  

Strangers. Music. Cheap beer. A city I’ve known for less than six hours. 

“Promising,” I say. 

And for the first time since the plane landed, I almost believe it.