“Zonkers,” I say absentmindedly rolling the crumbs of weed on the dresser into another Vietnamese dollar, lighting it on fire, and watching it burn like old newspaper.
“Oh, here are my papers. They were in my pocket the entire time,” Jergen laughs.
The fire looks like fire again. I turn and look at Jacky’s form under the blankets as she gets dressed out of Jergen’s sight.
The room smells like weed despite our attempts to blow it out the window. It does little for our hangover, and heightens the bizarre sense that everything I have believed in is a lie, but there’s comfort in knowing that we can now go out and find fruit shakes and coffee. After we smoke, Jergen puts his hand on my shoulder and says, “I have to go back to my guesthouse. I’ll see you later.”
“See you later. We’ll be at the cafe.”
He gives me a wink and Jacky a nod, and fades into the sunlight. I can still see his tall loping figure disappear into the soft hum of the Vang Vieng morning, his blonde dreadlocks slowly fading into the distance, and then gone behind the passing of tuk-tuks and motorbikes. We never see Jergen again.
Paprika and Maya are nowhere to be found. We walk to the cafe, sit outside, drink Lao coffee, and wait for them until it’s time to get on our bus to Vientiane. We had somehow envisioned this ending differently, perhaps with a goodbye hug at the bus stop, watching each other get on separate buses towards our own little destinations, shooting forever out there, not wondering if our paths would ever cross again, but welcoming it as much as it feels good to be welcomed.
How do any of us ever know where we’re going, or when we’ll get there? Who of us arrive on time? This time, Lao Time. Time to fade into the light. The bouncing afternoon journey of the long red dirt road into the city, sitting silent, for now, just another companion.
Such pretty eyes. Would I even remember them? I try to see Jacky’s face, but she hides them from me, too hungover to tell me how she feels without throwing up, while I, alone, hum silently the fragments of my thoughts.
“I don’t know her name,” I say on the bus finally. “I don’t think I ever did.”
Jacky turns and looks at me, studies me for a moment with those blue-green eyes, and then touches my cheek with her fingers.
“Stay out of Thailand,” she whispers and turns back towards the window to watch Vang Vieng disappear as we roll away.