"Sink or Swim?"

“I was eleven years old the first time I stepped on an airplane. My parents and I were flying from Virginia to California for my grandpa’s funeral. I freaked out and had an anxiety attack. It was so bad, my mother told my father that she would stay home with me while he went on his own. I don’t think he ever forgave me for my outburst.”

I told my therapist this as she jotted down some notes on her legal pad before she asked 

“Was that the first time you recall feeling anxious?”

“No,” I continued, “I remember hiking with my Aunt when I was probably seven. It was muddy and I slipped and fell. We were in the Shenandoah Valley, and I caught myself at the edge of the trail. Since then I've had a fear of heights.”

She looked at me with a perplexed face, and as she formulated the question she was about to ask me, I could see the gears moving behind her thick magenta wire-rimmed glasses. I thought about what an interesting color choice that was for a frame, and then she exhaled an audible sigh. 

“That’s all the time we have this session,” she announced. “We will start here next Tuesday when we meet again.” She scribbled something more down in her notes and then stood to signal it was time for me to go. 

How is it that there is never enough time in my session to get any answers? I had been seeing her for six months, and it all seemed so well orchestrated that just as I felt comfortable, our time together was ending. What did she write down just moments prior to my departure? It nagged me in the back of my mind every week. 

I gathered my things and shook her hand as I exited to the lobby of the office. I was always exhausted after a session. Trying to squeeze years of my life into fifty minutes a week to better understand my psyche. I was making improvements in my behavior; not letting little annoyances get to me as much as I once did. Still my fear of heights couldn’t be tamed. I refused to fly in airplanes, and would rather take days on a train to arrive somewhere just to know my body hadn’t left the ground. 

I returned home and began preparing some pasta. I wasn’t very high maintenance when it came to meal prep. Living alone in Washington D.C. wasn’t bad. It was a busy city close to all the people I loved and cared about.

I began looking through my mail and came across a very important looking envelope with a wax seal and impressive penmanship. Must be another invitation to one of my friends’ weddings. They all seemed to be getting hitched these days.

As I opened the letter, it read:

“Dear Alice Von Steppard,

It is with great regret that I write to inform you of Mr. Xavier Grahams' demise. He was quite ill, but had a long adventurous life. He was never married or reproduced, so he decided to leave his inheritance to his remaining family members. Please call my office at your earliest convenience. Thank you!”

Sincerely,

Matthias Black

Attorney at Law

+61 (555) 227-5496

This must be a scam, I thought. Some crook out there, baiting me for some information, and just after I give them my bank information, they clean my life savings out from under me. I tucked it away in a drawer, and finished making the pasta. After I ate, I prepared my lunch for the next day and took a shower. I wished I could wash the day away. 

The next morning, I woke up at 6 o’clock and got ready for another day at the Elementary School Library. On Wednesdays, I read to the different Kindergarten classes. They were my favorite! Always very attentive, in between nose pickings. 

Just as I was putting on my shoes, my cell phone rang.

“Hello Ms. Von Steppard?”

“Yes, this is she,” I replied.

“Great! Hopefully my letter has reached you by now.”

“I’m sorry, to whom am I speaking?” I asked the man on the phone.

“Yes, let me introduce myself. I am Mr. Matthias Black. The Attorney handling your late relative, Mr. Xavier Grahams’ Estate and Will. Did you receive my letter?”

“Yes, I did. I’m sorry. How am I related to Mr. Graham?” I inquired to the man on the phone. 

“He was your mother’s cousin.”

“Really?” I asked sarcastically.

“Yes, the one who lived in Australia. Melbourne more specifically,” he said.

I recalled my mother talking about her crazy cousin, who sold all of his things when he was forty-five, and started a surf camp in Australia. I never thought to ask more about him. Australia was on the other side of the world, and I wouldn’t ever get on an airplane, so it was unlikely we would ever meet. 

“Hello? Are you still there?” Mr.Black asked after a few moments of dead air.

“Yes, sorry,” I replied, “I must have been dazed in thought.”

“Ok, well, I am calling you long distance, so let’s make this quick. When will you be available to come sign the official documents and take over the deed to his beach house?” He inquired impatiently. 

“I’m sorry, what?” I gasped in shock.

“When will you be able to come to Melbourne?” Mr. Black rephrased his question.

“MELBOURNE!?!?” I shouted.

“Yes, once we get your availability we will send you the travel documents. It’s all arranged in his Will. You will get his house.”

“His house.” I started completely confused.

“Ms. Von Steppard, you are to take over his Surf School as Chairperson and continue his legacy. Haven’t you ever heard about Xavier Graham? The famous Surfer.” 

Now Mr. Black was just as confused as I.

“Anyway, please give me your availability by the end of the month and we will arrange your arrival.” He finished and bid me adieu.  Click.

It must be a joke! Obviously I couldn’t ever get to Australia, and I definitely wouldn’t be moving there. Never getting on an airplane!

 I began to ponder how long it would take to get there by boat.