Alexander the Great
by
J.M Jones

‘How about one for the road then. What do you think?’
‘I think that that is a wonderful idea. Gin and tonic? Or maybe something else tickles your fancy?’
‘A gin and tonic would be just fine thanks- lots of ice Sweets.  I’ll go get us a lemon from the lemon tree, ok?’ Alexander said, rising from the chair and walking over to Sandra. He slapped her on the bum and hummed the Carlton Football Club anthem…- 
‘We are the mighty Blues,
The old dark navy Blues. 
We’re the team that never lets you down. 
We’re the only team from Carlton town...etc’- 
…to himself as he stepped off the veranda and into the rain. Sandra pulled the house keys from her handbag and unlocked the door to her house. She walked inside and Mac the mastiff followed her, hungry and enjoying himself.
Once in her own house, Sandra almost ran into the kitchen. She felt like a young woman does when she allows a man to cum inside her for the first time and Sandra hadn’t felt like this in years. She felt innocent yet trusting, experienced yet frail, no remorse and powerful, a woman in full command and with the world at her feet. 
Her kitchen was made from white lacquered wood and it was a little bit messy and the polished floor boards in front of the sink were worn and grey in spots. She found two clean whisky tumblers and opened the fridge. Inside the fridge were bottles of nail polish, two bottles of Stolichnaya vodka and a bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin. That was all. Sandra grimaced at the sight of her almost empty fridge and resolved to buy some food and beer for the hundredth time, any promises made to Mac forgotten. She opened the freezer compartment and took out the ice tray. Sandra hunted around her kitchen for the ice bucket, finally finding it playing host to used dish rags and she washed it under hot running water in the sink, oblivious to environmental standards or Melbourne summer water restrictions. She broke ice into the ice bucket, sending some pieces spinning out of control onto the floor, pieces which she picked up and dropped into the whisky tumblers and she poured 100mls of gin (or a healthy splash) into each glass and then she looked for the tonic. 
The tonic water wasn’t in the pantry and it wasn’t in the fridge. She looked in both at least 5 times, each time hoping that the previous time she had somehow missed seeing the almighty mixer and she looked for it on the kitchen bench. Finally, she decided that she was out of tonic water and simultaneously hit upon the conclusion that having no tonic water was not the end of the world. ‘Tonic water!’ she thought contemptuously. 
The gin in the whisky tumblers looked clean and drinkable and Sandra knew from experience that gin was a tonic that could be taken straight. She added some more ice to the gin, found some sugar and threw in a tea spoon, mixing it around and she opened a drawer and pulled out of it a German kitchen knife replica made in Brazil or perhaps even Portugal. Sandra wiped down the cutting board and balanced the two whisky glasses, the ice bucket, the bottle of gin, a silver sugar bowl with spoon and horizontally positioned the knife as a fence and she surveyed her work. It was all good. Then Mac whined. 
‘Oh yes baby, how could I have forgotten about you? What would you like? I don’t really have anything’ Sandra wailed, walking over to the pantry and looking inside. ‘What about a nice piece of bread? Would you like that? Off course you would’ she exclaimed, throwing a stale piece of white bread onto the kitchen floor. For the second time that evening, Mac looked unimpressed. All in all, Sandra had been inside the house for 4 minutes. It had seemed like an eternity but time often plays tricks on the human mind, especially when a human is in a hurry. Sandra picked up the makeshift tray and carried it out of the kitchen, Mac at her heels.
Outside, Alexander was having problems of his own. The lemon tree was very, very wet and the lemons were high up the tree and he had received a good dose of water as tribute for his first attempt to shake a lemon loose: silly drunk man.
 Then he had grabbed hold of a branch thinking that he could pull it down towards him, forgetting that some lemon tress are protected by thorns. Letting go of the branch had ensured a next shower and some bitter words. The second method was actually the proper method and Alexander cautiously took hold of a branch again and pulled and picked a lemon. He did this a couple of times and was finally rewarded with a few of the shiny yellow fruit.      
Meeting back on the porch, Sandra studied Alexander for perhaps the thousandth time since she had first seen him on a cold winter’s day on the back beach at Portsea. He looked a little bit older and he carried a little more gristle around the waist but generally, he was still a handsome man who dressed well and casually and who had an almost full head of hair and Sandra was well aware that here was a man who could have picked up women half his age (or hers) had he wanted and she liked this about him.
Alexander was also deep in thought and he was thinking about what he had said to his house mate after he had first spent a night with Sandra 25 years ago and how they had laughed and laughed at what had attracted Sandra to him in the first place. He was smiling to himself on Sandra’s veranda, quite proud of his life and some of his achievements and liking Sandra for all that she represented as well as for all that she lacked. 
The particular conversation had taken place in the surf after a heavy nights drinking. At some point the previous evening, Sandra had decided that Alexander’s bed was the best bed in the house that she was a guest at and when Alexander had finally decided that enough was enough and that one more beer or smoke on a joint would induce a session hugging the toilet bowl and had stumbled into his bedroom, there she was, like a sex kitten from an Ian Fleming novel, eyes shining and very much awake.
 Considering himself a gentleman, Alexander took his clothes off but left his underwear on and slipped into bed. Five minutes later his undies came off, as did Sandra’s- she had kept them on for so long- and the next morning saw them both wake hung-over but resolved to forget about their raging headaches by releasing another flood of endorphins that the modern drug ecstasy can only ever hope to simulate. When the shaking tremors had subsided and both young adults were breathing regularly again, Alexander asked Sandra a question which she answered as best she could. Alexander had then risen, feeling a bit like Jesus, Joseph’s son must have felt like leaving Mary Magdalene’s hut and he had taken a shower. He than made breakfast for the two of them while Sandra was in the shower, brewed tea and coffee, laughed with some of the other people who were also rising and who were even more hung-over than Alexander was, made some breakfast for them as well, smoked a part of a joint which was going around, checked the wind direction for the twentieth time, kissed Sandra quickly on the lips and went surfing. It was a good start to a new day.   
In the water, all those who had gone surfing and who were nursing headaches soon forgot about their sufferings. The surf wasn’t big but it was lining up well and there was a good sand bank which was working and drawing the water up from the swell and forming it into waves and there weren’t crowds in the sea and the crew from the party the previous night shared waves and laughed at wipe outs and at some of their friends who couldn’t resist dropping in or who couldn’t surf and watched as some threw spray far behind them and as others charged down the line, drawing speed from the breaking swell as it raced along the length of the shallow sand bank. 
Sitting out the back and waiting for the sets that came marching in from the deep and which mirrored the horizon, Alexander was asked how he had ‘done’ the previous night. It was a loaded question and a man thing with an obvious answer and he had only laughed in form of a response. The guy who had asked him also laughed, having spent a similar evening with a girl who was also a mutual friend and both young men knew that the best thing to do in the circumstance was to laugh and celebrate and surf, well aware that the girls back in the house were talking about the same things and probably drinking more beer.
‘WOWOWOQWOWOWHRUGGEDANDMANLYOWOWQOWOWOHWOWQOWOQHQWOQHQHWHOWOWQOWQRUGGEDANDMANLYOWQOQWOWOQRUGGEDANDMANLYQWQHOWOQWOHWOWWOWOHQWOWOWQQRUGGEDANDMANLYHQQQ’
Alexander kept a keen eye on the horizon and paddled over to his mate who was called Ben. ‘Do you know why she jumped into my bed?’ he asked, grinning widely. 
‘No mate, that I don’t, Wyrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh’ his friend said, grinning just as widely, squishing water through his hands and enjoying waiting for the answer almost as much as the prospect of the next wave. 
‘You know how we like to get around without any shoes on and are always surfing and fishing and having fun and doing kooky, amazing things like jumping off cliffs or lighting fires that burn for three days and scoring hot chicks and turning up late for lectures with wet hair and hanging out taking it easy and going on missions and all the other strange and wonderful things that we do?’
‘Sure.’
‘Well, she thinks that we are manly and rugged’ Alexander said, laughing and looking up at the perfect blue sky. 
‘She thinks WE are manly and rugged. Why didn’t she jump into my bed then’ Ben said, joking hard but pleased at the compliment.
‘Don’t know buddy, but probably I’m more handsome’ Alexander answered, hitting Ben lightly on the arm and pushing him off his board. A set was coming and Alexander before he was Alexander the Great took off on the first wave, laughing again at Ben and with him and very pleased. He tapped into the source of the ocean, much in the same way that he had tapped into the source of the universe that morning or everyday of his life in one way or another and he rode the wave into the beach, pulling off a few good turns in the process. People were starting to appear on the sand and an onshore breeze was picking up. He pulled his wetsuit down to his waist and walked up to the car park. Alexander felt alive and hungry and pleased and not caring that he had exams to study for or that his bank account wasn’t as full as it could have been. He knew that there was some grass left in his room, hidden in a drawer and safe from certain friends and that there would be a few beers floating about at his holiday house and that when he returned home from the beach, his friends, both male and female and including Sandra and those that didn’t surf but who were not condemned for this lack would be sitting around in his house with their own stories to tell and smiles and this prospect made him smile again.