It was an hour into the reunion – they had already started giving out those ridiculous awards they give to those alumni that had managed to achieve something miraculous, like leaving Iowa City, when she finally arrived. Rob was busy searching the room for the twentieth time, to no avail since Julie Anne was simply not there, when his name was called. “Rob Mariner, for the most exciting job award.”
Rob stood there confused, listening to the applause, certain that he had heard incorrectly since surely he couldn’t possibly have the most exciting job. What about that strange girl that had joined the circus and become a sword swallower? But then he had heard that, due to her allergy to cats (actually lions in this case), she had unfortunately sneezed while swallowing a rapier (a double edged sword) and severed an artery. Prodded by some classmate next to him whom he didn’t recognize, Rob hesitantly stepped up to the podium to accept his award – dinner for two at the Corn Husker’s restaurant and a truck wash and wax at the local truck stop. Rob laughed as he was handed the award by Jodie Crabtree who seemed quite reluctant to give up the coveted prize. “Well” said Rob, “I don’t quite know what to say other than I guess this means I should enjoy work more, shouldn’t I?” prompting everyone to laugh as if it was the funniest joke they’d ever heard. Looking around the room, Rob sadly realized that his was likely the most exciting job of all his classmates since only he and three others, all women, had managed to escape the pull of the small town’s magnetic field that so surely kept most people secure in their familiar habitat, if not in the cornfield itself. And in a town of farmers, exciting jobs were not exactly run of the mill. Maybe his life wasn’t so bad after all – but maybe he just simply hadn’t seen enough to know the difference.
Then suddenly, Rob felt her eyes on him. Looking up, he spotted her just as she walked through the door. She smiled at him.
“It’s her!” shouted Rob in his head. “God, she’s still beautiful!” he wanted to scream out loud. “She hasn’t even changed a bit since I last saw her. What a fool you were Rob, you left her. What did you expect, that she’d wait for you and never get married,” thought Rob berating himself as he watched her from across the room looking just like he remembered her.
She was even wearing blue like she always did to match those amazing blue eyes, and there it was, hanging from that incredible neck of hers – right where he’d left it ten years before – his heart.
It wasn’t until the crowd at the door thinned that he noticed she was about ten months pregnant, but nonetheless, he had to visit his heart to see if there was still any hope of freeing it. Or, would it just stay locked away in that little silver locket forever? Looking at Julie Anne, Rob felt a great sadness deep within him. A sadness it seemed, that had filled that dark empty space in his chest where his heart once had been. Quickly, Rob stepped down from the podium and away from the limelight, and headed through the crowd in her direction.
There she stood, pregnant, with twins no less she told him as she giggled like the young girl he remembered necking with in the back of his pick-up truck. His hand was drawn to it – he wanted to touch it, to see if it was alive. Not the babies, his heart – to see if it was still beating inside that tiny silver trinket that had served as a home for his heart all those years. He was convinced that what was keeping him alive must be some cold, hard mechanical device implanted in his chest – designed to keep the blood circulating to his brain, and to the rest of his body and vital organs. An artificial heart. Surely he would be the first man in history to survive for more than fifteen years with an artificial heart. He was reaching out to touch it just as Dirk, Julie Anne’s husband, appeared out of nowhere.
“I finally found a parking spot honey, only nine blocks away,” Dirk panted out of breath.
“Rob, you remember Dirk.”
Rob was confused – “Don’t they have valet parking here?”
“Oh yeah but it’s two-fifty. Why would I want to pay when I can park for free?”
Julie Anne just laughed nervously and smiled.
“But what if Julie Anne goes into labor?” asked Rob.
Slapping Rob hard up-side his shoulder, Dirk laughed, “Don’t you remember Rob, I was a sprinter.”
“Yeah, you sprinted right in there as soon as I was out of town,” thought Rob as he smiled politely.
Julie Anne smiled back at him the way she always had when they were in class together and shared some secret from the rest of the world. Rob melted and he knew immediately that he was still hopelessly in love with her. But what concerned Rob most was that he’d always heard that love finally fades away once it has been replaced by a new one. Did that mean that maybe he had never truly been in love with Sydney?
1*SPIRIT GUIDE – The equivalent of a guardian angel, or just plain intuition if you feel uncomfortable with any reference to spirits in general and wish to take full credit for any and all divine intervention.
2*RDF – Known to the layman as a ‘radio direction finder’ – a rather outdated radio receiver which pinpoints the direction from which a radio beacon is being transmitted. As in life, when you’re lost and you haven’t the foggiest clue of which way to go, tuning into any old station within range will do in a pinch to give you some inkling of where you are and the direction to take. Unfortunately, this method of navigation can be rather hit or miss and does require a certain amount of practice, concentration, and fine tuning, until you’re certain you’ve tuned into all the proper channels.
3**Webster’s definition of PARADISE – (n) A place or condition of great or perfect contentment, beauty, satisfaction, happiness, or delight.
CHAPTER THREE
Paradise – Lost
“Make voyages! —
Attempt them! There’s nothing else…”
Tennessee Williams
Rob ran onto the American 727 in Miami, after his tight connection from Chicago – boarding pass in hand. He breathed a sigh of relief – it was close but he had made it aboard. He’d nearly missed his flight due to a late take off at O’Hare, but somehow fate had intervened and kept the plane at the gate ten minutes longer than scheduled due to a passenger’s cat that had escaped from its sky kennel. Rob was far from a world traveler and could still count the number of planes he had been on, on one hand. The butterflies at take off had yet to alight on a resolute resignation that he would get there safely, unless of course it was his time to go. If it were, one eventually reaches the understanding that staying at home will not ward off the inevitable. If it is indeed one’s time, you might just as easily succumb to a broken neck suffered from falling from one’s bed as dying in a plane crash.
Rob had booked a first class seat with the airline, however as he looked around the plane, he realized that the only difference between first and economy class on this plane was having the only flight attendant that didn’t need to shave a five o’clock shadow, although she did look as if she needed support hose. The only other difference being the fact that if it were to crash, the first class passengers had insured themselves first in line when it hit the ground. What had happened to all those pretty stewardesses that he remembered from flight ads? Rob had envisioned a pretty blonde of about twenty-one placing a white linen napkin in his lap and serving him caviar and champagne. He glanced again at his boarding pass and checked the numbers overhead and was relieved when he found that 6F was, as he requested, a window seat. He dropped his copies of “Journal” and “Forbes” onto his seat and proceeded to stow his bag in his overhead compartment. Finding it full, he patiently opened all twelve bins in first class to find them all crammed full with passengers’ luggage, plastic cups, blankets, and safety equipment. Finally, his first class flight attendant, an overweight, overbearing drill-sergeant with a name tag which read Beatrice, came to his rescue. She proceeded to instruct him to shove it under the seat ahead of him. Rob smiled politely and obeyed her instructions forfeiting all of his leg room to stowage. Since Rob’s experience with airplanes was far from prolific, he just assumed that
this was standard treatment and also figured that the flight attendant was not someone to argue with. After all, should the plane crash into the ocean, the last thing he needed was a pissed off flight attendant overlooking him when it came time to hand out life-jackets or assisting them into a life raft.
Rob buckled in just as the cat was captured and returned to its sky kennel and the jet started backing away from the gate. It wasn’t until they were airborne and Rob tried to recline his seat and found a bulkhead preventing it, that he realized it was going to be a long three and a half hour flight. Since there was no movie, Rob donned his Walkman headphones and popped in a Harry Belafonte CD. He closed his eyes and tried to settle into an island rhythm, smiling as he fantasized about what life would be like in Paradise. Of course, even Rob’s wildest imagination fell short of what was truly awaiting him in the land of swaying palms, coconuts, and blue waters.
Ahhh, the seduction and the lure of Paradise. We’ve all been prey to it at one time or another. The dream of sailing off into the sunset and a life of total leisure, where there are no phones to ring, no schedules to keep, and best of all, no IRS. You know no dictionary or encyclopedia written to date designates that Paradise is located somewhere in the middle of the ocean just slightly north, or south of the equator. Then why is it that humans always think they can find it there? Like Rob. Somehow he just knew that he would find Paradise on a tiny speck of dirt located at approximately 17° North and 61° West in the middle of a sea they call the Caribbean – in a chain of islands called the West Indies.
Columbus first discovered the West Indies, a chain of islands separating the Atlantic Ocean from the Caribbean Sea in 1492, and on his second voyage a year later made landfall in the southern West Indies discovering Antigua and naming it after a church in Seville, Spain. It wasn’t until nearly a century and a half later that the British colonized it making it one of their most secure military bases. Unfortunately, however great at building fortifications the Britts were, they were far less than efficient at building an economy. Once slavery was abolished, you weren’t likely to see those plantation owners out in the hot sun cutting down sugar cane and loading it onto sugar cane trains. After three hundred years of struggling to keep the island afloat, the British finally gave it its freedom for the natives to make a mess of it themselves. But then luckily came the twentieth century, along with tourism – an industry without which the Caribbean would surely be a desolate place.
Rob had finally escaped for one glorious week of fun, sun, and relaxation, without Sydney, to her dismay. Not that she really cared about those hot humid islands with their miserable mosquitoes and horrible little flying sets of teeth known by the locals as ‘no-see-ums, much-feel-ums.’ Her real upset lay in why, what, and how – why Rob felt the need to vacation without her, what he planned to do to keep himself entertained without her, and how he planned to do it – without her. But none of this phased Rob in the least since he knew it was long, long overdue – the party as much as the vacation. And ohhhh… what a party it was. For Joey was the perfect host on his sleek, seventy-five foot black, Spronk sailing catamaran1* named ‘Island Fever,’ with its all female crew, except of course for Raymond, the cook – a tall, lean, long-haired flashback from the early seventies. Joey made certain that Rob never wanted for a thing, other than possibly a little rest. But who needs rest when you’re having fun?
Rob arrived on the island late in the afternoon and finally made it through customs just in the nick of time to experience his first gloriously painted Caribbean sunset. When he stepped out of the cabin door of the 727, he stood at the top of the stairs surveying the surrounding countryside and glistening blue ocean. This was a foreign land – a first for Rob and it thrilled him to think that he was no longer on American soil. As he breathed in the tropical sea breeze which washed away the jet fumes and carried tendrils of island fragrance laced with that distinctive scent of sea air, he was instantly intoxicated as if he had already consumed several tall rum punches. Sea birds, both elegant and awkward, soared overhead stealing updrafts from the thermals rising off the white concrete runway. Rob walked across the tarmac which surrounded the terminal, to the single line of passengers that had just disembarked ahead of them from the 747 out of New York – the que in which one must wait in order to clear immigration to be allowed the privilege of entering their little island. It took thirty minutes of standing in the glaring, afternoon sun until he gratefully reached the door to enter the un-air-conditioned immigration terminal and the reprieve of some shade. After all, Rob was whiter than the Pillsbury Dough Boy since visits to the beach were not exactly on his daily agenda, nor were un-airconditioned buildings. It took another thirty minutes until he finally stepped to the front of the line.
“NEXT,” commanded the only immigration officer open for business – the others seemingly too busy chit-chatting to be bothered.
Rob stepped up to the island official’s counter and handed him his virgin passport, which the officer scrutinized suspiciously since it didn’t contain even a single stamp albeit it was five years old.
“Where you be stayin’?” asked the immigration officer demandingly.
“On a boat… sir,” answered Rob not wanting any hassles that might prevent his speedy ingress to Paradise. Rob imagined Paul at the gates of Heaven interviewing would be inhabitants and stamping their approval, granting their permission to enter, and wondered where those were sent who did not pass the test.
“Wha’ boat,” asked the officer removing his glasses in order to stare Rob down.
“Well, it’s my friend’s boat, Joey Mitchell,” added Rob smiling politely, “I believe it’s called ah… Island Fever.”
“Dat boat, eh” said the officer as if it were quarantined with the plague. “I know’d dat boat well.”
“Ah…,” said Rob, starting to sweat even more than he had been when he was standing out in the sun.
The immigration officer stared at him unblinking for a full minute trying to determine what, Rob didn’t know. He then loudly slammed the stamp in his passport passing him on to customs who proceeded to search his bags as if they were looking for a microscopic virus. So much for Rob’s first pleasant experience with clearing customs in a foreign country. Joey had warned him that everything moved at a slower pace and happened in its own time in the islands, but an hour later when Rob finally stepped out to find the sun already setting he was wondering if he could ever adjust to the island way.
As he walked from the arrival hall to curbside with his bag, Rob noticed an attractive, exotic girl standing next to a car who appeared to be waiting for someone. She was quite possibly no older than eighteen, but had large contrary, chestnut brown eyes which betrayed her years of experience. Having expected to find Joey there to greet him, Rob looked around feeling a little lost since he suddenly realized that he had no specific address for Joey other than English Harbor, which Rob rightly imagined to be overflowing with hundreds of boats and sailors. He gathered, upon Joey’s absence, that he had given up waiting for him while he was baking in the hot sun and being grilled by customs. As he was surveying the parking lot in hopes that Joey might return, the young girl, Maya, silently appeared next to him and without saying a word, took his hand and lead him to the car waiting at the curbside. Well thought Rob, maybe this is going to be something of an adventure after all.
Rob was in awe as he stepped out of the car and stood on the dock in Nelson’s Dockyard,2* looking at the seventy-five foot deck of elegance and power that stretched out before him. Even though Rob knew little or nothing about boats, he innately sensed that the Island Fever was one of the elite – the créme de la créme of the fleet, comparable only to those massive hundred foot plus racing yachts docked either side of her.
The deck of the boat was abuzz with beautiful women coiling lines, fluffing cushions, and tying up awnings for shade. It was as if he’d landed in a scene from a movie. Surely he had fallen asleep on the plane and was merely dreaming – conjuring up h
is image of the picture perfect Paradise. Suddenly, someone slapped him hard on the back assuring him that he was awake and that indeed the vision that lay before him was real, at least as real as one perceived reality to be. He had finally arrived at the latitude and longitude in which Rob had chosen to escape his unhappiness. At present he was beginning to feel quite content, if not yet making the giant step to say that he was truly happy. But he would work on it. He had resigned himself to the fact that he would temper his expectations and classify happiness for now – ‘a work in progress’. And I, well… I was feeling right at home being, once again, on a sailing vessel on the waters of my homeland – not to mention quite impressed with the scenery aboard.
West of the Quator Page 3
