Island Life Sentence

by Carrie Jo Howe

  “Zat is a bufo toad. Zee skin is very poisonous to dogs. Eet can even kill a human if zee skin should get een zee mouth.”

  “My God. Killer frogs in my own yard.” Peg shuddered. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, for saving my dog. I don’t know what I would have done. I didn’t know about the bufo toad. I’m Peg, by the way.” She wiped off her muddy hand on her hip and offered it to him. She shook his hand and felt the firm, calloused grip.

  She looked at herself in the house window reflection: hair wet and unruly, shirt wet and stained with God-knows-what, muffin top wet and still there – what a mess. “I just moved here. I mean we just moved here… my husband and me. He’s not here… he’s in Cuba. He’ll be back soon I’m sure. Anyway, we don’t have bufo toads in Chicago. Too cold to mutate probably. We have tiny regular frogs… little cute guys… ribbit, ribbit… no poison or death.”

  “I’m Pierre and zis eez Charles, my elper.” He pointed over to Charles, who had already gone back to the frog-murder site and was cleaning up the gelatinous body parts. He shoveled the big pieces into his wheelbarrow then rinsed off the ground and fence with the mangled hose. Charles glanced up at the introduction then continued on with his work.

  “Zee scorpions are bad zis year. And of course zee iguanas will bite a dog eef cornered. Zee iguana poop will not kill you. But eet is deesgusting.” He looked up into the large tree overhead and Peg followed his gaze. “Eef you want, I will kill zem with my gun if I see zem in your tree.”

  “Oh no. No more killing today. Thanks though.” Peg eyed the gun rack on the back of his truck. “Scorpions too?”

  This is hell… I’m in hell.

  She crouched down to wrap her arms around Nipper. “Do you think I should take him to a vet?”

  “Ee should be okay. Eef he starts to foam at the mouth, zen you need to take eem in.” Pierre turned to pet the dog, who seemed suspicious at first, but once he realized the hose was nowhere near, he rubbed his wet face against Pierre’s pant leg. “Eez a good dog. Eef you need my help, you can call me. Ze name eez on zee truck.” He pointed to the vehicle. The sign said PIERRE. “Come on, Charles, let’s go.”

  “Thanks again. Really, I owe you. Thank you so much.”

  Pierre nodded his head and pointed to the truck sign again.

  Peg watched Charles load the wheelbarrow and shovel onto the flatbed. He climbed up next to the equipment and sat on the trailer, perfectly concealed by the assortment of sticks and twigs. Pierre pulled himself up into the driver’s seat, waved a brawny arm and drove off.

  Soaking wet – covered in mud – scared to death – on a beautiful day in Key West, Peg and Nipper locked themselves inside the house. Peg decontaminated the dog’s mouth with sterile wipes then rewarded him with treats. When he needed to go out, she kept his leash tight, carefully inspecting every step they took, looking both up and down.

  By nightfall, they snuggled each other close on the couch.

  The room smelled of disinfectant and bacon bits – and empty wine bottles.

  Out of Her Element in the Elements

  Text message from Trudy to Peg

  He’s a total butt wipe.

  Trudy’s text came through on Peg’s phone. Peg smiled when she saw her friend’s name pop up.

  Text message from Peg to Trudy

  He’s doing the charitable thing.

  Text message from Trudy to Peg

  Yeah, I bet – whatever. Well U GOTTA GET OUT THERE AND TRY SOMETHING NEW.

  Text message from Peg to Trudy

  I know. Are u yelling at me?

  Text message from Trudy to Peg

  NO. I have no idea how the all-caps got stuck. But you should sign up for something. Make an effort in that godforsaken place.

  Text message from Peg to Trudy

  I AM. I’m leaving in a minute for Mass.

  Text message from Trudy to Peg

  Yikes, okay, well I guess that’s a start.

  Text message from Peg to Trudy

  Looks like a nice church. I’ll let u know how it goes. Text u later.

  Text message from Trudy to Peg

  Umm, it’s a Catholic church. It’s the same wherever u are.

  Text message from Peg to Trudy

  That’s exactly what I’m hoping for, but I’m not convinced it will be the same. LOL.

  Why did I put “Laughing out Loud”? I should have put:

  CATIAD (Crying And Turning Into A Drunk) Or…

  SAH (Sweaty and Hot) Or…

  EHCKU (Everything Here Can Kill You).

  Peg filled several rubber dog toys with peanut butter and scattered them around the house. “I’ll be back soon.” Peg consoled the dog, his tail wagging as he settled in on the nearest delicious treat.

  The church was a half-mile walk, but Peg started to wilt at step number ten. Her newly washed, blow-dried and curled hair forgot all the effort that Peg had made and turned instantly into frizz. Her armpits produced sweat rings that changed the underarm color of her light blue dress to dark purply yellow.

  Note to self – never wear cotton ever again.

  She felt her soaked white panties clinging to her dress as she walked, creating an X-rated wet stain.

  Maybe I should take them off. Right… great idea. Take off your underwear as you are heading into church. That’s not weird. Also, then you’ll be dripping out of your dress… impressive.

  The church was light and open, suggestions of the sea throughout the decor. People filed in as the ushers offered seats to the groups. Peg declined a seat, deciding that a sweaty buttocks imprint on her backside was not what she wanted the sanctuary to see as she went up for communion. Plus, she might be able to let the dress breathe if she stood and swayed a bit. The ushers were insistent, however, since there were many empty seats and no reason for a lone woman to be standing during Mass. The stern usher guided her to a spot next to a Latino family and a couple of over-sunned tourists. Staring at the church bulletin, Peg pretended not to know where the “squish” sound came from when she sat down on the wooden pew.

  The Mass was the same, praise God, and she took comfort in the ritual of the words. Closing her eyes, she imagined she was back in her old parish – dark, cool, familiar. She relaxed and her sweat glands took a production break.

  In a serene, baritone voice, the priest said, “Now it’s time for the intentions. As we begin hurricane season, we pray to Sister Gabriel to keep us safe from devastating hurricanes.”

  What?

  Peg looked up to see if anyone else had lifted their heads from prayer.

  Hurricane season has started? Who the heck is Sister Gabriel and what powers does she have?

  Sweat glands back on the job, she worried her way up to communion as she held her hands behind her back, hoping that her blotted butt-cheek stains were not a reality. The priest placed the host on her tongue. Close up, she could see the outline of his Tommy Bahama shirt under his light colored vestments. His huarache sandals looked downright biblical.

  He raised his arm to give the final blessing, “I invite all of you to the grotto, located in the church gardens, to say an additional prayer to Sister Gabriel. The Mass has ended. Go in peace.” After Peg Amened, she determined it would be a good idea to go visit the Sister’s grotto for the second prayer.

  Filing out of the pew, Peg followed other parishioners around the side of the white basilica to a lush shaded garden. While the crowd peeled off to the parking lot, she stopped in front of the statue of Sister Louis Gabriel. She bowed her head and began to pray.

  Dear Sister Gabriel – thank you for your hurricane protection…

  The sunburned tourist positioned himself next to her and cleared his throat. Peg side-eyed him with semi-closed lids.

  I’m grateful for your…

  The man nudged Peg. “Looks kinda like the Emperor from Star Wars, don’t she?” He pointed at the statue of Sister Gabriel.

  Doesn’t this random stranger see that I’m praying? Does everyone talk to
everyone here?

  She ignored him, but then thought Jesus would have wanted her to be nicer, so she lifted her head. The statue’s white alabaster face looked out from under a black granite hood. Feeling it was bad form to make fun of a nun, especially a hurricane-protection nun, in the middle of hurricane season, Peg replied, “I don’t see the resemblance.” She closed her eyes, hoping the man would take the hint.

  The man placed his sunglasses on top of his flushed head and his reading glasses on the tip of his nose. “Says here that the Sister witnessed three major hurricanes. Since she put up this grotto in 1922, the island’s been safe. As long as the grotto stands, Key West is protected,” he read from a travel book in a raspy voice.

  Peg stepped closer to the altar. Awed by the power of this protection, she genuflected and crossed herself as she entered the cave-like grotto. Desiring to feel the physical presence of Sister Gabriel’s blessing, she caressed the cool rock wall, amazed by the history and significance.

  It’s like a magical force field. Kinda like the blue front porch.

  Leaning in to get a better look, her purse clunked into the wall and loosened a craggy rock. Thud, the rock hit the dirt.

  Uh-oh.

  She turned her head left and right to see if anyone was watching her.

  The oblivious tourist continued reading: “Says here that the hurricane of 1846 brought a lot of interred bodies back up. The hurricane also brought high winds, and a number of corpses ended up in the branches of the trees around town. That’s somethin’ I wouldn’t wanna see.” He shook his head in a “no siree.”

  Peg scooped up the rock and hid it in her sweaty armpit, trying not to enjoy its coolness against her skin.

  “Well, have a nice day.” The man rearranged his glasses, closed his book and walked away.

  “Bye.” Peg clamped her armpit tight as she waved. Waiting to make sure that he was out of sight, she reached over and shoved the rock into the wall. It slipped back out.

  Damn. It’s too sweaty. Uh-oh… did I just say the word “damn” in a holy shrine?

  She crammed it with more force and it held.

  “Praise God.” She exhaled.

  She knelt in place, closed her eyes and prayed. Dear God, Jesus and Sister Gabriel, sorry for saying a bad word in your shrine… and also…

  Then it started.

  Plop.

  Plop, plop.

  Plop, plop, plop, plop.

  Peg opened an eye.

  What? How can this be happening? I said I was sorry.

  She crawled to the wall in a frenzied attempt to replace the fallen rocks in the honeycomb-like openings. In unsuccessful little-Dutch-boy moves, the more she put back, the more rocks loosened and fell in an avalanche-like plunge.

  I’ve doomed the island. Gotta get outta here…

  Fueled by panic attack and adrenaline, covered in coral dust and sweat, she sprang from the cave. She bolted past the lone garden dweller and a teenage girl absorbed in primping and pouting for the perfect selfie.

  Oh my God. So sorry, Sister. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

  As fast as her wobbly legs would take her, she ran out of the churchyard, through the hot city streets and into her house. Barging through the door, gasping for breath, she leaned over the kitchen counter. The dog barely acknowledged her as he started in on rubber-peanut-butter toy number three.

  The phone in her purse buzzed. Peg ratted through the purse contents to locate the device.

  Oh maybe it’s Clark. Maybe he’s coming back sooner. Please let this be him.

  Text message from Trudy to Peg

  How’d it go?

  Trudy’s text beeped in.

  Peg’s shoulders slumped as her wet, shaky finger swiped the screen. She texted back in a sad-annoyed-defensive-freaked-out way.

  Text message from Peg to Trudy

  What do you mean?

  Text message from Trudy to Peg

  The Mass. How was it? The same, right?

  Peg pushed the microphone icon and yelled the text message.

  Text message from Peg to Trudy

  No, not remotely the same. I developed X-rated sweat stains on my dress on the way to church, then Sister Gabriel promised to keep hurricanes away as long as her grotto stands, and I couldn’t get a sweaty armpit rock to fit back in the wall, so the grotto fell down, and now there will be corpses hanging from trees.

  Trudy texted back right away.

  Text message from Trudy to Peg

  Ha ha. Your autocorrect is cracking me up. Uh-oh. Got a call coming in. ttyl.

  Hitting the microphone button with greater force this time, Peg screamed into the phone.

  Text message from Peg to Trudy

  This is NOT autocorrect. This is REAL. I might be PERSONALLY RESPONSIBLE for the next ARMAGEDDON. Does that sound like it can be corrected BY MY PHONE?

  Peg shook her phone then paced around the kitchen in an effort to calm herself.

  Pull yourself together.

  Peg hoped that the shivers down her spine were due to the air conditioning refrigerating her wet dress. Nipper paced behind her, carrying an empty rubber toy carcass in his mouth. Deciding that he had been in the house long enough, he stopped by the back door and barked.

  Peg jumped.

  My God. I’m a nervous wreck.

  Nipper would be a good distraction. “Okay,” she said to the dog. “Hang on, I’ll change into dry clothes and we’ll go.” Taking deep cleansing breaths while she walked the five steps to the bedroom, she maneuvered around the furniture while trying not to look at the unused side of the king-size bed. The dresser’s close proximity to the bed restricted the drawers to a two-inch opening – enough for her to thread her fingers through the top and grab garments without getting a visual on the capture.

  Fine. Black underwear, red sports bra, jean shorts and University of Illinois tee shirt. At least they are dry… well… not exactly dry… damp… which is like the definition of dry down here.

  She opened a kitchen closet door and tossed the first sweaty outfit of the day into the stacked washing machine. The kitchen calendar had ten days crossed off.

  The rest of today and five more to go… that will be two weeks. I can do it.

  Leaving the house, Nipper twirled his way to the sidewalk – high on peanut butter and outside air. Pulse steadying as she watched the happy dog, she smiled. “You have the right attitude, my friend.”

  They made their way along their regular route, the dog making sure to pee on everything that had ever been peed on since the beginning of time, with a particular affinity for newspaper dispensers. While waiting for the dog to exert his island dominance, a chatting couple walked toward them on the sidewalk. The woman turned toward her partner and laughed at something the man said. He hugged her around the waist and she kissed him.

  I really miss Clark…

  Peg’s eyes welled and she turned her face down as they passed by and greeted her.

  Stop it… clearing my brain… positive energy…

  In the midst of her inner fight, she noticed a flyer attached to a fence. She flattened the curled edges of the paper against the chain-link to read it.

  Feeling stressed and out of sorts?

  Come and join us on Mondays!

  Yoga – Key West style

  Enjoy the calming beauty of the water

  And the healing benefits of Yoga.

  Namaste – find your drishti – PBY

  A voice behind her took her by surprise. “You should come. I go to this class every week.”

  Peg turned to see the man and the chihuahua from 12 days and 22 hours ago. The chihuahua pressed its nose on the ground next to Nipper, vying for ownership of the same square inch of the fence. Even outfitted in full ballerina regalia, the little dog fit perfectly underneath the vizsla’s legs. From above they looked like a freakish circus animal – four legs, two heads and a tutu.

  “Oh, hi. This is Lulu, right?” Peg reached down to pet the miniature creatu
re, then hesitated, remembering those razor-sharp teeth.

  “Yes, that’s the princess.” He bowed and rolled his arms out dramatically toward the dog. “And I’m Randolph. I live down the street.” Randolph held his hand out over the sparkly pink dog stroller. “She couldn’t wait to get out of her chariot to see your dog. It’s an honor. She isn’t like that with everyone. Or anyone as a matter of fact.” He smiled with symmetrical dimples.

  Peg wiped her hand on her tee shirt then held it out. “Sorry, can’t stop sweating. Nice to meet both of you. I’m Peg and this is Nipper. We live around the corner.” The big dog lifted his head to greet the man, then resumed sniffing, having lost considerable ground to the chihuahua when he left his post.

  “You should come.” Randolph pointed to the weather-worn flyer.

  “I could really use it. I’ve had quite a morning. I went to church… and… we prayed… and–”

  “Great. I’ll pick you up,” Randolph interrupted. “It’s the neighborly thing to do. What house is it?”

  “Oh. No. You don’t have to do that. Really.”

  “We pride ourselves on our friendliness here in Key West. So. Don’t be silly. Of course I’ll come and get you. Give me your address.”

  “The white one with the wood bench on the front porch. But I don’t know. I’m not great at yoga.”

  “I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll be there at 8.45am. Hmm. The white house with the front porch? I know that house. The haunted house tour bus stops there. I always wondered what they had to say.”