The wet yogis swam back to their boards. They both said that it was okay but that was only because it was a yoga class and cursing was frowned upon. Kalinda made some comment about love and acceptance. She paddled toward Peg to hand her an anchor. Upon reaching for it, Peg crawled too far to the front of her board and the weight of the anchor sent her plunging into the water headfirst. Her (now vacant) board shot backward out of the water at rocket-launch speed, with a direct path to the wet yogis who had just remounted their boards. Back into the water they fled, successfully averting contact with the projectile paddleboard. The untied anchor plunked on the bottom in a puff of silt. Peg flailed and clawed at her life vest, causing a ruckus of waves until she realized she could stand on the sea bottom. All of the other class participants were belly-down on their boards, surf style – the tidal waves of churned water sloshing over their backs as they held on for dear life.
Kalinda paddled through the cyclone to retrieve Peg’s board, which had gained a considerable amount of distance. Requesting that Peg swim out to her, she anchored it a safe ten feet outside of the inner yoga circle.
“Hop back on your board now, Peg, and we’ll get started,” Kalinda said as if her chakra was out of whack.
“Thank you. I’m so sorry. I’m from Chicago. We don’t do this there… water is frozen,” Peg gasped as she guppied over to her board, trying not to touch the mushy sea floor.
“Pull yourself back onto your board,” Kalinda said, in a not-so-nicey tone.
Peg held the side of the board and, with a big kick, hoisted herself up to chest level. Once there, the life jacket moisture and the rubbery footing on the paddleboard created a congealed bond. “I’m stuck. The jacket’s stuck.” Peg tugged, squirmed and wiggled but her legs remained in the water with her butt facing up and bent over the board.
“Pull harder with your arms.” Kalinda positioned her board next to Peg’s and sat with legs dangling in the water. She leaned over and grasped the shoulders of Peg’s jacket and, using her feet as leverage against the board, Kalinda heaved. Peg’s unsticking was a dramatic success as she careened over the board and into the water on the other side, sending Kalinda into a spectacular backflip.
Wet and bedraggled, Kalinda summoned her namaste and her board and swam until she was behind Peg in the water. “Let’s try this again. I’ll hoist you up.”
Alternately inhaling and ingesting salt water, Peg coughed but obeyed and held the board with her arms. “On the count of three… one, two, three.”
Kalinda hugged the backs of Peg’s thighs and with the strength of thousands of Ganeshes hoisted Peg up. Like a fish out of water, Peg flailed until she was flat on her board. Chest heaving, the soaking wet life jacket leaked water out to the rhythm of her breath.
Paddleboarding? More like waterboarding.
Kalinda lifted herself onto her own board in one swift motion and paddled back to the group. Prostrate on her board, Peg was acutely aware of the class sitting uneasily on their boards, each of them with one eye closed and one eye on her. “I invite us all to start with an easy down dog to stretch out our minds and give us new perspective.” One by one, each yogi planted feet and hands firmly on their boards and stuck their buttocks in the air. “I invite us to take in a cleansing breath.”
Kalinda lowered herself out of down dog to assess the class’s form. She eyed Peg who hadn’t moved.
“Peg, are you going to try it?” Kalinda queried. Her jaw clenched as she spoke.
“No. Declining invitation.”
“Maybe just on your hands and knees?” Kalinda baby-talked.
Peg felt like a dog, all right. “No… not moving.” She remained resolutely face down on her board.
“Come on, doll. You can do it.” This from Randolph, who was upside down, staring at her through his legs.
Don’t be a quitter. Nobody likes a quitter.
Hearing the collective belly breathing of the class, Peg sighed and willed herself to:
Lift her head.
Lift her stomach.
Lift her legs.
On hands and knees, she swayed from side to side, as the water rocked the board.
“Now lift your tushy,” Randolph encouraged.
Jeez, tushy, really? Is my grandmother here? Okay. Fine.
Lift her tushy.
I’m doing it… down dog on a paddleboard. I can’t believe it.
Her world had literally been turned upside down. The crystal blue water traded places with the cloudless blue sky as she gazed between her legs. Amazing.
The hour went by with Kalinda suggesting a variety of poses. The class eagerly obliged. After down dog, however, Peg chose corpse pose. Face up, arms and legs splayed across the board, her clothing exuding damp dog. The sun beat down on her wet polyester creating salty perspiration.
Maybe one little sip of ocean water… so thirsty.
“Peg. Peg. Can you hear me?” Randolph straddled his own board and poked a finger into Peg’s bicep.
“Hello, Granny.” Peg’s head lifted one inch off her board then fell back. Pinpricks of lights filled her vision. Her hands splashed the water in a flapping motion.
Randolph’s voice sounded distorted in Peg’s head. “I think she might be dehydrated. I’ll tow her back to the dock.”
Through ringing ears Peg could hear, “give her some water – she’s not an attorney, is she?”
Randolph leaned in with his Thermos and squirted water into Peg’s mouth.
“Thank you, bartender, but I think I’ve had enough… feeling woozy. Am I in Cuba yet?” Peg’s words slurred.
Randolph hooked the anchor line to his own board and paddled himself and his albatross through the mangroves. Flat on her back, limbs dangling in the water, Peg sang off-tune, “Yo, ho, tow them away, the Lincoln Park Pirates are we.” Then she said, “You wouldn’t know that song… it’s from Chicago… about the tow trucks… they tow everyone… it’s cold there…”
Randolph turned around and yelled back to her, “What a hot mess you are.”
“Smokin’ hot… you know it, Grams.”
Haints Go Marchin’ In
“I’m fine. Really.” Peg sat up on her couch as Randolph force-fed her water. She didn’t remember the ride to her house from the marina or singing show tunes in Betty’s back seat. “How did Lulu get here?” Lulu and Nipper were having a smell-fest.
“I picked her up during ‘Singing in the Rain’ but before ‘When you’re a Jet.’” Randolph re-soaked the wet paper towel for her forehead. “I have some bad news for you – you will never make it in showbiz.”
Peg smiled and placed the cloth on her head. The room had stopped spinning and the Advil was beginning to do its job. “I don’t think I know the words to those songs.”
“You don’t. Only the first line – over and over.” He rolled his head in a circular motion.
“Thank you for saving me. That’s never happened to me before. In Chicago–”
“I know. I know. It’s cold in Chicago. I get it.” Randolph threw his arms up in the air. “But,” he softened, “you’re welcome. I told you, Key West is a friendly town. We don’t leave our paddleboarders out in the mangroves to die. It’s the kind of people we are.” He put his hands on his hips and stuck out a proud rooster chest.
“So, Lulu and Nipper like each other.” Peg pointed to the animals chasing a tennis ball across the wood floor. Lulu grabbed the prize and hot-dogged around Nipper, making sure to go under his legs – because she could.
The vizsla’s 50 pounds in true body mass was no match for the chihuahua’s 1,000 pounds of attitude. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her – a combination of fear, admiration and, quite possibly, love.
“She is such a diva. I believe she’s chosen your dog to be one of her followers. He must be worthy. Quite an honor actually.” Randolph took Lulu by surprise when he scooped her up. She lashed out at him with impressive ferocity, and, had the ball not been in her mouth, she would have drawn blood. Randolph scol
ded, “What a tyrant. You’d never know that I’m her master. Little bitch.”
Peg laughed at them. “She’s boss. No doubt.” Peg stood up to get her land legs. “Thanks so much. I know you must have better things to do today.”
“Yes. I do need to take a shower. I burned a few extra calories on the paddle back to the dock.” He rolled his neck and criss-crossed his forearms to massage his shoulders. Picking up a notepad and pen from the counter, he scribbled on the paper. “Here’s our cell phone number if you need us. The neighborly Key Westers – right Lulu?” Lulu snapped at him. He held her at arm’s distance as he walked out the door. “Take care. Buh bye.”
“Bye and thanks again.” Peg and Nipper watched them walk away – the queen and her minion.
“I need a shower and rest,” Peg told her dog. “I hope that you’re okay with that.” The computer was open on the kitchen counter. The bold words “KIDNAPPING” and “ESCAPE” disappeared as she closed the cover.
Which is worse? Kidnapping or paddleboard yoga? I’d say it’s a toss-up.
Peg cranked the cold water in the shower and stuck her wet hair in a knot on top of her head, à la Flintstones – The Pebbles look. Perfect. She shut the blinds and took one of Clark’s old tee shirts out of the drawer.
Smells so good… so familiar…
The shirt felt cool and smooth over her sunburned, goose-pimpled skin. Crawling into bed with her dog snuggled at her feet, the room embraced her. Peg coma-slept.
At midnight, the front porch started to glow. The blue ceiling strained against the pressure. The force field revealed its weakness when a shock of light blasted through the small patch of chipped blue paint. The phosphorescence separated into ghostly shapes that hesitated, then passed through the mahogany door and into Peg’s bedroom. Encircling the sleeping woman in her bed, the apparitions began to speak.
“Stop thinking there is something going on. You’re such a Negative Nancy,” said the man in the flamboyant floppy hat, his legs crossed, as he floated through the air.
“No real man would leave his woman if there wasn’t a little piece of chicken on the side,” countered the brawny man with a dark gray beard and mustache, puffing on a cigar. The yellow smoke swirled around the room then dissipated into hazy nothingness.
Peg sat up with a start and pulled the sheets to her neck. The luminescent figures floated around her bed, staring down at her like she was the centerpiece of a conference table. She rubbed her eyes in disbelief.
“Ahhhhh.” Peg squeaked a scream as she ducked under the covers.
OH MY GOD, it’s true. There ARE HAINTS. They’ve come for me… the undead. Oh, why didn’t I patch the paint on the front porch? Clark said he would do it even though I was being ridiculous. I was waiting for him to do it. Well, who is being ridiculous now? Maybe they won’t see me. Maybe they’ll leave me alone.
Peg attempted to quiet the echo of her heart pounding in her skull.
“Well, excuse me for having an opinion, Ernest. I know how much you like to be right. Answer this. Why would he bring her to Key West then, smarty-pants? Why wouldn’t he leave her back in – wherever she’s from?”
Peg muffled a terrified whimper.
“Now look what you’ve done. You’ve scared the poor creature.”
“I am right, dammit. He wants to make sure he’s always a man with a woman. Think about it, Tennessee, he drags her down here and then leaves practically before the next sunrise. His bell is tolling for someone else, I say.”
A mewing, lilting voice came from the figure on the windowsill. “Are you two still bickering? Fighting to the death and beyond?” Peg peeked over the blanket and saw a six-toed cat licking her giant mitt of a paw as she glared at the men through unblinking eyes. Her tail swished back and forth like a bullfighter’s whip.
“How’d you get in here, Snow White? The tin roof?” Tennessee Williams tee-heed at his own joke.
“Always self-promoting. The ultimate narcissist,” Ernest Hemingway growled his words.
“Oh, puhleeeease. What about you? God’s gift to the world of literature? At least I made my OWN money and didn’t have to marry it.” Tennessee crossed his arms dramatically.
“If you weren’t already dead, I would box you across the room.” Hemingway floated over with his ethereal fists in the air.
Snow White stopped her grooming. “Gentlemen. Gentlemen. Remember why we are here. Our frightened little mouse under the blankets needs our help. Let’s get back on task.” She drifted across the bed and positioned herself on top of Nipper, who remained curled up, fast asleep.
Peg kicked her feet in an unsuccessful attempt to wake the slumbering dog.
“Nipper, Nipper, can you hear me? Wake up for heaven’s sake. Bark or do something.”
“He can’t hear you, dearie.” Tennessee lifted the covers to see Peg curled in a human ball with her hands over her face. “Just because you have your eyes closed, doesn’t mean we’re not here. Peek-a-boo.” He reached to lift one of her fingers away from her eyes.
She felt the wisp of a feather and twitched.
“Come on, woman. Sit up and pay attention.” Hemingway’s militaristic command shocked Peg into submission. She bolted upright.
Allowing herself to take attendance, Peg stammered, “Okay, Ernest Hemingway, writer, Key West, I get it.”
She glanced to the other side of the bed. “Tennessee Williams, writer, Key West, I get that too. But, Hemingway’s six-toed cat… don’t get it… and… wish you would get off my dog.” She made a shooing motion with her hand toward the end of the bed. The cat remained at her post, unfazed.
Peg turned her head to another figure in the corner of the room. “But who is–?”
Tennessee’s melodic tone interrupted Peg’s question. “Why do you think that your husband isn’t here with you, love?”
“Well, he’s in Cuba… on business–”
“Business, my ass. More like monkey business,” Hemingway interrupted.
Snow White held up a stop-motion paw. “Now, now, Mr. Hemingway. Please let the homeowner speak.”
“No… he is. He really is in Cuba doing consulting work.” Peg’s voice gained a bit of strength.
“We believe you, darlin’, it’s just that he left you… I don’t know… so… all of a sudden. We want to believe you. We do.” Tennessee’s hat lolled up and down as he nodded his head.
Snow White kneaded the sleeping dog’s back and purred, “We are here to help.”
“Well, thanks for thinking of me, but I’m fine. I don’t need help,” Peg insisted.
“Don’t look fine to me. Looks like you could use a stiff drink.” Hemingway pointed his cigar in her direction.
“You’d look like you needed a drink too if you woke up to strange men in your room.”
Tennessee turned his head sideways and feigned offense. “Who are you calling strange, madam?”
“Damn, I wish I could have a stiff drink.” Ernest smacked his lips.
The cat interjected, “Let’s not pussyfoot around here – even though, perhaps your husband is doing just that.”
“No really, it’s okay, he’s coming back. People do this all the time now… it’s not a problem that needs to be solved,” Peg half-yelled.
“Of course. Of course, honey. We’re on your side.” Tennessee ghost patted her hand.
Other than a queasy stomach sensation, Peg was unable to feel the delicate, undead fingers as they appeared to touch her skin.
“She’s delirious.”
“She’s in denial.”
“That’s why we’re here.”
The haints closed in on her.
“I don’t have a side. I don’t need your help. And who’s that guy?” Peg pointed to the man in the corner.
The room became quiet as the group looked in his direction.
Tennessee and Ernest both shrugged.
Snow White broke the silence. “And who might you be?”
The quiet haint in the corner of
the bedroom looked around, his eyes wide. “I’m Shel Silverstein.”
Tennessee politely tipped the front of his oversized hat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir, but unfortunately, I believe you might be lost.”
“Is this 1424 White Street?” Shel took out a see-through map from his shirt pocket.
“No, it’s not.” Hemingway looked annoyed.
“Ahh. My apologies, I saw a light in the attic, but I must have the wrong house.” Shel snapped his fingers and disappeared.
Peg shot back under the covers and forced her eyes shut.
Echoes of the spectral voices grew dimmer.
“I can’t abide tenderfoots.”
“Have some pity, Ernest, you were once a newbie.”
“Ha, I never got lost a day in my life.”
“I never got lost a day in my nine lives.”
Faint chuckling faded into nothingness.
Peg woke with a start, surprised to see sun shining through the shades. Nipper sat staring at the window. His head turned toward Peg then back to the window. He barked.
She placed her feet on the floor on top of the covers that were strewn about on the side of the bed. Groggily, she rubbed her temples with her fingers. “What time is it?” She spoke over the dog’s incessant noise and looked at the clock. “Oh my, we slept through the night.” She surveyed the room. Nipper’s barking intensified.
She stood up. “All right, I’m coming, I’m coming.” The vague recollection of the weird visitors from last night crept around her foggy brain. Her skin crawled.
Such a creepy dream. Must have been the sun… made me delirious. They seemed so real… Oh my God, I need to get a grip. I have an overactive imagination.
The dog stopped his clamoring when he saw her approach. He sat up on his back feet, kangaroo mode, and pawed at something on the sill.
“Nipper, what is it? Another lizard. You’re going to have to get used to them. We both are.” He leapt backward then, regaining his courage, he crawled toward it, only to jump again once he got close.
Hmmm…
Island Life Sentence Page 8
