Sun Soaked

The man checks his watch.

“Oh it's going to be quite a while from then until now.” He whistles dixie to himself from a beach chair cabana, while tanned and svelte waiters bring him drinks. This is the life that people typically dream of.

And here he is, living it. The man hardly dreams anymore. He talks to a shrink about it; the shrink mostly listens. Mostly silent, this professional feigns intellectuality at a rate of $200 an hour. He also feigns interest and caring for about $100 more, which is what the man pays.

This man is wealthy, and free from labor or worry. He is on vacation, and oogles various women, men. Sometimes a friendly grope. Once a member of the young and beautiful, and now a member of the old and sexless, he only attracts with his money. Even then he can only trouble someone for a service. For the right price, he is massaged, waited upon.

"Here you go sir".

From a waiter, the man takes a drink, silently. With age and money he has come into the privilege of not always responding. The silence bolsters power. By this small disrespect, others are kept unsure and desperate to be found accommodating. This is the conclusion he has come to anyways.

“Here you go”,

The man holds out a wadded up $10 bill.

“Thank you sir.”

Then, old eyes stop wandering; They still, and focus. A young girl strides alone, not towards the man, but close enough to be waved down.

"Excuse me, miss!"

A Waiter:

The life of a resort waiter is a life of poverty in-front the backdrop of luxury. Persistent contradiction. Breaking your back carrying tropical drinks, the drinks themselves each holding tiny weightless umbrellas. The umbrellas themselves will never hold anything, certainly not the weight of rain. Especially not here.

"One number 1 special! Expidité!”

It does not rain here, and in spite of that, water is the main attraction. Without water this place is nothing. And yet it does not rain.

This aspect of resort life may be the most massive and pertinent contradiction. Physically and literally massive, emotionally and viscerally pertinent. Nothing else reeks of artificiality as much as this.

Something in these opposites creates charm, I decided. These places excite with their mismatchedness, and people board jets to be here.

I hand a drink to a wealthy man, who says nothing in thanks. I feel almost nothing at this kind of disrespect. The wealthy have this kind of understanding with servers. A pragmatic rapport. At least in a place like this.

I trade a glance with a swimming girl, she looks back. I am intrigued at someone so young, my peer, being in a place like this, and especially alone. She glares at me as she emerges from the water, gauging my interest, I decide. Her look says, "go ahead, look”. My look says to go ahead and look at me looking. These moments are anomalies; glitches in the programmed coyness of society.

Her attention shifts to the man with the drink.

A Girl:

“I am wandering! I am free!”

A divorcee, just 22, she is American, young, bold and unrestrained. The girl dawdles on the beach. She is spending the money from her divorce, the fruits of her labor. Not that she ever planned to get a divorce.

Her husband was a cheating bastard. A rich cheating husband-bastard gets what he deserves, and in this case that is to be a less-rich, divorced cheating non-husband.

Her hand traces delicate circles on the surface of calm blue water. She feel free and unrestrained.

“No regrets, no regrets.”

Despite having used this mantra for several months, today is the first day since the divorce that she has felt a genuine absence of regret. There were, in fact, many regrets.

Her whim turns her towards the beach, and she decides to head in for a drink. One of the attractive young waiters is watching. Under certain circumstances, this would have aggravated her, or spawned indifference, but in these circumstances, she valued the attention.

“It’s good to know someone still wants this!”

She thought out loud, though quietly. Being alone had led her to this practice.

The Man:

He waves, not too desperately he hopes, at the girl. She wears a marigold bikini. He thinks back to his old mother, and the marigolds that grew in her garden. Once, when he cut his hand playing with a knife, she used marigold on it. There’s no way for him to know how effective this was, but it was a fond memory.

The girl sees him, and to anyones surprise, turns his way. His intrigue turns to delight. The thought lives just long enough to be murmured quietly.

“Old dog’s still got something!”

She smiled as she sidled up.

They had genuine chemistry. She didn’t make him feel old. She didn’t alienate him with the topics of discussion, the way many young people did. He liked this.

He had become plenty drunk by this time in the day. Sun setting signaled the end of this day, and the two headed into the bar.

A Waiter:

Freedom may elude me, but sleep does not. Back in my room, an apron hits the wall just before I hit the bed. On the internet, I find freedom. Mostly, I watch videos of places where it rains. This calms me, and eventually brings sleep.

As I coast away towards these rainy places (and sleep), a sound causes me to rise. I tumble clumsily towards the balcony.

It is night, and kitty corner from me, a physical altercation is unfolding. The girl from the beach!

She holds off an older man. He is barely more powerful, and the two stumble back and forth against the wall, table, glass door.

“Just a kiss dear!”

He is playful in his demeanor, despite sinister circumstances.

He holds a knife up theatrically, and in a swift movement, drunkenly plunges towards her. The girl deftly steps out of the way.

Karma swift and punishing, strikes without even the pause of dramatic effect. The kitchen knife lands butt first, then man, impaling himself on a reclined beach chair.

I look at the girl, and she looks at me. Our glance is long, and surely anomalous, but this time in a very different way.