My voice escalated in volume but nothing intelligible would come out for awhile. I forced myself to ignore the pain while I got the message left for me only an hour or so before. It was from Denice; she was laughing and energetic. I had to smile.
She’s amazing. I was relieved to hear her voice. She was safe. That’s great; I mutilated my toe for no good reason. Even the throbbing couldn’t detract from my intense pleasure at hearing her voice so strong and clear and obviously happy. I felt a touch of envy for those who shared her time that evening.
The adrenaline rush created a wide awake zombie out of me. I decided to pack a bowl. Gathering the necessary paraphernalia and sitting cross legged on my bed, I was careful not to touch the injured toe. While I performed the ritual, I heard a light tap on the slider, and looked up in time to see Michael let himself into my room.
“I heard you cry out,” he explained. “Are you ok? You look alright. Why the expletive?”
I waited just in case he had more questions, questions I could lump all together with just one answer. I wasn’t lazy, just very tired. Talking was an effort; I knew how to preserve my resources.
“I stubbed my pinky toe on that stupid chair,” I pouted and handed him the pipe.
“Green,” I offered.
He smiled and accepted. That time his toke didn’t overwhelm him into a fit of coughing. We sat crossed legged facing each other on my bed and shared that bowl back and forth until it was thoroughly dusted. That exchange was comfortable and easy, and felt completely natural. I put Pinky away. Michael leaned over and kissed my cheek and took my hand. He raised it to his mouth and kissed each of my knuckles, never lifting his lips until all were brushed. I watched in fascination my own reaction. My heart rate kicked into a higher gear and I was mesmerized by the strangeness of it all.
When the moment passed, Michael walked back to his own side. After he closed the slider and whispered his final “good night,” I lost all memory of what happened next. I slept like the dead.
Day Three
Drooling on my pillow, I woke up refreshed. Sleep did wonders for me. I looked forward to the laziness of the day, the comfort of my balcony, the addicting call of the sea, and any surprise that came my way.
I showered immediately and went through the trouble to dry my hair and gave it a touch of that face-softening curl that worked so well for me. Finally, I was dressed and ready for the day - just shorts and a scoop neck tee shirt. Denice wasn’t back yet. The thought gave way to a glance at the telephone that delivered her last message to me. Sure enough, the light was flashing. She’d called while I was in the shower.
She was having breakfast in Manny’s stateroom and would be back sometime before noon to look through the newsletter.
Through room service I ordered a rather large breakfast – not quite everything on the menu, and a pitcher of coffee. I couldn’t remember the last time I was that hungry and wished the kitchen would hurry.
I greeted my balcony for the first time that day like it was an old friend that I hadn’t seen in years, my expectations somewhat run amuck. The ocean looked just like it did the day before, dark navy blue with a moderate sea, no white caps. The sky was a paler blue contrast without a cloud. The air was soft, delightful on my skin. I glanced at my wrist to check the time, no watch.
The rail of the balcony became my home while I waited for the arrival of ‘room service’. It actually took a couple trips for the staff to get all of my order set up and ready to serve. I produced the gratuity from the pocket in my shorts and closed the door behind them.
I impatiently poured myself a cup of coffee, added the cream, and sat back to enjoy the aroma and the warmth of it. I drank it slowly while I prepared my bagel with lox and cream cheese.
As I chewed my bagel, I looked for the CD player. Music, added to that perfect setting of large sky and open ocean, could only enhance the ambiance. I didn’t see the CD player anywhere on the balcony; I went inside the stateroom looking for it – not there either.
When I came back to the balcony, Michael was sitting at the table; he plugged in the little CD player and was rooting through the music. Oh, company.
“Good morning,” I greeted him with true enthusiasm.
“Hungry? Want breakfast?”
“Good morning; No, I already ate, I just brought the music back.” He said.
“Do you mind if I choose?”
It was nice to have my own personal DJ. Our CDs mixed together created a very cool collection. We had no duplicates.
“Please,” I replied with a mouthful of bagel. I was curious to see what would be his first selection of the day. As I sat down at the table to continue eating my breakfast and discovered that I wasn’t really hungry anymore but I was a bit embarrassed that I had ordered so much food. I picked at it while I drank more coffee.
Michael had chosen the Steve Miller Band; the first song up was “Dance, Dance, Dance.” That song is fun and upbeat, hopeful.
‘My grandpa, he’s 95
And he keeps on dancin’
He’s still alive
My grandma, she’s 92
She loves to dance
And sing some, too
I don’t know
But I’ve been told
If you keep on dancing
You’ll never grow old…
Come on darling
Put a pretty dress on
We’re gonna go out tonight
Dance, dance, dance
Dance, dance, dance
Dance, dance, dance
All night long…’
Both Michael and I had our heads back and our faces raised to meet the sunshine. Eyes closed for protection, we sat in absolute peace; we let the music resonate in our minds and hearts. Whether deliberate or not, I couldn’t say, but, our breathing was in time, coordinated, like sleeping Siamese twins, slow, even, and in unison. That synchronicity supported the calm.
‘“I’m a hard working man
I’m a son of a gun
I’ve been working all week in the noon day sun
The wood’s in the kitchen
And the cow’s in the barn
I’m all cleaned up and my chores are all done
Take my hand, come along
Let’s go out and have some fun…’
Like on cue, two very big sighs in chorus interrupted the air around the music as Michael and I each inhaled deeply and exhaled. He chuckled a small snort of a laugh at the same time that I snickered. Could our moods be so exact, like the breathing, the peace? What could possibly be better than that, I questioned? And then I knew as Michael reached his pinkie finger across the few inches that separated us and hooked it around mine. It seemed a very small thing but that gesture was the connection and made everything perfect. I instantly stored the memory away for a more thorough examination sometime in the future, alone. Being there, on that balcony with the weather restful, listening to music, having a connection was happening and I didn’t want to miss the tiniest little bit of it. They were all precious moments to me. Moments of perfection were all we could ever ask from life anyway. ’Come on darling put a pretty dress on We’re gonna go out tonight Dance, dance, dance Dance, dance, dance Dance, dance, dance All night long’ We listened to every song on that CD. We didn’t move but only a couple times: once when he got water from his stateroom for us; after he took up his position in the chair next to mine, he re-hooked our pinkie fingers; and when I got the sunscreen, put it on my face, neck, arms, legs, feet, and hands.