On Monday’s Steve and Linda the managers here throw a wine and cheese party for all of the guests. They go through a hundred bottles pouring it in little plastic cups. A table is set up with various brie and cheeses. Almost everyone attends the weekly event and the outside patio and the restaurant are jammed.
In years gone by I’ve helped Carlos who oversees the restaurant serve the wine because the managers were away. Then Conner and I got to taking our own wine glasses as a way being different. Someone evidently complained and we were stripped of our wine glasses in front of everyone and handed plastic cups. That led to us, along with our friend Jacob, to throw an alternative wine and cheese the following week. About sixty people came.
Last night I was sitting on the porch of the tiny studio reading letters. People began strolling by on their way to the swore many asking if I was coming. I assured them that I would be there shortly and a bit later I made my way down the sandy road.
Linda was pouring the wine and handed me a cup. I found Jack my friend from Canada and we sat on the wall laughing and talking. After a bit, I made my way to get a refill. Carlos was now pouring and he wouldn’t serve me. He is upset with me still over Christmas when I failed to go to his house for the celebration. It had been a hard day for me, this being the first time in my life that I’ve navigated the holiday alone.
“Really” I asked him.
He turned his head away.
I shook mine and walked inside the restaurant where J.P. was behind the bar. In lighting speed he handed me a glass filled to the brim.
Paul from Michigan was sitting at the bar rather than joining the crowd. He is a good friend of Carlos’ too and owns an apartment on the island, spending the winter months here. He’d watched what had happened.
“He isn’t angry,” Paul explained. “He’s just hurt. They were so excited that you are here and really wanted to help you get through Christmas in a good way.”
I looked back at Carlos who is watching us.
So I began explaining to Paul who held up his hand and said, “Hey I understand. I’ve been there.”
So I wandered off into the warm night making my way to the beach. A billion stars hung above the water. The lights of Anguilla lay just out of reach. St. Bart’s shown in the distance. And the lights on the mountain at the far end of the beach looked like a massive Christmas tree.
I threw the wine in the sand and sat down.
Isn’t that the way it is sometimes? You do the very best that you know how to do to get yourself through. For the most part your friends give you space when you need it or take it away when you don’t. The last thing you want to do is make it all harder by offending someone that you care. Somehow you do and what is already a difficult time becomes even more so. Damned if do. Damned if you don’t. And I’ve never been one to disappoint people so it grates my soul like fingernails across a chalk board.
After a while there is nothing to do except start all over. God’s greatest gift! I stand and brush the sand from me. Then I dive in the ocean and baptize myself in forgiveness.
I walk back inside and J. P. hands me another glass of wine before I can ask for one. Carlos is watching me intently.
Someone grabs me and turns me around. I recognize him from previous years. “How are you?” he slaps me on the shoulder. “Where is that beautiful wife of yours?”
I stare at him for a second. “Over there somewhere,” I answer.
Then I spy the Koster kids all in a Mosh pit kind of collection and I run to them.
And I dance.
