Cabana Boy

At 6:40 this morning I was in a dead sleep when she stuck her face in my face asking “Aren’t you taking me to the Breakfast Club”?

My eyes cracked open … barely.

The first conscious thought of the day formed in my brain … “Shit”!

She was dressed and ready to go.

I was under the covers continuing to celebrate the wonderfulness of a great night. I’d fallen asleep after 3:00 am with my I-phone on my chest.

Goddess was in her customary position with her head in the bed room and her body and her butt in the living room to protect me from whatever comes to harms me in the middle of the night.

She failed miserably.

The company staying with me are excited to be at the beach and are ready to go. Last night I’d taken them to Tybee’s combat zone breezing through Bernie’s, Doc’s and the Rock House. This was after dinner at Stingrays.

I have been a good host.

I do not deserve this.

She leaves and I drag myself out of bed looking at Goddess.

“Bitch,” I say to her.

Her golden eyes stare at me full of sadness. Then she flips over on her back so that I’ll rub her belly.

“Hell no,” I say falling into the shower.

Afterwards I dress and the company is excited and ready to do. I suddenly understand the death penalty.

We stumble into the Breakfast Club.

“Big Night” Johnny O asks.

“Oh yeah,” I answer. He gets it and shuts up. Johnny O and I understand one another.

I nurse the coffee, making passionate love to it, lingering over the memory, tantalized over the smell and the warmth of the moment.

She won’t shut up.

The entire Breakfast Club staff takes a step backwards.

Johnny O leaves.

Everyone standing in line waiting to get into the Breakfast Club decide to have breakfast at the Sunrise instead.

I stand and walk to the back and stand next to Franklin, who is brown.

He looks at me as though he is a serial killer and asks without using a single word, “What’s wrong”?

I nod my head towards my company.

He turns, looks and turns his head back before nodding his head with sympathetic eyes.

With no words being spoken, he completely understands everything.

He picks up a knife and looks at me with hope in his eyes.

I shake my head from side to side.

He sadly looks down.

I return to my seat with a heavy sigh.

A new day is beginning. On three hours sleep I am expected to be a “Cabana Boy” setting up a tent on the beach, running to get them drinks, and chasing the clouds away if they remain over the sun. But if it’s too hot I’m expected to conjure up a breeze at just the right time.

I process all of this information.

Then I wish it was still last night.