Well Conner got here.
That means I have no idea how I got home last night. I did wake up in my bed hugging my I-phone. No one was with me though somebody apparently set a bomb off in my tiny little studio.
The last thing that I remember is Conner, Carlos, Damien and I were sitting at Papagayos listening to “Shine” butcher songs. As manager of the restaurant, Carlos evidently pays Shine to butcher songs. Shine thinks that he’s really good as he pumps his fist to illustrate whatever song he’s singing. The thing is all of his songs sound the same so nobody is really sure what he’s singing. Everybody ignores him.
Damien is from Barbados and is doing his best to pick up white women. He’s having a difficult time as the alcohol was preventing him from keeping a straight face. The fact that Conner, Carlos and I were laughing hysterically at everything he did wasn’t helping his efforts.
Of course I was trying to keep it at an adult level. I would introduce serious topics for discussion like adopting Russian orphans or how love is the most important part of our future.
I remember Carlos jumping up and hugging me as I said these things. He and Conner saw me get through a lot of bad times the last few years. Carlos loves me and calls me his brother and I know that the color of skin doesn’t define brothers.
Somehow last night ended up being this celebration of that. I was happy and having a good time and two of the guys who worried about me and repeatedly made themselves available to me were celebrating ... me.
I told them about where I am now. This new career is unfolding. There is love in my heart. Both have been to Tybee Island and were asking me about Johnny O and the Breakfast Club and the Bored meeting. And there was just this … affirmation in the air.
At one point I sat back and looked at the table. Conner was laughing. Carlos was grinning and looking smug. Damien was staring at white women as he slumped to the floor. It was all just … happy.
So I told them a lot last night. About everything!
And we just … celebrated.
At one point I raised my glass and toasted them all. “SEE,” I exclaimed! And we celebrated some more.
And we evidently did a real good job because I have no idea who drove me home … though I’m only about fifty feet from Papagayos so it is feasible that I walked.
Conner is nowhere to be seen. He is my slab mate meaning his studio is next to mine. Wait! Good news! He is not dead. He just stuck his head over asking for water to make tea. He looks terrible. We stare at each other for a nanosecond and bust out laughing.
“Who drove us home last night,” he asks?
I shrug my shoulders. “It’s normally Hania. She’s our designated walker but she’s not here.”
“Well it wasn’t Damien.”
“It could have been Carlos. He wanted us to go out.”
We both contemplate this. Going out with Carlos is always fun but it can last for days.
“You cut your nipple,” Conner says as he walks away to fix tea.
Sure enough, blood is all over my chest.
“Damn,” I say to the French West Indies Trade winds, “I wish it was something else all over my chest this morning.”
