There's nothing quite like the nightly celebration on Mallory Square in Key West.
Several hundred of us were gathered, representing most every nationality, religion, political persuasion and sexual orientation. It felt like what Church should be rather than what it is.
"Excuse me," the plumb woman said as she tapped me on the shoulder.
We were already squeezed tightly together where Sarah and I stood surrounded by Asian and Latino families with their feet dangling off the concrete pier.
"Sure," I signed twisting to one side so she could pass.
Her hand hand was held behind her plump ass holding onto a boy, perhaps fourteen, wearing a helmet, mouth agape with drool. His white spiny leg difficultly lifted itself onto the pier as he moved in slow motion.
His mother beamed with excitement as she hurriedly described the miracle of a setting sun. Sitting down on his knees, his dull brown eyes looked at the Latino families eating Oreo's while shooting words shot out of their mouths as though they were machine guns. He yawned.His mother waved in our direction asking that her husband join them. He stood behind us with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans looking tired.
"It's warmer here," I said and he laughed for the briefest of moments and remained with us.
The performers stopped performing as the bottom of the sun hit the top of the ocean. The crowd applauded and holding its collective breath as the ancient order of the day's ending leads to the birth of a night.
The excited mother clapped as she described everything to the boy. He looked at it for the briefest of moments then covered his eyes as mine grew moist.
The ocean swallowed the sun and the crowd cheered.
"IT'S OVER!" the performers all yelled. "WATCH ME!"
And I lost him in the crowd.
"Did you see ..." Sarah began to ask but then she saw the ocean in my eyes and knew that I had.
