I am floating face down in the aqua blue water of Orient Bay.
It is how I wake up.
At 5:50 in the morning, the sun is shining through the windows of the tiny studio that I’m staying in. Crawling out of bed, I hit the “on” button of the coffee pot and stumble to the Bay, squinting my eyes because of the bright orange ball hanging over the ocean. Wading in up to my knees, I just fall forward and the ocean gives me a full body kiss.
“Your words seem happier when you’re down there,” a friend wrote me yesterday and it is hard not to love it here … especially when I can wake up like this.
When I need air I stand in the Bay dripping wet and survey what is around me. Waves break over the reef in the distance. Boats are moored in the Bay. Green Cay, Pinel and Anguilla are in the distance. Mount Vernon is green and dotted with condos and houses at the other end of the beach a mile and a half away. And the ocean … well … it is the most beautiful ocean.
The sun turns from orange to yellow as I stand there.
I fall back down into the water.
On the soft powder white sand of the beach people are talking drinking coffee … or rum. Some are exercising. Couples hold hands as they walk wearing nothing but smiles. By 6:30 a beach day is in full swing. Back home on Tybee Island the sun isn’t even up yet.
Standing again I study my finger nails which grow at the speed of light here. I’ve checked this out with other people and it’s true. I’m not sure why but they do.
I make my way through the sand back to my tiny studio that is literally on the edge of the beach. A white tub filled with water is beside the sliding glass doors and I stick my feet in it to wash the sand off. Angela, my friend the maid who tries to teach me Spanish when I’m here, has left a bath towel just inside so that I won’t fall on the slick tile floor.
I pour myself coffee and sit at the heavy wooden table and study the beauty of it all. It is a wonderful way to start a day.
Yesterday I made my way down the beach to have lunch at my favorite restaurant here, “Orange”.
“Micheal,” yells Oliver when he sees me in his thick French accent, so it comes out as “Mikeeeelllllllll.”
We shake hands. Then everybody who works at Orange comes over, calls me by name, asks me how I’ve been and shakes my hand. It’s all very French but the floor of the place is sand … it’s literally built on the beach so my bare feet are comfortable.
I don’t wear shoes when I’m here … unless Conner or Carlos makes me go somewhere and then it’s just flip flops. When I get home and have to put shoes back on, its … painful.
Oliver tells me how good I look. I tell him that he’s just working me for a bigger tip. He laughs and replies, “No, No … you are different than last time,” and he is all serious and is ignoring everyone else in the place to give me his full attention as only the French can do.
I love Oliver and his tip just got bigger.
“So tell me,” he commands.
And I do.
And he brings me food without me ordering.
I turn on my bar stool and study Orient Bay. The sun sprinkles Hope diamonds on the water…they are blue somehow. Oliver gives me another drink and puts his hand on my shoulder.
“You look good. Better than last time,” then he winks and smiles. “Is it love?”
“You French people,” I laugh. “It’s all about love right?”
“What else is there?” he replies with indignation.
“Ummmm,” I shrug. He’s got a point.
Thinking these things, I contemplate my day. After a morning at the beach, I think that I’ll go to Orange and spend some more time with Oliver and my friends there … with my feet in the sand … as I eat … and think about love … which may be orange …
