Stone - Big Girls & Bad Boys (15 page)

“Thanks. The stuff they serve at most of the resorts and touristy restaurants is okay but they use canned ackee. Fresh is so much better,” Rick said. I was too busy eating to reply. Rick dug in as well and we ate in silence, sipping Red Stripe to wash it all down. When I had finished, I was full but wished I had more. Rick finished about the same time, set his bowl in mine on the table and slid down into his chair, beer in hand.

“Thanks. Best meal of the trip,” I told him.

“Thanks for coming. It’s always nice to spend the evening with a pretty American girl,” Rick told me. I smiled despite myself and looked away.

“Thank you,” I said, resisting the temptation to argue with his assessment. I was pretty though I didn’t always feel that way. I had always been rather full-bodied and even more so as of late. I didn’t let it bother me usually, but I always felt self-conscious around men. I felt as if they were judging me, wishing I was thinner. It was stupid but probably not all that uncommon.

“Smoke?” Rick asked. I looked back at him.

“Weed?” I wondered.

“Yeah,” Rick replied.

“Do you?” I asked.

“When in Rome...or rather Negril,” he said.

“I never have. It’s illegal, isn’t it?” I asked Rick.

“Technically. It’s illegal in the States, but lots of people smoke it there. If it bothers you...,” Rick told me.

“No, I don’t care. I’ve always wondered, honestly. Just been afraid to try it,” I said.

“You’re afraid of a lot, aren’t you?” Rick observed.

“Huh? What?” I replied. I wasn’t sure what he meant.

“You said you were afraid of trying ackee and now you say you’re afraid of trying ganja. I’m not calling you out or anything. Just an observation,” Rick said. I discovered that bothered me. I didn’t think he was right. I wasn’t afraid of a lot. Was I?

“Well, it’s not like I can get ackee in Chicago and pot is illegal,” I said a bit defensively.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. It was a poor attempt at being funny,” Rick replied. I softened a bit.

“I’m sorry. I did say I was afraid. Maybe I am. You know what? I’ll smoke with you. I’m on fucking vacation. Even though my company’s drug policy says I’m supposed to be randomly tested four times a year, I’ve never been tested,” I said emphatically. Rick smiled.

“They’ll probably test you three days after you get back now that you said it,” Rick said playfully.

“You’re probably right. Fuck them,” I asserted.

“Cool! That’s the attitude,” he said and got up to go inside his house. He reappeared a few moments later with a small pipe and a lighter. Rick took his seat, put the pipe to his lips and lit the ganja in the bowl. He inhaled deeply and held the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling. “Don’t go nuts. It takes a few hits to get used to it,” Rick offered and held the pipe out for me to take. I looked at the pipe and then back at Rick.

I took the pipe and put it to my lips. I inhaled and almost immediately felt the urge to cough. I pulled the pipe away and gagged. “Told you. Go ahead and try again,” Rick said. I exhaled and steadied myself. Then I took another hit and this time I resisted the urge to cough. I didn’t hold the smoke in for long, exhaling and coughing a bit.

“So when do I begin to feel high?” I asked, my voice a bit raspy.

“It’s like drinking. Do you worry about how long it takes to feel buzzed? No, you just drink and talk and pretty soon, you feel good,” Rick told me as I handed him the pipe.

“Okay,” I said.

“You know, in the Rasta culture, smoking marijuana is a religious thing. It’s supposed to cleanse the body and mind, expand the consciousness and promote peaceful feelings,” Rick explained.

“Do you believe in all of that?” I wondered.

“No, not really. I just like the way it makes me feel. But it sounds cool, doesn’t it?” Rick asked me.

“Yeah, it does,” I replied, feeling a bit lighter. Rick and I each took a few hits and then he set the pipe aside. He got up, a bit more slowly this time, and fetched us some more beer. The sun was going down but we couldn’t see it. “Is there a spot to see the sun go down nearby?” I asked.

“Yeah, let’s go for a walk,” Rick said and offered me his hand after he had pried open our beers. I got to my feet expecting to feel dizzy or unsteady. I didn’t. I just felt pleasant and happy. I followed Rick around his house and onto the gravel road. We walked west towards the beach and once we reached the highway, we waited for a break in traffic and dashed across the pavement. On the far side, Rick took me down a path that led to the beach.

We sat in the sand near the surf as the sun, a big orange ball low in the sky, sank towards the horizon. Without even thinking, I slipped my hand into Rick’s as we watched the sun touch the ocean. He squeezed my hand and I suddenly realized what I had done. I attempted to pull my hand away, afraid of what he might think, but Rick didn’t let me. He held my hand firmly.

“I...um,” I stammered but Rick just smiled at me warmly.

“Afraid?” he asked. I found I was but of what I wasn’t sure.

“Yeah, I am,” I replied.

“Don’t be. Just do whatever you want. Life’s too short to worry about shit, you know,” he said. I felt the ganja and the beer working their magic on my inhibitions. I didn’t expect the feelings I was having but I welcomed them. I wanted to just let go and not worry about other people’s expectations or the consequences of my actions. I suddenly felt this overwhelming need to be something I usually didn’t let myself be. I wanted to be me.

“Rick, why did you sit with me?” I asked him.

“I like to go down to the beach, find lonely women and serve them dinner,” he said but the look on his face told me he wasn’t serious. I began to laugh and Rick joined me.

“Seriously, Rick,” I replied after a moment.

“Honestly, you looked lonely, like you needed to let go and have some fun. Plus, you’re kind of cute,” he told me but the way he said it told me he thought I was more than kind of cute. Part of me protested that idea but I ignored that part of myself. I let myself feel Rick’s words and enjoy them.

“You’re kind of cute too...for a beach bum,” I replied. For a moment, I thought maybe I’d gone too far but Rick chuckled. His eyes, however, were serious as they undressed me. I half expected Rick to take me right then and there but he didn’t. I somehow knew he was savoring the feeling, living in the moment and just enjoying being alive. I felt that way too. I smiled at him and Rick squeezed my hand.

“You’re missing the sunset. Shut up and enjoy the moment,” he said playfully confirming my thoughts. I turned my attention to the sunset. The sun was sinking below the horizon, almost red when observed through the atmosphere. The world took on a warm, golden hue that matched the way I felt. I was relaxed, warm and in the moment. There was no back home, no crazy job and no demanding boss. There was just me, Rick and the beach. The sun slowly disappeared into the Caribbean until its last bit of light winked out of existence.

“That was some good shit,” Rick said. I laughed.

“Yeah, you give good sunset, baby,” I replied playfully and then giggled despite myself. Rick turned his head and glared at me before he laughed along with me.

“I give more than good sunset,” he told me, suddenly serious. I stopped laughing and bit my lip. “I give great massages,” he said. He was playing with me and I found I liked it.

“Then why are we still sitting here?” I wondered. Rick got to his feet and offered me his hand. I took it and he pulled me up beside him. I brushed the sand from myself as he turned back towards his home. I slipped my hand into his and walked beside him. We made our way up the path, dashed across the highway and then walked up the gravel road to his house. Rick got us fresh Red Stripes before he joined me on the patio.

“Sit up,” he told me as he walked behind me after he opened our beers, set his aside and handed me the other. I did as he asked and Rick began rubbing my shoulders. That felt good. I picked up the pipe and lighter and then relit the ganja. I took a hit like an old pro as Rick rubbed my neck and shoulders.

“That feels amazing,” I told him.

“Good,” he replied.

“Is this what you do every day? I mean just hang out, drink beer, smoke weed and enjoy the beach?” I asked.

“Not always. I work now and then but not too hard. Most of the time, I just do what I want,” he told me.

“Sounds heavenly but don’t you get bored?” I wondered.

“I used to. Then I figured it out,” he replied.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“That boredom happens when you’re not living in the moment. I used to live for the future. I was working my ass off so someday I might be able to retire. Wasting my best years so I could spend my golden years golfing or something. Now, I just enjoy every moment. The peace and quiet, the kids from up the road playing soccer, the beach, whatever is happening and wherever I’m at,” Rick explained. I handed him the pipe and he took a break to imbibe.

I didn’t say anything. Instead, I let Rick’s words sink in. The concept was foreign. Living for the right now wasn’t what I was taught to do. I was taught to plan for the future, like Rick said, to work hard and sacrifice now for some reward later. But my parents back in Ohio had done that. They had worked hard, bought a house, saved and what did they have to show for it? Not much. My dad could pull a pension someday but they owed more on their house than it was worth and their savings was ravaged when the economy took a turn for the worse.

That scared me. What if that happened to me? What if I worked my whole life and ended up like my parents or worse, like my uncle. My mom’s brother keeled over one day when he was forty-seven. Hypertension and heart disease killed him. He never got a chance to enjoy his golden years. My mom and dad did the best they could but their retirement wouldn’t be anything like they had imagined. No house on the golf course, no extensive travel and they would be working into their sixties until they got my mom’s Social Security.

“You don’t miss it?” I asked.

“What’s that?” Rick asked as he handed me the pipe and continued my massage.

“Stuff? Movies, the internet, coffee houses, air conditioning?” I asked just to name a few things I could think of.

“Sometimes. I’m not Amish or anything. I have a laptop and a pre-paid cell phone. I rent movies and watch them on the laptop. I go for a swim when it gets hot. I make my own coffee. I live a simple life but I’m not depriving myself? I have the stuff that’s important to me,” he explained as I took a hit from his pipe.

“What about your family?” I wondered after exhaling

“They don’t get it. I travel back to the states to visit during the holidays. My dad thinks I’m a bum, and I am. My mom is worried I’m missing out on opportunities and my sister plain thinks I’m nuts. Maybe I am, but I’m happy,” Rick said.

“You make it sound so romantic. It can’t be as easy as you make it seem. You know, to give everything up, live like this,” I told him.

“It’s like anything. I still have problems. I don’t always make enough to pay my rent on time. I stepped on a sea urchin last year and had to deal with that myself because I didn’t want to pay a doctor. It’s as easy as you make it. If you think this is a dreary existence, it will be. If you see it as a simple one, it will be that,” Rick said. He was rubbing my shoulders, neck and arms and that coupled with the ganja was making me sleepy.

“That’s enough. I’m going to fall asleep,” I told him. Rick chuckled. I expected him to sit down or maybe even ask for a reciprocal massage. Instead, he bent and began kissing my neck. I sighed as his lips caressed my flesh.

“You like that?” he asked me and then nibbled on my ear.