They say that it rains every day in Florida, and for a brief moment, that may be true. My lover and I barrelled over ourselves into the Dodge Caravan, like two tumbleweeds exasperated from a long flight, our bags hurried into the trunk and our legs hurried into more room than had just been available. Out the windshield, rain. Pouring down rain. If the experience of being stuck in the sky while a passenger the next row over screamed at the flight staff that they “didn’t want to wear a mask” and that “my personal liberties are being invaded” didn’t already—boo fucking hoo. I’ve been having my personal liberties invaded ever since I was booted out to the street with just a bag of my things and a dream. That’s called capitalism, baby—then the torrential downpour only added to the foreboding of our trip. The passenger was taken care of and I dabbed an ice cube on the splotch of blood on my shirt.
We clung together like soft shells, my lover and I did. And as we drove we smiled at the palm trees being brushed by the wind and swept by the rain. The more we drove, the less it rained. The more we drove, the more I brushed her hair from her forehead, and she from mine. I rested with my hand on her cheek. Her hand rested in my crotch. I began to whisper, “lover, the driver can see your hand in my crotch” before she put a finger to my lips and softly, and clearly, “sh sh sh sh sh.” Our consciousness left as slumber arrived. The rain pittered on the window. Our driver, a fine fellow from Fort Myers, asked my lover to remove her hand from my crotch, but we were too asleep to care. An abrupt stop. Awakening. Kate Chopin. Let’s hope for a better result.
The Cottages were resplendent. My lover and I ascended the stairs, arm in arm, our hands on each other's behinds, singing Jimmy Buffet’s Cheeseburger in Paradise while looking longingly into each other. We hadn’t made love since before the flight and the set of stairs was long. If the Florida air was hot, then our room was cold. A fan hung from the ceiling, whirring and waving, never to be turned off, its only lot in life being to displace. The room came with a TV and two twin beds. A balcony that we could not hang our wets from.
Two paths led to the ocean. In the middle of the two paths, a pond. Framed by palm trees and Florida flowers. Behind the pond, a pool. The sign by the pool said that no drinking was allowed and that night swimming was expressly forbidden but my lover and I like adventure, especially in the shallow end. Two Corona Extras and a talking-to from management later, and we were back in our bedroom, staring longingly at each other from our separate twin beds. I puckered my lips and did an air smooch. My lover caught it and placed it on her cheek. A beckon with her index finger, straightening then curling, straightening and then curling. I giggled and blushed. With all of the strength I could muster, I pushed my twin bed to join hers. As we lay in the middle, whispering and readjusting the sheets, the beds moved apart as if they were Moses's sea to split. Slowly, we descended to the cold carpeted floor. On the floor and smooshed by the beds, we laid. We wept. My lover and I wept. Our eyes closed and our dreams began. For tomorrow, we would see the shimmering sands of sunny Sanibel.
Movie Mondays with Nate:
Mannnn, a lil secret I need to drop on ya: believe it or not, I’m not actually a Matrix guy. I saw it once in middle school, thought it was cool, never saw it again, and never caught either of the sequels… plz don’t tell anyone I’m not a Matrix guy. ☆☆☆☆