This is my submission for the Valentine's Day 2019 contest. A great big thank you to Selene for her encouragement and for offering to beta-read this story for me, as well as for having been so kind and thoughtful in her correspondence about my earlier work. To each and every reader who has reached out to me or may do so in the future, I am deeply grateful.
***
The shrill sound of Amber's alarm clock went off exactly as scheduled, hammering its way through the last vestiges of a disturbed dream like a siren going off. The dull thud of a headache pulsed and spread through her body; the tail end of a physical trauma anxious to be cured by the early light of dawn. It was not the way she wanted to wake up that morning but it was the morning she had been given.
Still, as a foggy morning disorientation cleared from her mind and she became conscious of the day's agenda, Amber leapt from her bed and scrambled to start a hasty cup of coffee. She zipped past her suitcase, packed and sitting squarely in the middle of the living room, pulling off her clothes as she went and darting into the bathroom for a rushed shower.
Giving herself one moment of pause to relax beneath the soothing warmth of the jets, Amber stood amidst the hissing cone of water and toured the deep abyss of her own thoughts. She reflected on how much she hated Valentine's Day. A day designed for a celebration of all the things she wanted for herself but could never manage to find. A day for lovers. A day for the elusive acceptance of who she was and how she felt about another woman. A day for the freedom from a dark loneliness that gnawed constantly at her mind, forever cementing a life of longing and sadness.
Shaking off these somber thoughts, Amber worked to restore the resolve and determination she had to escape from it all this year. Amber had taken enough time off to manage a brief getaway, leaving behind a day not made for her while she soaked up the glorious Caribbean sun. Her present accumulation of airline points gave her just enough for Jamaica. Granted, this held the risk of witnessing other couples' seaside romances playing out like a cruel punishment. However, it held just as much potential for a quiet escape on a remote stretch of beach where she could sink into a book and forget the world around her.
Before long she was drifting through the dark urban fjords of a still-sleeping city, imagining all the people inside the silent buildings, softly sighing in their cocoons of comfort and human companionship. The airport soon rose on the horizon with its gleaming windows, seemingly bitter to be awake at such an ungodly hour. She boarded her flight and was off, breathing a sigh of relief while she continued her ascent into the sky and watched the city lights slowly vanish below.
***
The local news was already watching a developing storm, still far out to sea, but it felt like an unrealistic threat...
The fact remained: Jamaica was a little bit of heaven on Earth. Amber's modest villa was gorgeous. The sea almost came straight up to her window. Her bathroom doubled as a garden oasis. The whole resort was a wonder. -- It just wasn't precisely where she wanted to be. Not with the crowds of people wandering around like zombies marveling at the wisdom of snagging their discounted holiday packages. Instead, she wandered outside the boundary of that carefully constructed idyllicism in search of a more authentic experience.
She found it at the edge of town, along a scrappy stretch of beach where a group of men smoked ganja beneath a canopy of black, yellow, and green. They welcomed her enthusiastically and offered her some of their stash. She politely refused, instead recruiting their help in finding a good place for a bite to eat. They gladly pointed out a ramshackle spot nearby called "The Jerk Shack."
As Amber ducked into the beachside joint, she found it amusing that she was neither indoors nor out, as the sand and the wood seemed to blur together and become one, surrounded by a cathedral of Red Stripe bottles and white rum in various states of near-completion. Throwing herself down at a table she realized that she had finally found the safe-haven she needed, far from the world.
"Hey-- wah gwaan," a man said, spotting her. The sole waiter, who was also the bartender, cheerfully arrived to hand her a laminated menu before returning to the glow of a small television at the far end of the bar. As Amber began to study the scant options, she suddenly felt eyes on her. Glancing up, she realized there was a woman in the corner, reclining in the shadows. The woman squinted at Amber, tilting back and forth on her chair with an air of amused reflection.
Amber's flesh suddenly simmered with goosebumps.
The girl was attractive. Incredibly so. However, more than that, she seemed somehow familiar despite her mysterious presence in the dark corner of the room. Flowing hair cascaded over her bare shoulders, curling toward the tips like impetuous strands of seaweed as they reached the top of a sexy orange bikini. A long, tie-dyed wrap swooshed about her hips and draped over her legs like a flowing skirt. That expression of quiet confidence and reflective silence was incredibly alluring and filled Amber with an instant desire to muse about who she was and what she might be doing there.
Attempting to return her attention to the menu, Amber remained alert and watchful, secretly hopeful that something would play out that would prompt an interaction of some kind -- any kind -- with the strange girl.
The bartender sighed, "Well, dat storm ah-coming." He clucked and swiped a towel aimlessly across the bar, as if frustrated.
"Yeah, I know it..." the girl in the corner lamented. Amber perked up.
"I just took down de boards an 'ere we go again," the bartender continued to grumble.
The girl glanced in Amber's direction and caught her observing. Amber quickly looked down at the menu again and realized she still hadn't absorbed what was offered there.
"Don't worry. It's a couple days out yet," the stranger added. The bartender nodded back to her apathetically. Amber realized that the two seemed to know one another. She felt the same pair of eyes on her once again. They remained there, unmoving, quietly watching. Under normal circumstances, she'd feel uncomfortable but she somehow became excited to have the attention, given her fascination with the woman.
Amber heard the scrape of a chair leg on the floor followed by footsteps. Her heart started to race. The girl was approaching. She stopped, then stood there, hovering over Amber until she finally looked up. The face gazing down at her cracked a smile. She sat down across from Amber.
For the next several moments, Amber did not know what to do. It was intimidating and awkward to have such a beautiful girl sit there quietly, just watching as if expecting Amber to say something profound to a complete stranger. However, she couldn't look away. The girl had the most expressive, playful brown eyes, tempting, lush lips, and the cutest heart-shaped chin. Her hair looked like it had once been made of pure gold but, over time, grew delightfully tarnished through a life full of sportiveness and tireless adventure.
Finally, the girl spoke. "The jerk chicken is good, but you can get good jerk chicken all over Jamaica. What you want is this." She pointed to a picture on the menu in a grid of faded, artificially colored photos that likely did not resemble the actual dishes. "Calypso Chicken. It's Zidane's specialty." The bartender-slash-waiter who was apparently now also the cook held his fingers to his mouth, then released them, kissing the air as if to describe how delicious it was. The girl continued, "It's got this amazing pineapple salsa with thyme and allspice and lots of scotch bonnets. It's really hot— but not melt-your-face-off hot. You'll love it."
Strangely, Amber had no doubt she would love it. It sounded a lot like a dish she often craved back in Crown Heights, Brooklyn where she sometimes went for Caribbean food. "... Okay, I'll try it," she said, bewildered by the unsolicited suggestion.
"Good," the girl said. She turned to Zidane with two fingers in the air. "And two rums." Zidane nodded eagerly and grabbed a half-empty bottle of Wray and Nephew. "Try this. It's like... rotten bananas-- but in a good way."
Amber laughed. "All right... I'm skeptical but open-minded."
The girl grinned. "I'm Gianna," she said, holding out her hand.
"Amber." They shook hands as two shots landed on the table beside them. Zidane casually left the open bottle sitting on the table as if granting them permission to accept liberal enjoyment of its contents.
