Love Amidst the Darkness of the Sea

I signed up for this getaway when I walked in on my girlfriend Charlie covered in Vaseline on our bed and a ruckus coming from the bathroom of our apartment. I left my life in that place. I figured if someone who loves me is willing to throw it all away for a quick ring in the sheets, then all those things that encompass who I am mustn't be worth much. Or maybe I'm telling myself that because I walked away from thousands of dollars worth of books.

I'm leaving the apartment, and my ears get all hot; I trip down some steps and hear this constant banging and throbbing in my skull from my heart pumping magma through thick arteries. I get outside, I light a cigarette; I inhale as I look up, studying the three-story red and blue brick building, our big windows on the far left side of it, listening to her screaming at me from up there, watching my shit fly out the window:

"This is what you get, Frank, for never paying a-fukin-tention to me!" A bundle of clothes comes careening out the window. "Spending all your time painting." She whips a canvas out the window, crashing down onto the street like a hive of bees with little shards of wood flying into the air. "And these stupid books," and her face is like a grapefruit, all red and glimmering with that Vaseline and sex on it, "always reading, what idiot spends all his time reading, like who even reads anymore!" Then, some of my books came rocketing out the window; I watched them fall like butterflies, the pages opening and closing in the wind, like wings flapping, carrying them down to the street below. Between watching those books fall and inhaling endless amounts of tar from my cigarette with all that blood pounding against my ears, I told myself I needed a vacation. So I lit up another cancer cause I had smoked the thing right to my fingers, and with just my wallet, a lighter and a pack of Camels; I walked down the street, got the bus and figured out how to get here.

This small, erotically private island off the northern coast of Cuba is a paradise called Cayo Santo Fidel. The resort is central to the island, with buses that can take you to each point. These glass walls surround the resort, and when the wind touches them, it refracts as a quiet hum. Warm white sand surrounds the island, with pale powder cyan water stretching far into the distance before turning a deep navy blue.

What was best, though, was the air; every breath seemed to make me light as if I had been breathing metal my whole life, and here on this island, it was just pure, and I stood there when I arrived at the resort, looking at its big white stucco walls and golden doors and many private rooms just breathing, and it felt like the first breath I had taken in years like I was suffocating and just adapted to the strangulation of my everyday life, and it wasn't until then, as I stepped off the bus, with that calming hum from the glass walls orchestrating in my ears, and the warmth on my skin, that I could breathe again—

A few days later, I saw her when I lowered my book to see who was crying; she had this crooked smile and this white-blue skin. The lights above her flickered a bright yellow that created these haunting green triangular shadows below her cheekbones; she just held this cake with burnt-out candles. She was standing there on the bus going back to the resort, crying, but the cries came out like laughs, like she was pushing out these painful laughing babies from between her big black-painted lips. Her hair was all squirrelly and stuck to the dampness on her face, like seaweed, and it looked like seaweed, how dark it was. It was hard to see where the mascara rivers ended and those long shadows began, but I could see the white cake dribbling all over her tiny black dress and onto her tights. I thought she had trapped all the most exquisite-looking things ever on earth behind the layers of her skin and in the shape of her skeleton.

So I get up from my seat, all annoyed because I'm just trying to get through this chapter, and I'm on this trip because I'm trying to find myself again, and I'm already with every breath trying to thwart off my own tears. So I got up, and I was about to ask her if she could keep it down. But instead, I get stuck like a beaver under his dam because I am floored when I see her honey-eye colour; like this golden dirty brown, I want to fertilize and see generations of gardens grow. So she asks in this whimpering kind of cute voice:

"Can I hel-help you" and she sorta cries, but it's like this laugh noise.

"Ya, I mean," and I look her up and down. She smells like sweet vanilla cream and salty sweat, and her body is thin like she might do drugs or something, and by the state of her, I think she might be on them, "I was reading over there, and I couldn't focus."

Looking over my shoulder, she looks back at her cake. "I'm sorry." She wipes at her eyes.

"You don't need to be sorry." I feel awful because I see how ridiculous I was for approaching her to tell her to shut up.

She looks me up and down, trying to get a read on me. That's when the bus goes over this pothole, and her little frame and this giant melting cake come rioting right at me, and her chest and the cake flatten against my shirt, and the cake explodes all over both of us. Little soggy pieces of patty go falling all over my shins and shoes, and her heels and tights, and we are an absolute mess, and everything smells like sweaty vanilla cake.

"I am sorry, oh my devil, I am so sorry, devil, let me get it."

Awkwardly she starts wiping away at my shorts right over my crotch and at my knees, and she uses her dress to wipe away the filthy bits of sludgy cake on my shirt. I go to push her hands away "woah-wo-it's really okay, It's fine" I grab her hands, and that's when she tugs them away, but not in a good way, like quick and scared. "Sorry, I didn't mean to," but she was all focused on herself studying how much of a mess she was, and that's when the bus stopped, and the driver said we were back at the resort.

We get off the bus, and my whole shirt is like chewy gum sticking to my skin. I look around, and she is just standing there, looking at the white stucco building, hesitant.

"Sorry," I walk up to her, and she turns around, "I just want to say, since were covered in each other's cream or whatever," and I feel stupid for saying that, "but my name is Franchesco, my friends just call me Frank though, it's nice to meet you." So I hold out my hand, and it's all tacky.

She looks at my hand and smiles, and with her soggy-looking sticky hand, she grabs mine, and it squishes, "nice to meet you." she closes her eyes in this dorky way. "I'm Robin. I didn't mean to be so skittish in there; it's just a habit. I mean, I mean-"

As she removes her hand, I can see these slick-looking goober strands of sugar that look like cobwebs peeling and snapping as she pulls away. My book has no cake on the pages. We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other, and by this time, she isn't crying anymore, but her face is an absolute disaster with the makeup and the mascara and the cake, and I say, "I'm not sure, if, you want to, but I don't mind changing quick, and we can see where this night goes? Maybe get food, some drinks, no dessert though? do you smoke?" I pull out my Camels and light one.

Not saying anything, she looks at my pack, then she looks out to the sea, and it's night and dark, and her hair blows in the soft wind from the ocean. She looks lovely and lonely. So I look, but I can't see anything but this shadowy blue in the distance and some lanterns scattered across the beach that emit this dull orange glow. All the stars are bright white, and there are thousands out here. I hadn't observed how stunning and overwhelming it is since I've been here, and I glance at her now and then, and I think she is even more powerful than all of it. I feel something inside me, like a pang of guilt; I realize as I stare at this random girl I just met that I had never felt anything like this for Charlie. I wonder now if she had felt that all along, and maybe her knowing how I didn't feel this way about her is what drove her away. Drove her into someone else's arms. I look back at the stars and wonder about love. How do I know what true love is if people are constantly changing and if other feelings are out there among the stars.

I look back at her, watching her watch all of this, and I wonder what she is thinking about, and I wonder now why she was crying like she was on the bus. I take a couple of quiet drags. Finally, she says:

"It's beautiful, isn't it" her hair fritters around like sweetgrass, and she wraps her arms around her chest, hugging herself like some of her hair hugs her face.

I look at her and say, "Yes."

Catching my gaze, "so, I guess you're right; we should see where this night goes because you never know if you'll get another one like it."

I want to ask her what she means by that because its a resort, and most nights should be fun and mystical, but I don't want to deep dive into it and push her away or anything, so I say, "Do you wanna go back to your place first, or mine, or meet back here."

She looks at herself, and this is when I take in that she doesn't have a purse or pockets or anything but her dirty clothes.

"I don't have a room key anymore, so I guess we can head to yours."

We head there in nervous silence, nervous about where the night might go, or maybe I was just anxious and was creating all this awkward silence, I don't know, so we share some smokes, and when we get to my room, I offer her the bathroom first. My room is an absolute disaster, with clothes everywhere, smoke packages and an ashtray overflowing. It's as if I had been trapped in this room and was awaiting my demise, and when I first got here, it did feel like that.

Until I went to the beach where this Cuban guy, oddly named Fidel, was selling these used books; most likely, they were found books on the beaches. But I didn't care. I bought three of them, Planet of Slums by Mike Davis, Voice of the fire by Alan Moore, and The Death of Ivan Ilych by Leo Tolstoy, the book I was reading when I met her on the bus. I throw it on the nightstand and start cleaning the room. I hear the shower turn on. I change clothes and freshen up. I didn't need to shower because I didn't have anything sticky on my skin, but I cleaned my stomach with alcohol wipes and bathed myself in cologne.

Robin spends a long time in that shower, and I turn on the television and lay on the bed. Sometime after this, the shower turns off, and I put my hand behind my skull and watch the news about what's going on back home in Toronto. Then she steps out of the bathroom, and all this steam comes flying out the bathroom door like I just walked into a cloud. She steps out in just a towel, and her skin is like white porcelain, but so white like she's never seen daylight, and how could she not have tanned at all being here, even for just one day? I am struck by how fair she is. Her hair is wet and black, and her face is austere, with no foundation, mascara, or makeup. She looks perfect, standing there in the light, but not perfect because she is so hot, but because she seems damaged, and she reminds me of that Japanese art, where they fix broken pottery with gold. Standing there and all I see is the gold in all the cracks. But I could feel something beyond it, like some history clawing the surface.

"So, do you have a long shirt I can borrow or something"

I realize I've just been staring at her naked with a towel covering her. I jump from the bed, "yes, sure, sorry, shit, ya, no problem, just here" I whip open the drawer with my shirts, and I pull out this long white one with some holes in it that I bought from a thrift store.

Laughing, she grabs it from my hand, and I turn around, and I can hear the towel drop to the floor. I open my eyes, and in the window, I can see this white glowing reflection of her body, but I can't make out anything specific.

"Thank you," she says.

"It's no problem at all."

"You can turn around now,"

I turn slowly, and there she is, standing on the towel, and the white shirt goes past the middle of her thighs; she grabs something from her wrist and wraps her hair up in a ball on the top of her head.

"So," she says, "did you want to do anything, like, or maybe, or grab a bite to eat."

"Honestly, I could use a drink; I'm dying for a beer now."

"That sounds great," and she looks around the room, then freezes like she remembers something important, "but we can stay here, right, on the main part of the resort. Is that cool?"

There are way better bars a short bus ride away, but there are some cool spots I've checked out for drinking near the beach "there's this spot on the beach I've seen a few times that looks cool, but how come you don't want to go to a club just beyond the walls?"

She purses her lips like she's struggling, "the beach sounds great; let's go." Moving towards the door, she looks back at her heels in the bathroom, "you don't have something comfier I can wear? Like slippers, sandals or?"

"Ya sure, here" I walk to the door and give her my red Nike slippers, and she slides them on; they are huge on her. She looks funny, with this big shirt covered in holes and massive red slippers and her hair in a bun and my God, if there is one, this is proof. We leave for the beach.

There are about eight two-ounce glasses scattered over our table. Hot creme Sake splatters in the air as we slam down another shot. A nice frosty Canadian beer sweats in my free palm, and I take another cool swig of fresh, crisp ale. Robin sits across me, sucking fat gulps through a little straw of some multi-tiered various coloured, highly alcoholic gallon of drink in a fish bowl. Her white pastel skin is splashed with hot pink cheeks and a little red nose. She giggles while taking in these massive mouthfuls of liquid.

"Ahhhh, my stomach," she belts in the air, "I need tums, too much sugar, ah" she's laughing and holding her stomach, and she holds my gaze, and I hold hers.

"I bet the waiter has them; they probably get asked all the damn time." I feel loose and breezy in the calm wind. Beyond our table is a short stretch of warm sand and that sapphire water, the soft waves delicately curling. Splashing along the shore in whispers, I can't picture anything in my life that's better than being here, with the sound of the waves and her laugh. We don't really say much to one another, and I don't feel we had to like our silence was a comfort we had been seeking all along.

The Waitress returns, and she's in this little white dress, her hair up, some scattered around her face "can I get another Sake for the table?"

"Please, please, we'd love one, hot, very hot," Robin belts

"Oh, also, do you have Tums?"

"Tumsssss, yesss please my stomach. Oh, and and a pen and some pens Sake" she's laughing like she's some comedian.

"We do have Tums; I'll be right back with the Sake and some Tums and a pen."

The Waitress walks away. Around the bar is just a motley crew of contestants, some of whom I've seen around the resort, others strangers. Dressed in all kinds of different garb. Fancy hats and colourful shoes. We don't say anything, but we drink, swig in silence, and hold each other's gaze, and I can feel her legs riding along mine.

Then a different waiter returns. Like Castro, this guy's enormous, with a choppy beard, caramel skin, and a large oval jaw.

"Hello," he says, and his voice is like metal grinding on bone or something.

"Hello."

Robin is laughing and giggling, and then she looks up at the waiter, and suddenly she's like a pane of glass. She just shut up and got stiff, like if she fell, she'd shatter.

"I have here another bottle of Sake and some Tums for the lady's sore stomach and this pen" He holds his look with Robin, and Robin is just looking straight forward, out towards the sea.

I feel this strange awkwardness, like thick in my guts, "thank you" I take the Tums from his open palm, and he puts the steaming Sake on the table next to the pen.

"I hope you two enjoy your night; we will be here."

"I appreciate that."

The Castro-looking waiter walks away and disappears out of sight, and Robin is foggy-eyed in her chair. Staring out to the sapphire abyss, then she bends over and lifts the big bowl of alcohol to her lips and sucks all of it back. Gulping and chugging it, some of the liquid spills down the side of her cheeks, and it's blue and pink and green, and some of it lands on the white shirt staining it. She drinks all of it. Slamming the big bowl down on the table.

"You want these" I hold out the Tums, and she snatches them out of my hands and stuffs them in her mouth. Swallowing them.

She grabs the hot Sake and takes a swig from the bottle.

"Did you know that guy?"

She takes another swig, then looks at me, and her eyes are like red and wet and golden brown and distant, like looking at me, but she wasn't here.

I go to touch her hand, and she suddenly breathes, gasping as if someone is pressing down on her neck. Taking another swig. "Sorry," she finally says, "no," then she takes another swig, and she seems weird now, "of course not." Nodding, she looks out to the sea, "what time is it?"

I look towards the bar, where there's this analogue, and the arms read one forty, "it's almost two in the morning; can you believe that?"

Robin nods, sort of processing and says, "we need to leave; the night is almost over; let's take this bottle to the beach." she gets up quickly and beside us is this little gate and stairs that go to the beach, and she opens the gate with the bottle in her hands and leaves.

I grab the pen, my beer, and the unopened one on the table and follow her.

We're walking briskly along the edge; the tide delicately creeps up past our feet. Robins calmed now, laughing and swigging the Sake from the bottle. The moon wars for space in the night sky among the stars, and everything is cast in this misty haze of creamy light. The ripples on the water shimmer, Robin holds my free hand, and we both swig from our bottles.

"This is it, this is where we are going to do it; it's perfect" she lets go of my hand and walks away from the water up the beach and plops herself down right in the middle on the white sand "aren't you coming?"

I walk towards her and sit beside her. "What are we going to do?"

She laughs, like really laughs. Then, she puts her head on my shoulder and is silent.

The waves softly bow and dance toward us in the moonlight. I put my head on her head, and for a long time, we both watched the moon, the mystery of the open sea, and this beautiful darkness that has taken over our world. We listen to the waves and drink all of our booze. I feel her head lift from my shoulder and turn to me.

I look at her, her face is half-lit in the moonlight, and she looks at me with these wild and tired eyes. I look at her lips, and we slowly close in and kiss. I think about what it must look like, us on this beach, with this big beautiful moon and the sea waves, how magical it is. She keeps kissing me, and we are both so drunk she pushes me over and gets on top of me. Then there's this moonlight. Then the sea waves ride along the edge of the beach. All the stars move around the creamy galaxies. Then there's me, and her, and then us in this perfect moment filled with such magic. Then I am exhausted, and she is breathing on my chest; I play with her hair while I stare at the sky and slowly, my eyes close, and I sail with the stars.

These gulls are all squawking and warbling, and I feel this white-hot on my face. The waves are crashing heavily, and this cool mist is in the air. I can feel something stuffed in my shirt near my neck, and it hits my chin with the wind. I reach for it, and it's this napkin; with scribbles on it; I can't read it because the sun blasts in my eyes.

"What time is it, Robin, my effin head is crankin right now" I reach around my chest and then my sides and suddenly rise when I can't feel her. I look around, but the sun is blinding me. I can't see her any way I look, and then I study the little napkin.

There's this blue writing on it. It reads, "Frank, I'm sorry, I've had seven birthdays on this island, and last night was the only time I was almost free. I loved our silence together; you let me finally have a night of my own. I hope you never forget me. "

I look around and feel my white shirt tucked underneath me, the red slippers near my feet, and everything except my memory of her has disappeared.

I call out for her, "Robin!" standing, I face the ocean, and I call out again.

But just the Gulls respond.