We were seventeen and both of us had cruising parents. Yours were hippies. Mine were just crazy gypsies.
It was easy to sneak away on the Island and do all the things we weren't suppose to do in the States. Everything seemed normal enough here, in comparison. I made love for the first time with a local boy. I learned about medicine from a lady who healed with a can of shark's teeth. I smoked what the locals smoked and drank where they drank. The joints they used to take me to had juke boxes with 1980s R-n-B and old country songs. A juxtaposition to the tribal beats that came down from the edge of the water.
I walked in the place, this one owned by man who could wind his hips like a clock. It was just another night my parents wanted to be alone on the boat to "do their thing" and I ordered my favorite mixed drink to celebrate my independence and forget my loneliness. A whiskey and ginger ale. Somehow I got something purple that tasted like mangos and pineapple, and only one got me totally messed up.
You walked in too that night. Your parents had just docked their boat. You were from Baltimore. I was from N.Y. Feeling like a stranger on an island forever, I finally felt at home. We knew each other in just one glance.
You been here long? You asked me.
A month.
You staying much longer?
As long as my parents want to. We're headed south. Turks and Caicos, I think. My dad wants to live there, maybe. Who knows. They're crazy.
Wanna go for a walk?
And since that night, we knew. We just knew. Buttercup Baby playing on repeat in the background. Old Mr. Bassie winding his hips after too many. The sea art clinging to our spirits, but our ache for home in our hearts. We knew we'd both seen the world in ways nobody else had. The grime and grit and beauty of the island life, of being nomads with our home in the deep blue.
And now you and I have roots. Roots that grow deep in one place. We traveled far to find each other.
It was easy to sneak away on the Island and do all the things we weren't suppose to do in the States. Everything seemed normal enough here, in comparison. I made love for the first time with a local boy. I learned about medicine from a lady who healed with a can of shark's teeth. I smoked what the locals smoked and drank where they drank. The joints they used to take me to had juke boxes with 1980s R-n-B and old country songs. A juxtaposition to the tribal beats that came down from the edge of the water.
I walked in the place, this one owned by man who could wind his hips like a clock. It was just another night my parents wanted to be alone on the boat to "do their thing" and I ordered my favorite mixed drink to celebrate my independence and forget my loneliness. A whiskey and ginger ale. Somehow I got something purple that tasted like mangos and pineapple, and only one got me totally messed up.
You walked in too that night. Your parents had just docked their boat. You were from Baltimore. I was from N.Y. Feeling like a stranger on an island forever, I finally felt at home. We knew each other in just one glance.
You been here long? You asked me.
A month.
You staying much longer?
As long as my parents want to. We're headed south. Turks and Caicos, I think. My dad wants to live there, maybe. Who knows. They're crazy.
Wanna go for a walk?
And since that night, we knew. We just knew. Buttercup Baby playing on repeat in the background. Old Mr. Bassie winding his hips after too many. The sea art clinging to our spirits, but our ache for home in our hearts. We knew we'd both seen the world in ways nobody else had. The grime and grit and beauty of the island life, of being nomads with our home in the deep blue.
And now you and I have roots. Roots that grow deep in one place. We traveled far to find each other.
Now we just stay put.
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