“Please, come inside, you might find something you do not need,” one merchant says amusingly.
Tenn laughs and obeys the charming merchant, disappearing into his shop. I follow. It smells of incense and has the mustiness of an antique shop. There seems to be thousands of things I don’t need. Tenn seems to need them all.
She disappears for a moment and then quickly reappears holding a colorful wooden parrot.
I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or not, but it quickly becomes clear she’s being serious when she brings it to the table where the merchant is standing. Tenn does her best at haggling but ends up purchasing it for the asking price.
“Why?” I ask Tenn while we stroll down the street.
“What?”
I raise an eyebrow. “The parrot?”
“Dude, this is actually for your boat. You need something to liven up that place and this is perfect,” she tells me.
Tenn holds up the bird as if introducing the newest member of my crew. Its eyes are painted black and seem to stare deep into my soul.
“Look, it’s a barbeque joint. I haven’t had real barbeque since I left Nashville. What do ya say, darlin’?” Tenn asks, pointing to a restaurant across the road. She tucks the wooden parrot under her arm and starts walking toward the restaurant before I can answer.
It smells exactly like you might expect a barbeque joint in the tropics to smell. The freshness of grilled pineapple is mixed with the classic savory brisket. When we swing the door open and enter, the scent is thick in the air and I’m suddenly starving. The décor is more of a Caribbean restaurant than that of a southern barbeque joint — thick rope wraps around wooden support beams and lines the window frames. The blue paint on the wooden walls is faded by the salt air that comes in from the open windows facing the sea.
Tenn’s acting a little differently; I think this little restaurant reminds her of home. When she takes a seat at a table facing the beach, she closes her eyes and takes in a slow breath. I have no way of knowing her thoughts, but I sense she’s trying to forget something rather than remember.
She opens her eyes just as I take my seat. The table and chairs are made of thick, heavy slabs of wood that feel good under my arms. A very casually dressed shaggy-haired waiter appears. Tenn looks up at him and takes command before he can greet us. “Two bourbons, two beers, brisket, corn bread, and yes to all the questions,” she says to the waiter, who seems to appreciate her efficiency. He nods then looks at me.
“I’ll have the same” I tell him.
The waiter nods and leaves without a word.
We both look out to the sea. The sand is the same shade of white as Solitude Bay, but it’s packed down from many feet. It’s evening so the beach isn’t lined with sun bathers; instead there are a stream of people taking their evening walks along the shore. It’s an ideal spot for people watching. Several of the passerby are couples walking hand-in-hand.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Tenn asks as she watches an older couple walk by.
I nod my head and make a friendly sound indicating I agree.
“You know, darlin’, you’ve barely asked me anything about myself since the moment I met you. It seems I do all the talking, so maybe that’s why you haven’t asked me anything. I talk so much I haven’t given you a chance.”
Two bourbons slam on the table, and the waiter disappears without a word.
“Well … you do talk a lot.” The words tumble out and I smile awkwardly.
Tenn punches me in the arm, and we laugh off any awkwardness from my comment. “I drink a lot, too.” Tenn raises her glass and gives me a wink.
I lift my glass and we knock back the bourbon, Tenn closing her eyes. Again, she seems to be trying to forget.
“Maybe it doesn’t matter,” I say. I’m referring to whatever thoughts she’s having that are clearly getting the best of her.
Tenn gives me a confused look. She doesn’t realize I’m commenting on her distant and pensive expression. I feel it best to change the direction of the conversation.
“Maybe it doesn’t matter where you’re from, your family, education, accomplishments, lovers, and mistakes. Maybe none of it matters. If you told me all the details of your past, we would be spending the entire evening talking about who you were. Let’s forget who we were. Why not just be who we are?”
Tenn seems intrigued and perhaps even a little surprised by my words.
Two beers slam down in front of us. Tenn holds one up and rests her elbow on the table. “Darlin’, that’s how you get to know someone. You talk about your past. Where you’re from is what made you who you are,” she says. The evening sun rays are piercing through the glass, giving the beer a golden bubbly glow.
“I’m not so sure about that. Some of the trashiest people I have ever met came from the fanciest houses in the nice part of town. The classiest I’ve met had to go to the food bank once a week. I’ve met mean, nasty people that come from decent loving families, and kind-hearted gentle souls that had terrible pasts. I don’t believe we are products of our past. We are who we are. That’s it.” I take my first sip of beer after I speak.
Tenn also enjoys her first sip of beer while she contemplates my words. It’s nice sharing a cold beer with her after such a long day. I feel like we are two coworkers that just punched out after a tough one.
Tenn puts her pint on the table with a thud then turns to me. “It may just be the bourbon, but that’s kinda deep, darlin’,” she says.
The waiter comes back with some of his waiter friends, and together they pile food on our table. It’s more than we can eat, but it’s a beautiful sight. I’m concerned about how much this will cost, but I’m so hungry that I can only focus on what to eat first.
“Cheers,” Tenn says, and raises her fork. I click my fork to hers and we dive in.
When we are full it barely looks like we’ve made a dent, but we can’t eat anymore. We are slumped over like decadent ancient Romans after a festival, with several empty pint glasses on the table. I pay the large bill. Tenn offers to pitch in, but I know this is a special night I will always remember. I haven’t paid a large restaurant bill in nearly a decade — I figure I’m due.
“Come on, let’s walk it off,” Tenn says as she pushes back the heavy chair. She steps over the low railing and onto the sandy beach. When I stand, I feel the effects of the alcohol, and I take a moment before I hop over the railing to join her.
Just the top of the sun is showing on the horizon of the sea, causing an orange glow to cast over the water. There must be over a hundred people here on the beach watching the sunset. When it finally disappears, the crowd erupts into applause. I’ve never seen anything like it. Hundreds of people sharing a sunset warms my soul.
“Wow,” Tenn says to herself.
We start our walk to nowhere. Tiki torches are being lit where the beach meets the bars and restaurants, and the smell of kerosene sits in the air. I wonder if every night the sun sets like that and a crowd applauds. We have beautiful sunsets on our side of the island, but the sun disappears behind the mountains and it doesn’t have quite the same effect.
I instinctively hold Tenn’s hand as we walk, and she reacts by holding my entire arm. We stroll along the beach until there are no more bars and restaurants, the smell and light of the tiki torches far behind us. We can still hear the hustle and bustle of the strip, but it’s faint, the sound of nature beginning to dominate. The ocean breaks on the soft sand, and an evening breeze rustles through the long tropical grass.
We slowly walk along the beach in the very brief twilight, and soon the moon dominates the starry sky.
Her hand moves around, embracing my arm, along my back and under my shirt. It’s nice to be touched. It feels like a gift. Her touch is soft, caring, and curious.
I’ve never been touched the way Tenn is touching me now, and I’m overwhelmed by calmness. I want to be as close to her as possible. We stop walking and Tenn scans the area.
“This shoul
d work,” she says.
“Work for what?”
“This is where we’ll be spending the night, darlin’.”
My new friend is definitely a sailor; too cheap to rent a hotel. But I have no problem with this plan. Tenn bends down and pulls a few things from a cloth bag that has been hanging over her shoulder. First a bottle of water, then a blanket. The blanket keeps on coming; it looks like a magician pulling ribbons from his sleeve. It’s a wonder how such a large blanket could fit in her small bag.
“I’ll get some firewood,” I say as I walk away, leaving Tenn to set up camp.
I’m very much at ease with my new friend, and the idea of spending the night under the stars with her is making me feel a sense of joy I have forgotten.
It doesn’t take long before I have an armful of dry wood. I repeat this process a few times and make a pile next to where Tenn is sitting on her blanket.
“That should do it,” I say.
I have a small bright fire burning in moments.
“Someone was a boy scout,” Tenn says, clearly impressed by my fire-making skills.
I wasn’t. I used to go camping alone in the woods on my summer holidays when I was in my early teens, following a narrow river upstream. I would fish during the day, and at night I would make a small fire and fall asleep before it burned out. I can remember how I felt at the time, what it was like to be inside that young mind and body. It’s not so very different from what I feel as an adult really. Some people are lonely souls, and I’m one of them. But tonight is different. I have a companion, and I’m grateful for her.
I join Tenn on her large blanket. We both stare into the fire, and our minds get lost in the flames. Tenn is deep in thought — I can tell she is dealing with something she doesn’t want to discuss. I don’t pry. I don’t talk. I lie back and shift my attention to the stars above. Tenn also rolls over onto her back. No problems have ever been solved by looking into a campfire; the stars are where we need to focus.
I can feel a slight change in her demeanor.
“I’m not a very good sailor, Vince.”
I’m unsure if I should pretend not to be very aware of this obvious fact. “Well . . .”
“I’m not a very good sailor, and I’m about to sail alone for a month across the Atlantic Ocean,” she says with a quiet shock in her tone.
I don’t know how to answer. She has already told me her intentions of crossing the ocean, but I didn’t for a moment think she intended on doing it. Sailors are known for telling tales and being dreamers. I thought Tenn was just talking. I can see now she thinks she’ll be heading across the Atlantic Ocean in her tired old sailboat, and I don’t know what to say. The idea is not even close to reasonable. I’m curious why she would want to do such a foolish thing. Tenn is an adventurous soul, but there’s something dark about all of this. I can’t pretend to understand what is happening with Tenn, but I have a feeling it’s deep and complex, and any questions I asked her would create more questions. I feel it best to say nothing, so I say nothing.
We stare at the stars.
“Vince,” Tenn whispers.
“Yes?”
“Can you help me?” she asks.
“Of course I can.”
I know she’s asking me to help her get prepared to sail across the open ocean, but for the moment I just want to help her calm down. It works. Tenn is in my arms; her full weight is on me, and her breaths are shallow. I stare at the stars while Tenn sails off into a dream.
Five
I’m somewhere between dreaming and awake. A part of me knows I’m on the beach next to my burned-out fire; another part of me is floating in a dream. I’m not even sure what I’m dreaming about, it’s just a peaceful feeling leftover from wherever my mind took me during the night. Slowly, it becomes more difficult to ignore the fact that I’m waking up, and I must leave that dreamy world behind.
I open my eyes and there she is. Tenn. Staring at me with wide eyes. How long has she been staring at me? I don’t say anything. After the initial shock of waking up to her wide eyes watching me, I’m relieved she’s here with me. Her mouth curls into a gentle smile. We’re wrapped up in the blanket comfortably; I don’t think I could’ve had a more restful sleep at a five-star hotel.
“Good morning, darlin’,” she says.
“Good morning,” I reply.
I wiggle out of the cocoon she created for us and sit up. I become immediately less comfortable when I realize that people on their morning strolls are walking around us.
“Come on!” Tenn says with sudden enthusiasm. She stands up and heads down the beach toward the water.
“What’re you doing?” I call after her.
She doesn’t answer. It was a silly question anyway, as she is heading to the water in a long t-shirt, and — I assume — underwear.
I’m still feeling the sluggishness of last night’s feast, so a morning swim isn’t such a bad idea. I strip down to my underwear and follow Tenn into the water. She is swimming far out, so I swim after her. I can swim fast, and I catch up quick. Tenn turns around and is startled that I’m so close.
“Back off, I’m peeing,” she says.
“Oh,” I say, and swim back. I’m not sure on the etiquette at this point. She’s looking at me with an easy smile, and I’m almost certain she’s still peeing. I pretend not to notice and slowly back stroke away. The sun is strong, considering it’s so early.
We finish our swim then walk along the beach, the sand feeling surprisingly warm beneath my feet for such an early hour.
Tenn notices a shower that’s meant for washing off the salty water and heads that way. We both take turns showering in the morning sun. The water is cold, but it feels like it’s doing me good, so I stay under the stream for a little longer while Tenn returns to camp and packs up her rather large blanket into her cloth bag. There is a private area close by where I get out of my wet underwear and pull on my jeans.
In no time, we’re back in town walking down the main drag.
I’m done with the busy side of the island, and I’m more than ready to head back to Solitude Bay, but not before breakfast. I’m pulled into a restaurant by the smell of freshly roasted coffee and bacon.
Tenn follows me in, and we have a quick bite. We eat quietly, comfortable without the typical, idle chit-chat. We barely say a word while we eat our food, drink our coffee, and watch people stroll by.
With full bellies, we’re ready for the journey that lies ahead. It’s a little more difficult with the added weight of the cargo, so we take our time. When we reach the mango tree, we get out for a stretch, but we’re both wanting to get home, so we decide not to rest for long.
Finally, after a long, slow, bumpy ride, we pull into Solitude Bay. It seems even more sleepy than before we left. I feel like every cell in my body is vibrating a little slower, a little easier, and I feel a little lighter.
“High five,” Tenn demands, holding her hand up.
I obey. “We made it,” I say after the satisfying smack of our hands.
I step out of the jeep and feel the familiar sand beneath my feet. Stan walks out of his shop and makes his way over. He stretches then gives us a smile.
“Tell me you have the cigars!” he says hopefully.
I slowly turn my head to Tenn, and she’s looking at me with wide eyes. We exchange a classic we messed up look. I turn back to Stan to respond, but he can tell I’m messing around by the look on my face.
“You’re lucky I like ya, kid. Hopefully the ol’ timer didn’t forget them this time,” he says as he rifles through the boxes in the back of the truck.
“So, anything exciting happen while we were gone?” Tenn asks almost sarcastically.
Stan stops rifling through the boxes for a moment and rests his hand on the frame of the Jeep. “Well, as a matter of fact, Tenn, you have some company. Your friends showed up yesterday and haven’t left. I told them you kids should be back sometime today. They’re the same fellas that were here the other day.
” Stan is speaking with a touch of concern, but he also seems to be trying to respect her privacy.
Tenn freezes for a moment, seemingly unsure of how to respond. We both look out to the bay and see the familiar large speedboat tied to her old, wooden sailboat. I can see the two men have made themselves comfortable on deck. It isn’t so far away that we can’t see one of them slowly waving to us. Tenn raises her hand and waves back.
“Well, I would love to stick around and help you guys unload, but I should go,” Tenn says to both Stan and me. She grabs her bag, throws it over her shoulder, and heads to where we left our skiffs.
Stan shoots me a look. I know he is suggesting I accompany her.
“Do you mind if I tag along?” I ask, following her along the beach.
“I will see ya tomorrow. Thanks for the tour,” she says. She is polite enough, but it’s clear I’m not invited, so I don’t push any harder. It is also clear the two men on the powerboat are not her friends.
“Sure, Tenn. You know my address if you need anything.”
She doesn’t look back as she drags her little boat to the water. When she starts rowing, she is facing us, so Stan and I stop staring at her, and we begin unpacking the jeep. By the time everything is unloaded, Tenn is on her boat. We watch as she disappears below deck with the two men.
“You know what, Stan, I’m going to head back to my boat,” I say.
“Thanks for the help. Look, be careful out there,” he tells me between bites of an apple.
I’m a few steps away from Stan when he adds, “I’m proud of you, Vince.”
I stop very briefly, then continue on my way without turning around. I give a wave and a slight turn of my head as to not be disrespectful. I know he’s referring to me making a friend and getting out of my shell.
I make my way down the beach and start rowing. I get to the stern of my sailboat where I usually tie up, but I just sit in my skiff bobbing up and down. I look over to Tenn’s boat and see no sign of anyone; they’re all still below deck.
Uncharted Waters Page 7