Stone Angels

by Michael Hartigan

  I almost wanted Lindsey to jumpstart the argument we were having in the hotel, like it would wash away the remorse I felt about dragging her heart around for so long. I almost wanted her to yell at me about how poorly I treated her after all she had done for me, especially in the past year. I almost wanted her to retract the “I love yous” and tell me I was a bad person.

  But she didn’t.

  She looked back at me, straight into my eyes. I could tell by the look on her face that the sadness had returned to my own. We just sat staring at each for a few minutes. Charlie stopped by and silently refilled the coffee mugs then disappeared. Then Lindsey and I turned our gaze out to the open ocean and watched the waves crash onto the sand.

  Chapter 34

  That night we continued the Key West tradition we had established the night before. We started drinking at the tiki bar, followed by a stop at the Green Parrot, Sloppy Joe’s and then back to Irish Kevin’s.

  After our morning conversation, it seemed Lindsey and I regressed back to just friends. No handholding. But that night when alcohol took over, we let our carnal desires out of the cage. We slipped into her hotel room and snapped the deadbolt before Shoddy and Emily could climb up the stairs. The sex was brief but powerful and we fell asleep immediately afterwards, still naked and covered in sweat.

  The next morning I woke up before Lindsey and stepped out without her waking. I went to the concierge for advice on a breakfast place and was given directions to Pepe’s, the oldest running restaurant on the island. It was a local favorite and was celebrating its Centennial anniversary this year.

  Destination in hand, I decided the others should join me. By the time I got back to Lindsey’s room she was already showering.

  Emily still hadn’t returned from my room so I snapped the deadbolt again and snuck into the bathroom. Lindsey stuck her head from the shower and stopped me short.

  “Hey, not now,” she said, anticipating my intentions. “Emily is going to come in any minute.”

  “So? I dead-bolted the door. We have plenty of time.”

  “No, not now,” she said and closed the curtain. She put a vibe of annoyance in her words. Real or feigned I couldn’t tell.

  Turned out she was right. Ten minutes later Emily and Shoddy showed up ready for breakfast.

  Pepe’s was a small shack of a restaurant next to another old art studio on the far side of the island, a long walk from our hotel. But I was assured it was worth it—try the pancakes, they’re the best around. Pepe didn’t disappoint. The food was hearty and delicious and served to cure our lingering hangovers.

  After breakfast we stopped into the abutting art studio. A chalk drawing of the Key West Lighthouse at sunset had grabbed Emily’s attention.

  While the girls were browsing, Shoddy and I went to the rear of the studio. An old man with a grizzled beard and dark tan sat sketching on an easel. He had the general Ernest Hemingway air about him, as did most of the Key West locals in homage to their island’s most famous former inhabitant.

  “Good morning, boys,” he said without looking up from his easel. “Enjoying the day?”

  “Absolutely,” Shoddy said. “We’re fat and happy.”

  “Ah, so you ate at Pepe’s, then?”

  “Yup, just finished,” I said. “Had to see what all the fuss was about.”

  The old man just laughed and kept sketching.

  “They aren’t really a hundred years old, you know,” he said.

  “What?” Shoddy looked hurt.

  “That place was built in 1971. I know because I helped him build it. He’s been saying it’s his hundredth anniversary for the past ten years. Sucks in the tourists.”

  “Wow,” I said, my pride a little wounded and my sense of adventure a little snuffed out. “Well it worked on us.”

  “I’m starting to think Pepe actually believes it,” the old man continued. “You lie about something everyday for as long as he does, you start believing the lie. I bet you hook up ole’ Pepe to one of them lie detector machines and ask him how old his place is, he’d say one hundred. And the machine would agree.”

  Shoddy gave me a look that said he wanted to get away from the crazy old artist. I was intrigued by him and by his story. I guessed if we had a case of beer and a few lounge chairs, he’d sit around for days telling more stories. But my friends were ready for the long walk back and a blessed day lounging on the beach.

  “Well you have a nice day, sir,” I said. “And regardless of how old the place is, Pepe makes some mean pancakes.”

  He finally looked up from his easel, the years of life brimming in his eyes. His face cracked with a smile.

  “That he does, son. That he does.”

  Wednesday was full of familiar, relaxing hammock naps and ocean dips. We ate fresh seafood and drank frozen cocktails. When we weren’t lounging by the sea we were laying out by the pool. Vacations in the tropics were meant to be spent the way we spent ours.

  We became students of a devout and hedonistic lifestyle.

  The only exception was Lindsey. I concluded she regretted having sex with me while drunk. She carried herself the same but I knew her better than the others. I knew something was amiss. And in turn, something was off with me. I had trouble looking her in the eye. On the off chance I did, waves of sadness washed over me like the waves washed over the debris on the beach. A storm was building over the sea and it was washing ashore bits and pieces of guilt and the tattered remains of my shipwrecked love life.

  Wednesday night was a replica of Tuesday except we ended up at a bar called the Lazy Gecko. They billed themselves as the “Southernmost Red Sox Nation.” So of course, us all being card-carrying members of that widespread sports cult, we had to stop in. The dive was painted lime green and adorned with Boston Red Sox memorabilia, photos and televisions showing classic highlights and early Spring Training coverage.

  Just like any good Red Sox fans in a tropical paradise, extreme drunkenness found us all again. Lindsey and I loosened up around each other with each sip and by midnight we were sneaking to the back of the bar to make out. An hour later we had ditched Emily and Shoddy and half-skipped back to the hotel. The sex was wild, fueled by underlying frustration and a tinge of anger. We were just hitting our stride when we heard our two friends rustling in the hallway.

  “Dammit, not again,” Emily yelled. Lindsey and I continued without a hiccup in motion.

  “Forget it, just sleep in Shaw’s bed again,” Shoddy said. “They both need it. Let ‘em go.”

  He dragged her away but the annoyance in his tone was obvious.

  Shoddy showed it the next morning when he banged on our room door.

  “Hey lovebirds, get the fuck up! We’re gonna be late for our boat!”

  Lindsey and I shot up, still naked, and grabbed the alarm clock radio. The red numbers blared up, hurting our bloodshot eyes. We overslept.

  The day before we had scheduled a snorkeling trip out on one of the reefs. They offered free beer and the price was good. The catch was you had to be there before nine o’clock in the morning. This was tough when you were engaged in a drunken and passionate love affair until sunrise. But it was Thursday, our last day in Key West and we decided to do something more than just waste away hours lounging in the sun.

  As I expected, Lindsey acted in the same distant, regretful way as she had the morning before. Despite her nagging me to hurry up and brush my teeth, we made it to the boat in time.

  The majority of pedestrians roamed Key West that morning like zombies, looking as bleary-eyed as we did. When the boat crew went over safety rules and gear advice, only one older woman was enthusiastic or awake enough to demonstrate the proper technique for the rest of us. An hour went by before we arrived at a seawall that the captain claimed had the best reef diving around.

  Suddenly we all sobered up and the situation became very real. I had never snorkeled before, nor was I a fan of open-ocean. Lindsey and Emily shared my sentiments. Shoddy’s family took frequent
trips to the Caribbean when he was a child so this was to be a nostalgic adventure for him. His smile made it impossible for any of us to back out.

  Up on the deck we stood at the rear of the line queued up to jump into the water. I put on the buoyancy vest, flippers and mask and waddled toward what I envisioned a pirate-style plank.

  Shoddy went first, leaping from the boat’s edge like a kid into a swimming pool. Emily was next, hesitant but determined not to look timid around Shoddy. Lindsey and I moved up to the edge. One of the crewmembers, a petite girl who couldn’t have been older than eighteen, treaded water about eight feet below with a floatation device lolling loosely with the rolling waves. The water around her was a deep azure blue but still clear as polished glass. It crashed forcefully against the boat and tossed the girl around but she quickly regained composure and yelled up for Lindsey to jump.

  Lindsey looked back at me and gave an unconvincing smile.

  “Go ahead,” I said in my best reassuring tone. “This is nothing compared to some of the things we’ve done.”

  Her fake smile grew a little more confident and she pulled her mask down over her blue eyes. She jumped, splashing to the left of the girl, disappeared for a few seconds and then popped back up, mask and snorkel intact. She spit out some seawater. A dribble of drool slid down her chin. But she looked up at me and smiled, gave a quick wave and kicked off in the direction of the other snorkelers.

  My turn. I was the last passenger to go. The crewmember in the water beckoned me to jump. I waddled to the edge, my big black flippers sticking out over the water. I was hesitating.

  “Ya know, we saw an eighteen foot hammerhead out here last week,” someone said from behind me. I turned to see another crewmember, a guy about my age with long surfer hair and sunglasses. He was grinning.

  “Come on man, really?” I said. “I’m about to jump.”

  He just laughed and made a hand gesture like an usher at a movie theater.

  I looked back down at the girl in the water. She had red hair, slicked back but shiny. Not red like the drag queen but a natural red, like Lily used to have. My courage suddenly perked up.

  I thought of when Lily told me she was going to make me come alive, and then I grabbed my mask with both hands and jumped.

  My feet hit the water with such force that it pulled my hands off the mask, which in turn popped up off my face. Water rushed up my nose and down the snorkel tube, following the natural path into my mouth and down my throat. I tried to cough but was punished by more saltiness in my nostrils. The ocean was filling me up, like a glass under a faucet. I panicked. My eyes were clenched shut like fists but my arms were flailing, reaching wildly above me in slow motion, grabbing for the mask or the boat or the girl or anything other than the salt water. Nothing. I kicked but the flippers were like cement shoes. My legs were drained of energy and propelled my body only inches upwards. I reached out again above my head, tried to punch through to the sky. I hit something solid and metallic. There was a booming echo under the ocean.

  I opened my eyes but the crystal blue water wasn’t as crystal clear from an underneath vantage point. I closed them almost immediately. The salt was like a stinging poison. But in that instant I saw a hazy bottom half of a human, kicking under the water. It looked like Lindsey’s black bathing suit bottom.

  I thought of her and tried relaxing my muscles.

  What if I didn’t come back up? I thought. What if I swallowed the ocean? What if I let it swallow me? What if I let it grab me and drag me away from everything?

  Then I was being pawed and pulled at, sideways under the water. That was it; I was being dragged away. But then I went upwards rapidly.

  Right as my head broke the surface I wondered if my surrender to the ocean was justified.

  Then a rush of air, the same salty taste but less dense and liquid. It pushed up my nostrils and back out my mouth, with it came a mix of ocean and sick. I started choking.

  “Kick your feet!” someone screamed. It was a command, though, not an urgent cry. The crash of the waves on the metallic boat combined with the wind made it difficult to hear. “Kick your feet now!”

  I reacted instinctively. I imitated the scissor motion the crew demonstrated on the ride out. All the while coughing up the sea.

  “Hey, open your eyes man. You OK? Open your eyes and say something.”

  I obeyed. The sun glare blinded me but my eyes adjusted and I saw the guy from the boat deck treading water next to me. He shoved a red plastic torpedo under my right armpit.

  He used one hand to pull the soaked hair from his face then back to the water to stay afloat. He grabbed one end of the red torpedo and began towing me to a ladder hanging from the back of the boat. I was slowly getting my bearings back and kicked a few times to ease his burden. We swam past the young girl whose horrified look told me she wasn’t the one who pulled me to the surface.

  “You OK, man?” the surfer guy said when we were back on the boat. He had brought me a towel and glass of fresh water. We were sitting on the front of the boat with our legs hanging off the side.

  “Yeah, I think so. I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry, though. I feel like an asshole.”

  “Not your fault, bro. You slipped underneath the boat. Pretty dangerous thing. Celia should’ve told you to jump further.”

  “Celia?”

  “The girl in the water. I don’t even think she saw you go under. The waves are massive out there today.”

  “But you saw me and jumped in. Thank you. Um, sorry but I didn’t get your name.”

  “No worries, man. That’s what I’m here for. And my name’s Zak.”

  He extended a hand and I took it.

  “So you going to head back in?” he asked.

  “No, I think I’m good for today. I can look up eighteen foot hammerheads on the internet if I really want to see one.”

  “I was just joking. We’ve never seen anything like that out here. We get a few barracuda every now and then, but that’s it.”

  Another crewmember delivered us two foamy, ice-cold beers. I drank mine in two gulps, still trying to quench the salty thirst permeating my entire body.

  Zak left me to help call in the other snorkelers. I sat on the edge of the boat and tried to pick out my friends from the school of floating fish voyeurs.

  I picked out Lindsey, still about twenty yards from the boat. Her body was parallel with the ocean surface but her backside protruded out. That’s how I recognized her. That was how I recognized her under the water, right before I gave in to Poseidon.

  Did I really almost die? Did I really surrender that readily to death? I had no fight. It was like I welcomed it.

  The entire boat trip back to Key West I sat in a corner alone. Zak recounted the story to Emily, Lindsey and Shoddy. They tried to talk to me at one point but I waved them away. I was lost in my own head, ashamed at myself in many ways. I could not resign myself to the fact that I almost died or especially that split second I may have wanted it.

  Obviously something was wrong inside me. I was depressed and sad. From what? There were some things that might justify it. Like every time I looked at Lindsey something gnawed at my insides. I hated how I treated her. But it was more than that. It was deeper and much more sinister.

  By the time we docked I had burrowed through my feelings and concluded something had to be done. My near-suicide experience opened my eyes to my current melancholy. It was evidently dangerous.

  But I’d wait until we got back to Providence. No need to start bringing up my past indiscretions and ruin our last few days of vacation.

  We went back to the hotel after the snorkeling excursion and spent some time sleeping by the pool. I tried to clear my mind and sleep. I succeeded in merely lying on my back, staring up into a cloudless blue sky for over an hour.

  Finally we all retreated to our respective rooms to clean up and get ready for dinner. It was our last night in Key West so we had made reservations at a swanky restaurant called H
ot Tin Roof. It was located on the opposite end of the island overlooking the marina. Shoddy and I met the girls in the parking lot. He and I were dressed in white shorts and matching Hawaiian shirts. We had planned this outfit for weeks as a joke. Emily and Lindsey hated Hawaiian shirts so to spend an evening at an expensive restaurant with us clad in that style would be the perfect ending to our vacation.

  They laughed when they saw us, obvious tourists with obvious obnoxious taste. We clashed with their classy, done-up demeanor. Emily wore a flowing skirt and white blouse with her chestnut hair pinned back. She looked quite attractive. Shoddy told her so. Shoddy never said anything nice about Emily. She gave him a strange look but then blushed when he repeated the compliment.

  Lindsey wore a white sundress with barely visible flowers stitched over the bodice. It was tight to her body, accentuating all the curves. I mimicked Shoddy’s compliment in Lindsey’s direction.

  “Thanks. But try to be a little more original next time,” she joked.

  At dinner we began drinking gin and tonics with the calamari appetizer. Two bottles of wine disappeared during dinner. We all tried the local lobster, which turned out to be sweeter than the New England lobsters we were used to. One more bottle of wine with dessert, and then a glass of twenty-year-old tawny port to finish the evening.

  By the time we stumbled down the stairs at Hot Tin Roof, giggles were starting and inebriation was certain. We walked over to the famous Captain Tony’s Saloon for a few beers and then finished off the night at our old standby, Irish Kevin’s. We attempted the shot board race one more time. Our success was much more muted due to the gallons of liquor we had already drunk. Nevertheless, we clinked glass after glass, reminisced about days gone by and further discussed my apparent ocean cowardice and lack of snorkeling ability. Alcohol cured all ills. My mind, foggy with booze, was the clearest it had been all day.