by Smith, Yessi
Just as the band started proclaiming that Rock and Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution, Camilla came up to us with shots of Patron, which I eagerly took and chased with a swig of beer. Meanwhile, Jermaine and Brianna handed out shots to the members of Trent’s band. Trent politely accepted but put it to the side, “for later,” he shouted.
As the night progressed, Tonya made several new friends with ease and a couple admirers who insisted on buying her drinks. She was in her element; enjoying the attention and the slight disorientation brought on by the alcohol. Jermaine and Brianna made out, completely engrossed in one another, while Camilla and I danced next to them. But I was blind to anything but the rhythm I felt inside me with the music blaring so lively and true.
I sang along to songs I had heard growing up, never having fully appreciated the words or the emotions behind them. But I listened to them that night. I closed my eyes, with my hands in the air, and sang and danced until my throat and feet were raw.
A little before midnight, Trent and his band got off the stage and were replaced by another band who enthusiastically took over the atmosphere in the bar. Trent brought over some chairs so they could sit with us, and introduced us to the lead singer who was also his brother Dave, the guitarist Walt, and the drummer Josh. Brianna bought them all a round of beer and thanked them for their performance while Trent made his way to sit next to me.
With alcohol induced bravery, I leaned closer to him than what was my norm and was engulfed with the overpowering scent of sweat. I wasn’t engulfed in a bad way though; it was more of a simple yet seductive declaration of masculinity that made me want to jump on him and well…
“How long have you guys been playing?” I heard Brianna ask.
“Together? ‘Bout six years,” Dave responded. “Trent don’t normally play with us though.”
“No?” I asked, looking at Trent.
“Nah,” Dave shook his head. “He used to, but left us for some job in Miami,” he added, looking down at his hands resting on his lap and shook his head. Sarcasm, I thought, and I immediately liked him.
“Yeah? What do you do?” I asked him.
“I’m in law enforcement,” he responded.
“As in a cop?” He nodded while I narrowed my eyes at him and bit my lower lip. “I’m having a hard time picturing you with a gun and badge.”
Trent laughed a fully bellied laugh that sent his head rolling back and little pricks of excitement up and down my spine. “And what do you do, Erin?”
“I’m a student,” I said and took a drink of my beer. “I’ll be graduating in a couple months.”
“What are you getting a degree in?” he asked, brushing the hair that had fallen onto my face to the side.
“Oh, um,” I stuttered, a bit flustered, and deliberately pulled my body away from him. “Um, nursing.”
“Erin’s gonna be a kick ass nurse,” Camilla interjected, and I was grateful for the momentary interruption so I could regroup. “God only knows how many times she’s had to fix me up.”
“Cam’s a bit of an accident prone,” I told him. Camilla, who had always watched over me like a lion watching over her cubs, looked at me to see if I was okay. I nodded slightly, so she returned to her conversation with Dave and Walt while Tonya kept Josh entertained.
“So you’re the kind of person to have around in case of an emergency?” Trent asked.
“Sure, I guess,” I answered, feeling self-conscious about my reaction to such a simple touch.
“What kind of nurse?”
“Pediatric.”
“So you like kids?” he asked, and I laughed, again at ease in my own skin.
“Are we playing twenty questions?” I countered.
“Sure, I guess,” he mimicked me.
“So I can ask you a couple questions?” I asked and he gestured with his hand to go ahead. “Are you really a cop?”
“Yeah.” He nodded and I shook my head. “Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Because I’m pretty sure there’s some sort of law against offering women you don’t know your banana. Some might call that harassment,” I responded, and he graced me with one of his enthusiastic, no barrier laughs that I was starting to grow a fondness for.
After a few hours of talking and dancing, Camilla and I were ready to call it a night and made our way to the Jeep with Trent and Dave as our escorts. I told myself I was happy to have them with us because of all the drunks stammering around Duval Street. Although I knew all too well the anger alcohol could unleash, I wasn’t really too worried. After all, how much harm could a grown man who, for example, was too drunk to be able to slip on a pair of flip flops actually do? But I liked having Trent close by, so I told myself it was because of the drunk tourists, who in actuality hadn’t even noticed us as we walked by them.
“What are we doing here?” Trent asked as we turned into the parking lot we had left Camilla’s Jeep.
“I don’t know about you two,” I answered, “but Cam and I are sleeping.”
“Where?” he asked looking around obviously confused.
“My car,” Camilla responded as she skipped towards it.
“Wha – your car?” he shook his head, at a loss for words. “Okay, fine, but why?” he laughed.
Before I could get defensive, Camilla nonchalantly asked him, “How else are we going to sleep under the stars?” as if what we were doing was perfectly normal. Which, in my case, was perfectly normal. I had grown up sleeping in cars when my mom couldn’t make rent or had gotten kicked out of her current boyfriend’s apartment. Thankfully, us sleeping in Camilla’s car was our choice and bound to be far more enjoyable and comfortable than anything from my past.
“By yourselves?” Trent continued.
Camilla rolled her eyes at him and nodded yes while I watched their interaction, quietly interjecting my point of view in my head. I didn’t say them out loud because there wasn’t an actual reason for my being so upset with Trent and the probability that he was judging me. But I was angry. Mainly because us staying in the Jeep wasn’t really something either of us actually wanted, but because I couldn’t afford a hotel room. Plain and simple. And while the idea of sleeping with the top down, staring at the stars did sound like fun, that wasn’t the real reason. And I hated the real reason. It reminded me too much of the poverty I had lived through. And it reminded me that while I had escaped my past, I still carried it with me.
But I was also angry because I had already depicted a scenario in which I was being judged and looked down upon. Or worse, he could be feeling sorry for me. And, in my opinion, pity was not only degrading, but, more importantly, a complete waste of an emotion. Pity could cripple the soul. Pity was for spineless fools who bent over and let life fuck them. Pity was not for me. I was, in my own right, a fighter and not someone to feel sorry for.
"Okay," Trent said as he leaned down and kissed my cheek. "See you tomorrow?" he asked.
"Sure," I responded and watched him leave, a bit confused by his easy acceptance of our sleeping arrangements.
"You're thinking too much," Camilla told me once Trent was no longer in earshot.
"Yeah," I agreed, trying to calm my frenzied mind as I crawled into the passenger seat and reclined it so I could stare up at the stars.
Camilla got two bottles of Corona from our cooler and handed me one after she popped the top off. I drank slowly and asked, “Isn’t there some law about drinking in a vehicle?”
“Yeah, but I think the key has to be in the ignition. No worries, Erin. Your cop can’t get us in trouble.”
“My cop?” I laughed.
“Well, he’s definitely not mine,” she teased.
“Is this the girl talk part where I tell you how cute he is?”
“God no,” she wrinkled her nose. “Only part I wanna hear is if he has any good moves in bed.”
Camilla tucked the pillow I threw at her face under her head, laughing as she set her phone to play from her Imagine Dragons file. It was odd that I e
njoyed their music as much as I did since their lyrics were more uplifting than angry, but I was a fan. I found myself quickly lulled to sleep listening to It’s Time, dreaming about an island that never slept and a girl who had grown to be someone she could be proud of while still staying true to who she was at the core.
Chapter 6
Erin
While the sun had not disturbed me, I couldn’t sleep past the smell of coffee. I opened my eyes and eagerly took the offered cup from Trent and enjoyed my first sip. Wait, Trent? I eyed him suspiciously, trying to clear my head of its morning fog.
Trent grinned at me and very happily, too happily said, "Good morning."
"Mornin'," I responded, not liking him for his early morning cheer.
He watched me patiently as my brain slowly came to life and I became a fully functioning adult. "Cam's out running," I said as a way of making conversation.
"It speaks," he joked and disheveled my already matted up hair. I quickly rummaged the backseat for my comb and tried to tame my hair down. "I saw her earlier but she strongly advised me not to get near you without coffee."
"Yeah, thanks," I said as I lifted the cup to my lips.
"Now that you're awake, can I get you breakfast?"
I nodded in agreement, but quickly blushed when I remembered the state I was in. First I needed to brush my teeth and take a shower. I grabbed my book bag with all my belongings and started to tell him I'd meet him in fifteen minutes when he took the bag from me.
"Great," he said. "I'll get breakfast ready while you fix yourself up."
"Fix myself up?" I asked.
Trent held his hands up, a sign of retreat, and replied, "Personally, I think you look gorgeous, but in my experience, the female species isn't happy until they've done more than put a comb through their hair."
"Female species?" I asked, raising my eyebrows, and ignoring the fact he just called me gorgeous. I’d been called many things, but gorgeous? Never.
He laughed at me and reminded me how, in his defense, he had brought me coffee. I allowed him that little bit of leverage and followed him to a small store with stairs that led to an even smaller apartment. I took a quick shower, fixed myself up, and met Trent in the kitchen to see what he was cooking.
“Frosted flakes? I thought you were gonna make me breakfast,” I joked.
“Oh no,” Trent shook his head. “I never said anything about making anything.”
“Hmm…I think I remember…”
“You remember nothing,” he interrupted, still shaking his head. “I don’t make food. I buy precooked, already packaged food.”
“I’m disappointed, Trent. Just when I was starting to see the sex appeal of the harmonica.”
“And how is the sex appeal of the harmonica related to my preference of prepackaged food?” he countered.
I thought about it and replied, “It just is, okay?” And that was the argument I would stick to. Because I’m a part of the female species, as he so eloquently stated, and it is well known that we don’t have to have a relevant argument to maintain an argument.
Trent smiled at me and handed me my bowl of cereal, which I willingly took. After my first bite, I motioned the spoon towards the bowl and told him it was the best cereal I’d ever had.
“Smart ass,” he responded.
“No, seriously. The milk to cereal ratio is perfect.”
“Uh-huh.”
I shook my head at him and insisted, “Some people drown their cereal and you’re left with a milky syrupy residue that you then have to drink straight from the bowl. Or they don’t put enough milk and your cereal is left in a wading pool, too crunchy to be enjoyed. So then,” I continued, undeterred by the odd looks I was receiving, “you either have to add more milk and hope you don’t drown them, or suffer through mediocre cereal. But you, my friend,” I said pointing my spoon at him, “have mastered what I call cereal bliss.”
“We all have our specialties. Me? I’m a professional in calculating the correct cereal to milk ratio,” Trent laughed.
“I’d call you a scientist, but it’s more of an art,” I said seriously.
“He’s wasting his talent chasing around bad guys,” Dave interrupted as he emerged from his room wearing nothing but his tighty-whities.
“Oh, um, well, shit, this is an interesting morning,” I laughed.
Dave stood directly in front of me, with his hands on his hips and asked, “Does my masculinity intimidate you?”
“No, Dave. I just prefer boxer briefs,” I responded, causing Trent to cough out his cereal as he laughed at the dubious look Dave gave me.
***
Once on the beach, I dug my toes in the sand and stared out into the ocean while Jermaine handed out Margaritas. Not entirely my favorite drink, but who was I to turn down something free?
A small cold front must have pushed through the previous night as the air was cooler than the day before. But the sun beat down with such ferocity that the combination of the two made our beach day enjoyable.
From a distance, I saw a sailboat wading in the water and found myself wondering what it would be like to sail. Just hop on a boat and take off to an undetermined destination. Go from island to island, until I found that perfect spot where I could cast all my worries to the sea. The ramblings in my head would sink to the deepest part of the ocean and I could live with the desire to look back gone.
Camilla turned on the radio just in time to hear 50 Cent and The Game let us know How We Do. Camilla and I sang along loudly, or more accurately, obnoxiously, and danced under the heat of the sun.
“I don’t know if we can be friends,” Trent told me, and I squished my eyebrows at him in response, wondering what had brought his statement about. “You listen to too much rap.”
“Oh well,” I shrugged, narrowing my eyes at him, ready to tease him back. “It was fun knowing you for less than twenty-four hours.”
“That’s all I get? Not even a little bit of tears?”
I shrugged my shoulders again and felt him tug my hair gently. I didn’t know how to respond and didn’t want to overthink our exchange, so I quietly drank my Margarita. I overheard Tonya and Trent talk about the merits Rock had over Rap, but focused my attention on my future. In less than a week, my last semester would start and I was in for one hell of a semester with a full load of classes, a part time job, and a nursing internship with a local pediatrician. I couldn’t wait. Finally, after years of hard work and dedication, I could start planning a real future.
Once I graduated and had a full-time job, the first thing I would do was work on my savings account. To date, I had only been able to put in $20 a month and had a little less than a grand in there. Obviously that didn’t give me much breathing room, but I would expand on it. Watch it grow, never withdrawing. I would eventually have enough that I would feel comfortable in case shit happened. Because, if life had taught me anything, it’s that shit always happens.
As I sat in silence, Jermaine and Camilla discussed their upcoming spear fishing trip scheduled for later that evening. This would be Camilla’s sixth trip and she had proclaimed herself a certified addict to the sport. I had laughed at her choice of words, when, in actuality, what I wanted to do was scream. Addict. Spoken like someone who had no understanding of the true meaning of the term or its implications.
But I couldn’t be angry at her. It was her good fortune that she was raised by a family, while I couldn’t bear the idea of dreaming about having a family. I knew about as much about the meaning of family as Camilla knew about addiction.
My thoughts were interrupted when I noticed Camilla staring at me expectantly. “Sorry, zoned out for a bit,” I explained.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us tonight? You can snorkel.”
“Don’t sharks come out at night?” I asked.
“Yes!” Camilla exclaimed excitedly. It had been a dream of hers to swim in the open waters with sharks. A bucket list of sorts. If you asked me, that type of bucket list
would only have you meeting your Creator sooner rather than later.
“I’ll pass.”
“Titty baby,” she shot at me, daring me to challenge her. I didn’t. Instead, I remembered her puzzled look the first time I used the term “titty baby” in front of her. Now she used it whenever she wanted me to do something that was clearly outside my comfort zone.
“Blood and sharks? No thanks. I like living,” I told her.
“What if we all went snorkeling before we start spearing?” Trent offered. Jermaine had invited him earlier and he had accepted eagerly. Too eagerly, if you asked me. Seriously, what was it with these people and their eagerness to violently thrust a spear through an unsuspecting fish? And the blood floating around, just begging for sharks to come? Here take a chunk off my leg. It’s not like I need it or anything.
“We can do that,” Jermaine said. “How ‘bout it, country girl?”
I thought about it for a second and figured what the hell. If I got bitten by a shark, at least it’d be an interesting story to tell. If there was anyone left to tell the story.
After a few hours, we all climbed aboard Jermaine’s boat, me with one of my favorite books in tow so I could read once everyone started spear fishing. I watched as Brianna expertly untied us from the dock, hopped into the boat and into Jermaine’s waiting arms. Their show of affection was appropriately accompanied by a wave of awe’s from Camilla and Tonya.
Trent sat next to me and offered me a sip from his bottle of water. “Country girl, huh?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I replied, shying away from the nickname. Personally, I preferred redneck or gringa.
“So, where are you from?”
“Alabama.”
“Where in Alabama?”
“The country side.”
Trent shook his head. “Talking to you is worse than pulling teeth.”
“Have you pulled many teeth as a police officer?”
“I got called in to break up a fight between two neighbors and wound up helping one of the guys look for the teeth he got knocked out of him.”