I wasted the good weather on the jungle and the hot, unfruitful dance floors. Sun showered down on the first sixteen days and then it was a race to see who would hit the water first, me or Hurricane Carla. Board balanced on my head, I ran across the sand but she beat me to it.
Rough waves wrecked the shoreline for days. Bored, land-locked, I searched for something to do. An overstuffed chair rested comfortably in one corner of my hotel room. Grabbing it by the arm, I dragged it across the tile, out of my room and onto the balcony. I needed to keep an eye on that water out there; check to make sure this surf was unsurfable. Face it, I had nothing to do but stare at the ocean. Well, that and let an octopus brush and braid my bush (wait for it).
Trusty Mai Tai by my side, I watched and waited and the sea spat rocks at the land. She coughed up all manner of sea creature. She tried to splash the seaweed upon my eyelash. This was the end of the trip. This was my reward for all the hard work I was going to do later based on the notes I took on the backs of coasters.
I tilted back in the chair, balanced my feet on top of the rail, where they could feel the spray and sipped Mai Tai after Mai Tai. Not too long and I could feel the rise and fall of the sea swell against my memory.
The waves racked the shore, rolling the boulders against each other, up and back.
The sign seemed unnecessary, but then, mermaids never listen.
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