Upon the white porshe the old manager sat in a stool sipping a coke and Bacardi rum. His young wife, but not much younger than he, swayed to the tropical music as she walked near. He set his drink on the lime table and didn't approve, so she stopped and began to walk. They were on the second day of their week long vacation in Jamaica. So far they had gone to dinner and walked along the shore without much promise of anything else.
"Let's dance, pleeeasse." she pleaded as the wild Caribbean wind picked up his hat from his neat head. "I'm not in the mood please don't ask again, let's just have a good time." His idea of good time was a pleasant evening without interruptions and miscalculations. The late afternoon dragged on as they walked and shopped. Their favorite hobby was buying substitutes for real thrills. Once upon a time they were both afraid of changes but something was stirring inside the young girl.
The next day the sunlight broke through the window and a ray woke them both in the same unexpected way.
It was always so quite and comfortable, why complain when you can drink it in? She thought but it was becoming so boring and predictable.
"Let's go play with the couple from Nevada maybe ride horses around the beach and see new things all together," yet he found something to complain about and made it seem so innocently sensible she never did go out and play. And stayed forever locked in key under a chain and ball she couldn't see. And all I wish for her was that she saw the over yonder in the horizon that laid majestically high above.
A funny complacency came from frowning, judging and itemizing superiority to others to the old young man. His manners were impeccable thus no one intruded into the rudeness with defiance but just took the word as a given truth or in jest but where it was very much intentional.
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