Misadventures

On the water, with the pewter sea stretching all around me, half in, feet warm in the kayak, I'm something close to happy. There are islands to stop at, with the mangroves stretching toward you like thought, and perfect shells to find. The sea takes all things and changes them, folds them in upon itself, absorbs grows, rolls on. If you sit still long enough, it takes you, too. This year, the trip was cold. 40 degrees. We huddled in our ski sweaters and long underwear and wool hats on the beaches, made camp, ate sardines on crackers. Nothing better than a cold white beach, feet you can't feel and sardines. And rum. We had a bottle of rum. You know, it keeps you going. Everything went wrong on this trip--last year, it was the Blue Lagoon. This year: Quest for Fire.
Got stuck in Atlanta for a day (don't take AirTran), so a day late getting on the water. Then, with the cold, we must have paddled faster, so we made Everglades City an entire day sooner than we expected. We paddle up the river into town, looking at the tin roofed houses lining the water. We paddle by an old white clapboard hotel with yellow shutters. There are a few sort of hale looking people in their 60's sitting on the wide screened-in porch, sipping coffee.
"That's an interesting place," Jay comments.
"The Rod and Gun Club," I say, reading the wooden sign out front as we pass. They watch us as we go by. There's no place to get out so we paddle back and take out our kayak out at the park service ramp. I start crying. I am so happy out there, I never want to go back to the world. I can't describe it. The clear water on the sand, absorbing myself in the little things. It's like being a child again. I don't care if it's cold and wet. I feel like I'm breaking up with a lover. I can't explain this to Jay. I can't say: no we weren't out there long enough and now our complicated lives are all going to wash back over us and I'm going to start planning everything in 15 minute increments and writing down every penny I spend and not using purple pens on Tuesdays. And there's going to be the other Halie and you not being in love once we get back to Paloma. I wanted to stay out another night. Filthy, dehydrated. I just cry and cry. I can't stop.
"Let's take a walk." Jay says.
We walk into the park, sit on a picnic table. I can't stop crying. He holds my hand. I'll say one thing for Jay: he's really good when I'm crazy.
"Do you want to go out another night? I'll go out another night if you want to, but don't you think we're pretty beat? I'm really exhausted."
"I'm not tired at all." I say.
"Okay. Let's go back out there."
But I know I'm tired. He buys me a bag of cheese doodles. We pack up the kayak, leave it by the side of the fence at the park service headquarters. I feel as if I'm not even a person, I wander around the tourists like some sort of swamp animal.
There are some kayakers from Tennessee who take pity on us and give us a ride into town. I had started talking with the woman and told her I was a nurse. It's funny how you can just look like any old hell but once someone finds out you're a nurse, they trust you. We ask them if they know any good places to stay in Everglades City.
"We're staying at the Rod and Gun Club." The woman offers. She's a dietician from Knoxville. In her fifties, in really good shape. What is it about dieticians? Well, I guess they know how to eat right. "But they only take cash."
"That's not a private club?" I ask.
"We saw it on our way in." Jay says.
"We'll drop you off there. See if you like it."
We arrive at the hotel. And step into another world. The Knoxville people disappear. There's no one around. The interior of the hotel is made from native cypress, dark, polished, and immaculately clean. The light filters in through the louvred shutters on the windows--just like the ones Lauren Bacall closes against the hurricane in Key Largo. There are ancient dead animals on the wall, very poorly preserved. A christmas tree. An empty dining room. No one's around.
"Hello?" we ask.
That's my 1/2 hour. To be continued....