Coconuts

TODAY

Colin X woke up alone on the beach. The tide was rising, and the ocean lapped at his shoes and socks. He checked his watch. Not that he was especially interested in the time – it was 11:30 – but he wanted to compare the skin underneath with the sunburn on his wrist. He had no idea why he had a suit on, but he was grateful for the protection; somehow he had even thought to cover his face with his blazer. Only his hands, salmon pink and starting to blister, concerned him.

A pair of sunglasses peeked out tentatively from his jacket pocket. The frames were bent and one lens was cracked, but they would do. He ran his fingers through his hair, returning sand to the ground. Taking inventory of his body as he stood, Colin found everything in more or less working order. His head was ringing – and his hands stung, obviously – but he could walk just fine.

He checked his pants pockets and found them nearly empty. No keys, no money, no identification, no lint; just a nameless phone number written on a cocktail napkin. He considered calling it then and there, but alas – no cellphone.

The sun, angry and green through his tinted lenses, taunted him from the apex of the sky. For a moment he was sure it hissed at him, the sound of a vast fiery cobra poised to strike. He needed shelter, but saw only sloping dunes covered in thin reeds. “Well, then,” Colin said to nobody. He loosened his tie, turned his body parallel to the sea, and began walking.

An hour passed before the scenery changed: the reeds grew dense, the dunes moved farther from the shore, the odd hermit crab scuttled by. Around the bend he saw a small cluster of cottages, raised upon stilts to withstand the temperament of the sea. The surf did look rougher here, crashing aggressively against the remains of a pier. A gravel road led away from the hamlet, cutting through the dunes, but no cars were parked alongside it. The curtains were drawn in every window, and the balconies facing the sea were empty; yet the cottages were in good condition, suggesting a place vacated for the season rather than abandoned. But why close a seaside village in summer?

Circling the buildings, Colin found an elderly couple sitting on the front porch of one of the smaller cottages facing the road. The air was stifling away from the sea, but the couple rocked contentedly in their chairs, reading worn paperbacks and sipping iced tea.

“Uh, hello.” Colin spoke from the foot of the porch stairs.

“What can I do for you, son?” The lady responded; the man glanced down briefly, adjusted his glasses, and resumed reading. “You look a little lost.”

“Yes ma’am. Frankly, I have no idea where I am.”

“Seems that’s the only way anyone ends up here these days. Believe it or not, this was once a popular vacation spot.”

“What happened?”

“It’s funny you should ask. I was just telling Burt – this here’s my husband Burt, and I’m Mabel – ‘Burt’, I said, ‘you know the trouble with this town?’”

Burt shut his book. “Mabel, can’t you see the poor man’s exhausted?” Turning to Colin, he added, “Where did you come from?”

“I don’t know the name of the place. It’s about an hour’s walk that way.” Colin gestured down the beach with his right hand.

“South? There’s nothing south of here, not for a long ways.”

“That’s true. I woke up by the ocean. I can’t remember how I got there.”

Mabel clucked her tongue. “Well, come on up and take a rest. Burt, get this man a glass of water, and aloe for his hands. They must be frightfully sore.”

Colin climbed the stairs as Burt disappeared into the cottage. “Much obliged, ma’am.”

“Call me Mabel. And you are?”

“Colin. And I would like to hear more about this place.”

“Well, we started summering here during our courtship, not long after Burt came back from Korea. Must’ve been the mid-fifties. Used to be you had to plan ahead to get one of these seaside cottages any time between Memorial Day and Labor Day. You’d see kids, teenagers, young couples, old folks. Vendors sold trinkets and food. Someone would always bring fireworks on the Fourth, and we’d have a big communal picnic.

Burt and I did our share of traveling over the years – Europe, Mexico, Brazil – but we always liked it best right here. When we retired fifteen years ago, we decided to live here year-round – or nearly, I should say. The wind gets a bit nasty come December, so we spend the winter in Tucson with the grandkids.”

“When did the place empty out?”

“Things have been slowing down for years now. Some say times are tough, that maybe nobody can afford to vacation, but times are always tough. I tell Burt it’s a lack of civic pride – people get caught up in their tv and their internet and they stop caring about what’s around them.”

“But the buildings seem well-kept.”

“Oh, people come occasionally, and Burt and I make the maintenance rounds now and then. Nobody locks their doors here – never have – so if we see something that needs fixing –”

“We fix it.” Burt had returned with a glass of water and a container of aloe. Colin started gulping the water eagerly, only to cough and sputter. “Better take it easy there. The sun’s done a number on you today.”

He finished the rest slowly. Mabel helped him with the aloe, as his hands were too raw to pry the lid open.

“You need a place to rest a while, Colin? We have a spare bedroom.”

“I’d appreciate that, Mabel. Any chance I could use your phone?”

“You betcha. There’s one next to your bed.”

Burt showed Colin to his room, and left to refill the water glass. Colin dialed the number in his pocket – the call went straight to voicemail without ringing.

“Hey, you’ve reached Colin. Leave a message.”

Burt came back with the water as he hung up. Colin took only a few sips before setting the glass down next to the phone.

“Any idea what happened to you today?” Colin shook his head, and Burt gave a strange smile. “Is it a lady? Seems to be the root of every problem, if you ask me. Don’t tell Mabel I said that.”

“A lady?” Colin repeated. “You know, I can’t say for sure.”

“Well, you rest now. We’re on the porch if you need anything.”

Burt closed the curtains and left the room. Colin laid on top of the comforter, listening to the waves beat uneven rhythms against the shore. Eventually he faded into a troubled sleep, and dreamed of a mouth full of sand.

-----

YESTERDAY

The hotel bar was on the fourth floor. Colin sat beneath an umbrella on a balcony that afforded an impressive view of the sea. Less impressive was the view around him: sun-dazed tourists tippling piña coladas, wearing Bermuda shorts and flip-flops. Colin, by contrast, sat stiffly in a three-piece suit, pale as the devil, drinking a white Russian. Seagulls chattered listlessly, floating down from the sky like the balloons and paper streamers of some misplaced New Year's celebration. People drifted by, the sun sank slowly, the wind carried the scent of the sea; Colin alone sat motionless.

“Need another?”

He looked up, expecting a waitress, but instead saw a striking blonde in a cocktail dress. He felt instantly gladdened – she looked like the only other person in the bar who received the right invitation to the wrong party. She was tall, maybe taller than Colin in her heels, broad-shouldered but appealingly curvy. Her lips were full, her lashes were long, and she knew how to put on makeup. A knockout.

“White Russian. Thanks.”

He watched her hips wiggle as she walked away, then returned his attention to the seagulls. Some were squabbling now, fighting for possession of a few discarded scraps of hot dog bun. Blood appeared to be dripping from one gull’s beak, but it was probably ketchup.

The woman brought two matching tumblers. She slid into the chair across from him, stretching one leg over the other languidly, seductively. Twilight was approaching, but Colin sweated nervously; he imagined he could see physical waves of heat in the air, pulsing towards him like slow blasts from a raygun, making his brain liquid.

“Cheers.” They clinked glasses, drank. Her eyes were intense so he studied her wrist. Something was tattooed there in an Elizabethan script, but it was hard to read thanks to the bangles sliding by. Eventually he settled on “Some Weird Sin.”

“Iggy Pop?” he asked, gesturing at the tattoo.

“Things get too straight, I can't bear it / I feel stuck, stuck on a pin.” Her singing was throatier than expected, but not at all bad. “You a fan?”

“Mm-hmm. The Idiot especially. His ‘China Girl’ is perfect.”

“You’ve won my heart already.” Her smile could strike a man dead. “I’m Janice.”

“Colin.”

“So, Colin….” She swirled ice around her drink, took her time in continuing her thought. “What brings you here?”

“I – I hardly know, just at present. If I came here to forget something, it seems I’ve overdone it. My watch is accurate, and I use two alarms to wake up each morning, but since I’ve been here I’ve become detached from time, or immune to it. No, that’s not quite right – I’m perpetually aware of the time, to the minute. It’s the days and weeks, the months and years, that baffle me.” He trailed off, sipped his drink. “I’m sorry, it’s a tedious response to a simple question.”

“It’s alright.”

“I do what I want: eat, drink, swim, read, go back to sleep. It’s liberating and it’s terrifying. I can’t tell if I’m experiencing a pleasant escape or the slow unmooring of my personality.”

“What are you reading?”

“Huh?”

“I said, what are you reading? If these generalities are so frightening, let’s talk specifics. A few minutes ago we were talking Iggy Pop – even you, with your shaky grasp of time, ought to remember that.”

“You’re right. I apologize–”

“No need. Just name some books.”

“All I have in my room is One Hundred Years of Solitude, but I’ve been borrowing from the shelves in the hotel lounge. I assume it’s things other travelers leave behind. Harry Potter, Catch-22, Roots, Jane Eyre. John Grisham, Margaret Atwood. There’s a travel guide to the Scottish Isles for some reason. Biographies of Abe Lincoln, Walt Disney, the woman who invented Kevlar. Probably three different Erma Bombecks. A children’s book about hippos. The Bible.”

“You’ve read them all?”

“Not the whole Bible.”

“Huh.” Janice waved to a barmaid, ordered two more White Russians. Colin took an enormous gulp of his – staying caught up might prove difficult. Then again, he had done most of the talking.

“So what about you – what brings you here?”

“Me? I’m a performer. Singing, dancing. Cabaret-style. Mostly hotel bars around here, though I do private parties now and then.”

“Is Janice a stage name?”

She smiled wickedly. “I’ll answer that once we know each other better, Colin.”

“So will you be performing tonight?”

“Heavens, no. With the amount of preparation I go through – makeup, hair, costume, vocal warmups – you wouldn’t find me drinking at this hour if I were. Plus, I prefer to play classier joints.”

As she said this, a balding man brushed by their table wearing a t-shirt barely long enough to conceal his Speedo bathing suit, plus socks and sneakers. “I see what you mean.”

They talked until their drinks arrived, then they drank.

All at once the entire balcony fell into an awed silence as a full moon, bold and ominous, emerged over the sea. It seemed fearfully close – its cratered surface in sharp focus, its sway over the tides a palpable force. Minutes passed before anyone dared to look away. When they finally did, Colin whispered “to the moon” and touched his glass to Janice’s, even though both drinks were half-empty.

Colin felt good. Maybe not drunk, but getting there. And happy; it was nice to be reminded of what it felt like to feel anything. “I’m glad you found me tonight, Janice.” She smiled, blushed. “And I have to go to the bathroom.”

He stumbled across the bar, shoved through the swinging door into the men’s room, and walked into a stall. As he unzipped he felt something bump his shoulder; he turned and saw Janice standing there.

“But this is the men’s room,” he said lamely.

“Shhh. Open your mind.” With deft movements she withdrew a compact from her purse, and a small vial. She closed the toilet seat lid and hunched herself over it. Colin remembered that he still needed to pee, but it could wait.

She rolled a dollar bill into a straw and offered it to him. “Halcion and cocaine, crushed together,” she explained. “Shuts down the mind and keeps the body going. If you’re going to be with me tonight, you’ll need it.”

“Well, then,” Colin said to Janice. She handed him the dollar and he leaned over the mirror.

-----

TOMORROW

“COLIN SLOW THE FUCK DOWN.”

He was behind the wheel of a silver luxury sedan. At present the car was traveling sixty miles per hour – which, Colin had to admit, was a bit excessive given his current location in the spiral entrance ramp of a parking garage. Janice sat next to him, screaming. He tapped the brakes.

The car handled itself beautifully in crisis. The tires screeched but remained responsive as Colin guided it with his left hand to a safe stop, just inches from the wall. His right hand shot out reactively to push Janice back into her seat. Her breasts felt unnaturally firm as they collided with his arm, almost like coconut halves. He explored them curiously – probably for longer than the situation called for – but she didn’t seem aware of it.

“Why. The. Fuck.” Janice was hyperventilating. Colin moved his hand to her back in an attempt to calm her, but she smacked it away, which hurt like hell. A container of aloe rested between the seats – Colin applied a thick layer to his sunburn.

“I’m – I’m sorry, Janice. Lately I don’t have much control over my actions.”

“So you’ve said.” She managed three words in one breath – a sign of improvement.

Colin started driving again, this time absurdly slow, as if to atone for his earlier transgressions. He guided the sedan neatly into a parking space across from an opening in the wall that provided a view of whatever it was the garage belonged to.

He rubbed Janice’s arm. “You okay?”

She nodded. He left the car and walked over to the opening in the wall. They were at the airport – an incongruously small airport, given the relatively massive scale of the parking garage. Colin could only see one terminal, and at the moment no planes were departing or arriving.

It occurred to him he might be late for a flight, thus justifying his driving somewhat. He hurriedly checked his pants pockets, relieved to find them full: keys, wallet, cellphone, lint. In the left pocket of his jacket was a folded note with his name on it; in the right pocket were two plane tickets. Three hours until takeoff – so much for justification.

He read the note:

Dear Colin,

It was lovely having you as our guest. If you're ever in the area again, don’t hesitate to look us up. And please, please take good care of yourself – no more wasted nights on the beach.

Your friends,

Mabel and Burt

Janice approached while he was reading; she placed her hand on the small of his back. “What’s that?”

“A reminder.” Colin smiled, took Janice’s hand, and led her back to the car to collect their bags.