Their mini-vacation was off to a fantastic start. A pleasant flight, an early arrival, a speedy check-in and a quick romp on the resort’s private island, followed by a fabulous first evening’s meal at a restaurant adored by the locals, set the stage for their long weekend in paradise.
At the end of the evening, as they lay relaxing - for the first time since only God knows when - Mr. and Mrs. X mused. During the early hours of that same day, the morning of their fifth wedding anniversary, they left the children far behind in the capable hands of their beloved grandparents. To their own disbelief, they shared a hardy laugh at their lack of regrets for having done so. Quizzically, they recalled the sight of their tiny darlings who barely squeaked sleepy goodbyes to Mama and Daddy as they were chauffeured away in the sleek Mercedes R350. The girls had shown no fear at their parents’ departure and shed not a tear, for as their toddler and preschooler wisdom had already calculated: this was to be a weekend unparalleled: an exquisite four day-four night spoiling session not to be tainted by mere nostalgia for one’s parents. Yes, those girls were glad that they were gone! At the thought, their parents whispered a prayer for Grammy and Papa.
The happily childless-for-a-weekend couple woke at 5:30 AM, not because they had to, but because they chose to. The bed was marvelously comfortable, a rival to their own memory foam mattress, but, after all, one is entitled whilst vacationing, and if one chooses to rise at the break of dawn, one can. In all honesty, Mr. X had begun to set things in motion with his bellyaching, literal and colloquial. He hadn’t quite properly digested the previous evening’s crab cake and lobster tail, for the man’s stomach just didn’t know how to enjoy the freshest and most delicious seafood to be found on the face of God’s green earth – or in His bluest sea, rather! Woe is he! And woe was she: for the man decided that morning to implement the “share everything” precept of marriage. His wife just couldn’t miss out on his bellyache!
After a short time, Mrs. X decided that it was pointless to continue attempts at sweet sleep even at such an early hour. Together they agreed to venture out and explore the less inhabited ares of the Island, but not before a few cups of the strongest coffee they could find. They grabbed their maps, hopped into their tin-can rental car and circled the marina neighborhood in search of some sign of life.
Clearly, while the sun was already up, most of Aruba would not wake for some time, and rightly so, they concurred. Undoubtedly, Mr. and Mrs. X would never see this ungodly hour if they were residents of this One Happy Island (the motto on their license plates)! A few workers groggily moved along the streets finding their way to work, or to what the Aruban’s classified as work anyhow.
Mr. X reluctantly drove the tiny car, which couldn’t hold a candle to the huge heavy-duty- four-wheel-drive pickup he was accustomed to sporting. As he sped through the tiny streets, complaining about the car and concocting an understanding of the road signs as he went along, Mr. X managed to identify a young man he deemed awake enough to suggest a local coffee shop. The Mr. slowed the car to a halt and nearly startled the poor pedestrian with a forceful yell: “Coffee?!” The Mrs. wondered whether she should remind her husband that they were enjoying a trip in Aruba, not a trip back in time to the Stone Age. She decided against it.
The local looked somewhat confused, as if he were the last person on earth who would know anything about where to get coffee. However, like all the Arubans, the most hospitable and helpful people one could ever meet, he tried to think of someplace to send them. He pointed straight down the road that they were already on and mumbled something about a shop not too far ahead on the right. They thanked him as he wished them a fine day and they forged along anxiously in search of the nearest caffeine haven.
Within a minute, their guide was shouting after them, chasing the car, and flagging them down to stop. The Mr. and Mrs. did. He must have something important to tell them, they thought simultaneously. Had he given them the wrong directions? Had he suddenly remembered where they could find a Starbuck’s? Perhaps, even, he was willing to hop in and show them the way?
When the young man finally caught up with them, rather winded, he braced himself with one hand on the roof of the car, the other on his waist, turned to the Mr. and asked emphatically:
“Hey, mon, you need some weed?”
Evidently, there are better ways to start your day than with a morning coffee.
