Cruel Summer
Taylor Swift’s song, Cruel Summer, was blasting from the speakers of the beach bar. The bar, which claimed to be ‘The Home of Captain Morgan’, could be found on a pier that floated above the turquoise waters of Palm Beach in Aruba.
Bright green high top tables with matching heavy wooden chairs reminded you that you were in a bar in the Caribbean. The wide wooden boards beneath her feet stretched far out into the ocean and made you feel a world away from the resorts that spanned the length of the coastline.
She turned and looked back. She could see the sprawling and grandiose stark white highrises that created the village of the Riu Hotel. A new construction, much to the chagrin of locals, was being built to the right. To its left, her eyes scanned the cohort of hotels that had been built on land once belonging to those who had lived there long before the construction commenced. Hilton, Hyatt, Holiday Inn, Marriott, Ritz Carlton.
The palm trees swayed in the wind and the grass thatched palapa’s shielded the island's visitors from the sun's rays. Blue and white striped beach towels adorned the long line of lounge chairs spanning the white sand, embracing bodies covered in sunscreen, and some that were not and would for it sorry later.
The welcoming waters looked like tourist soup as they bobbed, floated, and jumped in the gentle waves. Some relaxed on soft beach mats that clung to the water as if glued, others sat on round tubes that spun with the tide. Many floated on their backs, arms outstretched, appearing to have not a care in the world.
Aruba was an all-year-round destination thanks to its average of 84 degrees and a cool breeze. Although school breaks and the usual holiday times saw a peak in visitors and therefore average nightly hotel rates. She watched as people young and old kept the balance between the ocean and the land steady. As one body left the waters to return to their position under the sun on the sand, another took their place.
There were visitors from all walks of life dipping their toes in the enticing water. A group of friends on a short break looking for a beach party vibe, a cooler full of drinks. A family with three children who all looked old enough to have an opinion, with parents hoping to appease everyone’s vacation goals in one location. The retirees who had been sold a timeshare apartment and were making the most of their allocated slot. Solo travelers looking for solitude, a time to rest, read, and relax without the burden of their real lives upon their shoulders. And of course, couples. While there truly was a mix of all types who had chosen this destination to snap photos that made their Instagram lives look envious, she noticed the couples the most. They were here on a romantic getaway, to revel in their love for each other. She had already seen two proposals since she had arrived, and she herself was meant to be here with the man she thought she would marry one day. Aruba truly was a magical place. And while there were other islands they had considered, she had heard the nearby island of Curacao was much like Aruba, but with less intervention from man, they had chosen Aruba as it was an easy and direct four and a half hour flight from New York. Time was a commodity they didn’t have much of.
She turned away from the happiness so vibrantly on display and back to the ocean. There were small boats and catamarans waiting to take passengers to swim and snorkel. Jet Skis at the ready for those willing to pay $85 for an exhilarating 30 minutes, and private charter boats inviting guests to live like the other half for a few hours of their day.
“I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you”. She wasn’t entirely sure what the lyrics meant in the song, but she felt every word course through her body, like an arrow hitting her heart on every beat. This trip had been planned to celebrate their one year anniversary. She would catch herself wondering if he might actually ask her to marry him, and would chastise herself for being too whimsical. When she looked back now, she knew there would be no such proposal. She had not chosen a man that truly saw her for who she was, she had once again chosen a partner who saw her for what she could give him. Hope, respite, a healing touch that might wash away his troubled past so he could be a better man. It wasn’t all bad, of course they had good times, great times even. But the patterns of behavior she had grown to know too well were branded all over the red flags that hung above the path that led her to him.
She felt the tears well in her eyes. And she brushed away one that had escaped and threatened to expose her. She picked up her cocktail, aptly named the Pain Killer, and took a sip. And another. It was strong, a blend of dark rum, white rum, orange juice, coconut milk, orgeat and shaved nutmeg. And it was delicious.
They had spent 10 months together, and as summer was approaching, they had started to make plans. Summer in New York City consisted of staying cool and getting out of it as often as possible. They spoke about trips to Fire Island, the possibility of a Jersey Shore weekend, and traveling upstate to an Airbnb with a pool. When staying in the city, they wanted to drink cocktails on rooftop bars that stole the breeze and find ice bucket cold restaurants that didn’t have long wait lines thanks to many folks having left the city for the entire summer. And then the ultimate couple goal, they booked a flight to Aruba together. Within weeks it was over and the same weekend they said their goodbyes, summer had begun with a vengeance. She sat in her apartment not knowing if it was sweat or tears that covered her face. Her dream summer had come crashing down upon her like the humidity of the city that would be next.
She was a caregiver. It was the role she had played for as long as she could remember, and combined with her misguided belief she could fix something that was broken, it was the perfect storm of bad choices in men. She wallowed for a moment as she reflected upon her love life. She wondered if she was just a glutton for punishment. She pondered on that phrase for a moment. The word glutton meant an excessively greedy eater. Was she greedy for punishment? She knew she didn’t enjoy it, but was self aware enough to understand she found some comfort in it. Ultimately, she had to face the fact that she chose relationships with short shelf lives so that she could feel the familiar pain of abandonment.
Maybe it was time to stop that cycle, she thought. She had long been comfortable with her own company. In fact, this was not the first vacation she had taken alone, rather it was quite out of the ordinary that she should book a trip with a boyfriend. Many seasons had passed since she had committed so much time to a relationship. This one had gone on for much longer than she expected. He was a kind man, with a strong prospect of becoming an even better version of himself.
But what about her prospects of becoming the best version of herself? It was a common story amongst the women she knew. Too many gave up on themselves to love another. They put the needs of their partners ahead of their own, and while admirable when called for, more frequently than not, she would find it hard to find the path back to herself.
One could also ask why there was an abundance of troubled men eager to be molded. She imagined rows and rows of the heads of men popping out from the ground like pumpkins ripe for the picking. Wanting women selecting one they believed they could carve into a prize winning face.
As she leaned into her ridiculous daydream, the Colombian waitress stopped by her table to ask if she’d like another. She smiled and said yes. She watched her walk away and heard her speak to a colleague in Spanish. Given its close proximity, there were many Colombians who had immigrated to the island, along with others from Latin American countries that were within arms reach. She had always wanted to learn Spanish, and had even taken private lessons for a short trip through South America many years ago. She picked up her phone, opened the app store and found Duo Lingo. No time like the present, she thought.
The friendly waitress returned and replaced her empty glass with a full one. “Gracias”, she said. And the waitress smiled, replying, ‘De nada”.
She took a deep breath that filled her lungs. The cool breeze wrapped itself around her as it passed through the bar and continued down the beach. She watched as a bird danced across the ceiling, chasing an insect that evaded its beak and made a break for it through a crack in the beam the bird was too big to fit through.
All you need is a space wide enough to fit through, she thought. There is always another chapter waiting. She watched her waitress laugh with her friends as she stood with her arm resting on the counter holding the cocktail garnishes. She wondered what Colombia was like, and whether this woman would one day return with stories from abroad. She sat and considered how cruel summer had been to her, but how new opportunities also lay ahead. She was glad she had taken this trip alone. It reminded her of the strength she had within her. Colombia she thought, and picked up her phone to see how much a flight from New York City would cost.
The End.
