Reinventing Mike Lake (7 page)

              The climax of the sun setting lasts about 20 minutes, with varying degrees of sun beams bouncing off the water in every angle possible.  The last few minutes are the most exciting, watching the sun close up shop for the night by going behind the curtain that is the horizon known as the Gulf. This evening, unfortunately for some, due to the placement of the sun, they didn’t get a clear view.  I personally didn’t mind this, but this was the first time I had ever heard anyone let out disapproving sighs, just short of boos, when it came to a setting sun.

              Seconds after the sun had gone to bed, Becky reinforced the idea that she wasn’t interested in me. “Thanks for stopping by.  Is there anything else I can do for you?”

              As I was stammering through another answer, Bahama made a beeline towards the end of the pier, dodging the legs of tourists and locals in the process.  Before I could say a thing or even gasp, she leapt into the water.  I knew Bahama could swim, but I didn’t hesitate, running towards the point of the pier where she had jumped in.  I briefly remember that during my dart towards Bahama that Becky was watching me run, another one of my awkward moments.

              Becky ran behind, and was able to make sense of what was happening before I could.  While I was running, if you can call it that, I heard Becky say that the Gulf was only a few feet all around, meaning I could jump in if I had to with no real fear.  That information helped calm me down as I reached the end of the pier.  As I looked down I saw two creatures, not including Bahama, near a bubbling manmade spring.  I have no idea how Bahama knew they were there, or if she did before she decided to jump in.  My heart stopped beating as fast when I noticed Bahama was neither trying to attack the creatures, or being attacked by them, instead just swimming with them. 

              “Those are manatees; we’ve sort of adopted them as mascots.  They come up to the pier around this time about once a week.  I guess your dog just wanted to introduce herself.”  I later learned that these fountains are a bit of a controversial subject in the Keys.  Many people, particularly longtime residents of the Keys, don’t think that natural things should be at all manipulated by manmade objects, such as this fountain.  Fresh water fountains attract manatees.

              Of course, now I was embarrassed again.  Between nearly breaking thousands of dollars of art and now Bahama jumping into the water, perhaps scaring away the “mascots” from ever returning again, it had been quite the last half an hour.  Thankfully the manatees seemed hardly interested at all in Bahama.  I guess when you have people reaching into the water to touch you day after day and swimming with all the other animals in the gulf, a little dog isn’t going to be much of a bother.  Still I felt my damage was done.

              After Bahama had her fun, she swam back to the shore, and shook herself dry and returned to my side as if nothing had happened.  Becky, who had laughed during the entire ordeal, told me repeatedly not to worry about it.  “If anything, you gave all these people a good show,” many were still staring at Bahama and me.

              Before I came close to destroying anything else, man-made or living, I thanked Becky for her hospitality, and made a brisk walk for my car.  For good measure, Bahama took a long pee on a lizard statue right next to the parking lot.  I didn’t dare turn around to see if Becky was still watching.

12

              I called a bed and breakfast in Key West, Frank and Jean’s, where I made plans to stay.  In my mind, choosing a bed and breakfast, as opposed to a traditional hotel, had a more romantic quality about it.  Fortunately for me, Key West is pretty animal-friendly, at least for the independently owned places, so I had a few choices to pick from.  But, Frank and Jean’s won out in the end.  Lucky them.

              I always choose a place that has free breakfast in the morning, or at least built into the price.  Also, the pictures online featuring a beautiful pool in their backyard helped seal the deal, though I hardly used it my entire time there.  It only has six rooms, but it was just a couple of blocks from Duval Street, the center of the action, meaning if things got too wild, it was a short walk back to my room.

              When I parked, I was stunned to see how big the place was.  I later learned it used to be the mansion of a successful businessman during Key West’s infancy.  I was greeted almost immediately by a motherly-looking woman who introduced herself as Jean, who walked me into the “front room” which acted as registration when guests arrived, and a place for people to hang out when they just want to get away from the heat and humidity for a few minutes.  During the day there was always a tray of ice cold water sitting on a table just inside the front door.  I don’t think this was done for the tourists, because they would have had no way of knowing they were welcome inside.  It was instead for the local working population that had to walk to and from their jobs, often in the sweltering weather.  Nice touch.

              After telling me a little about the property, Jean checked me in and insisted on taking my bags, showing me to my room.  The room wasn’t as big as I thought it would be from the outside, but it was just fine.  It had a full size bed, a small desk with a lamp on a table on one side of the bed, and a small older-style TV in the right corner.  In front of the bed was a storage chest.  In the other corner were two doors, behind one was a small kitchen, complete with stove, and the other was a bathroom.

              Jean opened the two windows in the room before I could protest, but realized she was probably doing this to get some of the muggy air out of the room.  She also blasted a wall unit A/C.  It was loud, but effective.  Jean explained that she could have the room cleaned every day, even if I just left for 20 minutes.  I thought of asking her how she would know if I was there or not, but with six rooms, I guessed she knew who was there and who was not.  Breakfast is served at 8 a.m. daily, dinner at 5 p.m., and there was a refrigerator that had bottled water and fresh fruit, which I was free to help myself to at anytime.  It was only about 8:00 p.m., but after the long drive, my art store antics, and Bahama’s swim, I was pretty beat.  Before too long I crashed onto the bed.

              The next sound I heard sounded like a child screaming, and a loud crashing.  Between not remembering where I was, and being unable to locate a light, I was soon in a panic.  After a few seconds of being awake, my senses came back to me guided by the light peeking in from the open window.  There was a cat in the room, and Bahama was obsessed with getting to it.  Bahama generally likes cats, but with me asleep and being in a new area, she had turned into my little guard dog. 

              I figured out by doing my best Sherlock impersonation that the cat must have entered through the open window.  I was just telling Bahama to settle down when I spotted the digital clock on the desk, it was easier to find now that the lamp had crashed to the floor thanks to our early morning intruder.  2:16 a.m.  Knock – Knock – Knock.

              “Everything okay in there?” asked a man from the other side of the door. 

              “A cat’s in here going crazy – got in through the window,” I replied, trying to direct the cat to one of the two open windows and protecting myself from the cat’s claws.  I was hoping Bahama didn’t follow the cat out the window.

              He must not have heard me over the hissing.  I heard a key turn, and he came in.  Rather calmly he asked me to put my dog into the kitchen and picked up the cat and placed it outside of the window.

              “Hey, I’m Frank, Jean’s husband.  I guess she didn’t tell you,” he said, while reaching out and shaking my hand.  “We started leaving food out for the cats down in the courtyard by the pool, and they sort of became part of the charm of the place.  A lot of people come here just because of the cats.  They’ve grown accustomed to coming into visitors’ rooms.” 

              First, I apologized profusely for waking him up, and everyone else within a three mile radius, but he just said, “Don’t worry about it; it happens all the time.  Jean usually forgets to tell our guests about the cats, and sometimes I don’t get to you all in time.  If you don’t want them to come in, just shut the windows.  They have their regular shots, so there’s nothing to worry about, unless you’re paying for them,” he added with a tired chuckle.

              I liked the idea of cats coming in out of the heat, and even though I wouldn’t mind leaving out food and water myself I knew I would have to make sure Bahama was okay with the idea before trying that.  My parents had cats, so she was used to them, so I figured it wouldn’t be a problem once Bahama got used to the way things worked around there.

              Frank once again told me to not worry about the disruption and to enjoy my stay, but after that start I knew I wasn’t going to sleep anymore.  My stomach was growling, having not eaten much that day, so I went quietly downstairs to the refrigerator that I was told held the fresh fruit.  I guess most of the supply of fruit had yet to been restocked, so all I saw was water and a type of fruit I had never seen before.  My stomach was growling in anticipation of food, so I gave the mystery fruit a go.

              The fruit was a yellowish green color, which I could see from the glow of a street light through a window in the downstairs kitchen because I hadn’t turned on the light.  It was very oddly shaped, with what felt like ruffles.  I didn’t know where to start.  I just sunk my teeth into it, and once I got through the sour outside I was met with a delicious sweet flavor in the middle.  A couple minutes into making a mess of my face and shirt due to the dripping sticky juice, a light turned on.  The embarrassments never end, I thought.

              “Most people cut that first,” declared Jean, before heading into the kitchen and grabbing a knife and plate.  She saw me rubbing my face with the back of my hand, so she also handed me a paper towel.  Jean then grabbed another one of the fruits from the fridge, cut it up into clean slices, and held up one when she finished.  “Star fruit.  Can you guess how they got their name?”

              I couldn’t remember the last time I needed someone to cut my food for me, but was thankful Jean was there.  Over three or four more star fruits, this time with me cutting them, I told her about what I was doing on this trip.  I spoke about my wife, but didn’t get into too many details.

              Jean didn’t speak much but I could tell she was listening, and it was very therapeutic for me.  She reminded me of my mother in a lot of ways, but was quieter.  She was the type of person, the kind I had met just a few times in my life, where she almost commanded me to spill my soul without saying a signal word.  She didn’t offer much in the way of advice, but instead just listened. 

              It was nearly 3 a.m. when our conversation wrapped-up.  I could tell she was getting even more tired because she was speaking less and less, but over the weeks I learned Frank did most of the talking in their union, which seemed just fine for Jean. 

              Before heading to bed, Jean told me of a few restaurants within walking distance that stayed open 24 hours, so if I found myself hungry at that hour during my stay to check those out.  I also suspected she told me this so I didn’t wake her up at odd hours of the night.  I was a bit of an oaf when it came to getting around a kitchen.

                Heading out of the kitchen, leaving me at the table, she told me I was free to stay as long as I want, and she wouldn’t make plans to rent out my room until I told her I was leaving.  She also mentioned that I could pay a weekly rate, which would save me about 100 bucks a week, as opposed to paying daily, if I thought I was staying for an extended period of time.  She knew I was planning to stay for an extended amount of time before I did.

              During the drive from Treasure Island, I had dreaded thinking about how I was actually going to be on my own for possibly the first time in my life.  As I sat there alone in the kitchen, I thought about how I wasn’t nearly as on my own as I expected.  Jean, as mentioned, reminded me of my mom, and after listening and showing a genuine interest in my life, I felt safe around her.  I knew I would be comfortable with Jean and Frank looking after me, or at least having the feeling they would. 

              With a full belly, I went back to my room and slept soundly for a few more hours.  Waking up around 6 a.m., I hung out in my room for a couple hours, showering and writing, and headed downstairs for breakfast.  I wasn’t expecting much more than a continental breakfast, but was instead greeted by a meal fit for a farmer.  Ham, sausage, bacon, eggs, potatoes, biscuits, and freshly squeezed Florida orange juice, and of course, star fruit.

              I usually wasn’t a big breakfast eater, but just like my mom, Jean was the type of person who would make sure you’ve eaten at least one full plate before she thought you were properly stocked to start your day.  Being that this was a Wednesday, and not at full capacity, I knew that this was going to be the size of breakfast every day, at least.  I resigned myself to the fact that this portion of the trip was not going to be a stop where I would be eating healthy.

              Following breakfast, I went back upstairs for a few more hours to do some writing.  I had intended to write for even longer, but being in Key West this long without seeing the sights was getting to me, and most likely hurting my writing if all I was thinking about was getting out of my room.

              After setting Bahama up in the room, knowing she does well alone for a few hours on her own, and of course closing the windows, I headed out.  I would have normally taken Bahama on a walk like this, but because I wasn’t sure where I was going I thought it was best to leave her behind until I had a bit of an idea of my surroundings. 

              It was a short walk from my room to the epicenter of Key West, Duval Street.  It houses most of the restaurants and bars tourists like to frequent.  During the short walk to Duval Street I thought about how my uncle had told me Hemingway had lived here and how he walked these same exact streets some 70 years earlier.  From what I understood, from reading biographies and some internet research, he spent most of his time walking between his house which is now a museum and known as the Hemingway House, and the bar Sloppy Joe’s.  Occasionally, legend states, he took his work to the bar and did it there.  In my modern day thought it was hard for me not to imagine him lugging his laptop with him to the bar, which would have been quite the sight.  However, he was bringing paper and pen, which makes for an even better sight.  I couldn’t help but wonder if he ever spilled any of his drinks on his writings.  I pictured his legendary temper getting the better of him, tossing the glass to the side while frantically running into the street, hoping the sun would dry his page before he lost a passage he may not be able to remember depending on how much he drank.