We had pared away a good shot of the day, so we got up and headed into town to look for food and distraction, those two time killers tailored particularly for hard-bob first-time lovers...we settled on a hamburger and fries at Jambel’s Jamaican/Belizean beach-front eatery because it was close and had an amazing beachside spot that made you think of paradiso in primary colors...and it was there and then when Ramona lit and smoked the first of the thousand cigarettes she would smoke in the ensuing two days we had together...light it and smoke it baby, for what did I care that she told me she smoked three packs a day, that I knew Christy Turlington had emphysema at 30 from smoking three packs a day...I thought of the sorrow for her anterior dilator naris, the choked Lateralis nasi, the yellow mandibular future made for models...and Ramona was a model...and I was model bait, I was chemical “I AM”, it was my turn...
So back at Ramone’s I ordered more lollygagging and flirt, and finally it was time to get on, the sun was going down... and it was then, right then, my back started to hurt like hell, all around my kidneys, more than just lawn mower trunk pain, this was something that had an ache like an ape...and I knew it so I complained to my lattisimus dorsi, and I stopped Ramona in her tracks and in Spanish told her to walk on my back as I laid in the white sand and she laughed & said “yer weird” and climbed aboard...this, unfortunately, helped only a little, as through my moans and her delicate feets and laughs, the back was wailed upon, the crest of ilium dented, and she had nudged my Triangle of Petit and I was still not free...there was something way more mystic wrong, something on a subcutaneous level but it was time to go separate ways for showers...part uno of date was over and we said goodbye with an embrace. I turned and went with a couple nuts and a dick and a broken back...that’s all it broke down to...or Luke: “Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee.” What was being required of me to bear this dorsal pain? Pain that I knew had everything to do with nothing good...my best monologue went on interruptus along the Boca del Rio, pain and a hearse to carry the killed heart, for R had got a good portion of the vortex in just a small pile of hours...but I didn’t let that or anything else stop the 18-yr soothing enthusiasm that was spuriously making the rounds of my extremities via veins, evincing what must’ve looked like a happy gait to the Belizeans who saw me...
I took stock in the shower of my condition...back continued to gaffe and I gave it as much bent-over hot water as I could stand...how many times I had rebuked myself muddled by vanity and custom for showering hot and releasing my load down the drain...but one had to admit it was the cleanest place to unload...there was something stirring in the lymphatic glands of my head for I could feel a message traveling along the occipital artery... “Abba, Abba, it is not finished.” But I knew it was John but that it was somehow not quite right, a chimera, a rouse...I was tired and the sheer number of erections from earlier had taken its toll on the outlook forefront of my thoughts...
I finished tired but determined, so mother and I forced down some fowl and a rum punch and I was off to Fido’s to rendezvous in my best cream Guevara from Panama... “the young man whose eye is bright, whose skin is brown, the handsome thirty-one year old body that should go naked,” arrived up a Belikan and watched Evo go, the Bulgarian who wore Levi’s with no shoes or socks behind the bar...and who talked with a resounding vigor, especially when he said “Hello, how’s it goink?”...And he didn’t really notice me yet, because he gauged a man either by his age (if old, he gave respect) or by the quality of woman he was with...and I was clearly younger than he and had yet to show him what little Thomas Wyatt could do...
-Michael Price
