The Ways

"There are many ways to get to the same place- to the place where we stand, supposedly in the sight of God.

In the end do we look up? Does God look down? Or do we stand there eye to eye taking each the measure of the other until somebody flinches."

Robert King

I stood on the balcony overlooking the deck that seemed as big as a helicopter landing pad. Beyond the deck was a railing nearly buried in a jungle growth of bougainvillea. Beyond the railing on the bay a solitary skiff bobbed in the wake of the departing ferry.

Suddenly it was as quiet as it usually got. Parrots argued in the palm trees and people mumbled on the path below the villa as they stumbled down the mountain side toward the world. Pigs across the valley stunk as usual and a cow competed with a rooster to be the first to let everybody know that the party was over.

I turned and went inside the shadowed bedroom. On the bed her big tan breasts spread sideways on the sheets on either side of the tattoo of a broken heart.

Her mouth was open and she snored softly. The fine hairs on her lip trembled with the weight of sweat that had already started to accumulate as the night surrendered to the day.

I almost wished she wouldn't wake up enough to put the pillow over her unmade mouth and lean in close.


It was very close.