Honeymoon – Day 5
His version:
I awoke around dawn from a dream whose memory escaped me as soon as I opened my eyes, leaving behind a vague sense—the ghost of an emotion—of loneliness. I listened to Anita breathe for a long time, then fell back to sleep and dreamt no more.
Around eight-thirty I was awakened by the soft knocking of the steward with our breakfast. Half-awake, I let him in. He set out our breakfast while Anita and we blinked ourselves awake. The events of the previous evening had left my wife tired and still a bit uncomfortable, but she seemed to have recovered significantly. Indeed, she seemed to have little trouble with breakfast: Cream of Wheat, pastries, tea, and juice. She declined, however, to share my bagels and lox.
After breakfast, we showered and dressed, packed our bags, and then caught a taxi into Cabo San Lucas for some last-minute sovenier shopping. On our way into town, we could see that a cruise ship had anchored out in the harbor during the night, and when we arrived at the market it became apparent just where all the ship’s passengers were.
The “market” at the marina is a large covered area packed with small stalls where Mexican tourist-milkers hawk their wares. The aisles between booths are barely wide enough to pass, and traffic jams are a common occurrence. It was during one such backup that I found myself beside an American family who seem to have found Togetherness Through Alcoholism. Three generations of women, all of whom were totally soused, were pouring each other drinks from a thermos as they wandered the market. I didn’t know whether to laugh or be embarrassed for my countrywomen. I settled for both.
It took two hours, but we eventually sorted through enough cheesy marble chess sets and ceramic chili peppers to collect enough reasonable mementos for our friends and family. We bravely resisted the marble phalluses and the penis-shaped flutes (one guess where your blow in), though Anita did buy a gawd-awful stuffed frog wearing a knit bikini for her office. She said she had a reason, and I decided that a husband should trust his wife’s judgement. Even when she’s loony.
We arrived back at the hotel in time for lunch by the pool before we checked out. The sun was still bright, the day was still warm, the ocean was the same beautiful blue…but I was about ready to go home. I could tell that my wife was too.
The ride to the airport was very much like the ride from it…um, only in reverse. I had picked up a copy of the local English-language paper as we left the hotel and I skimmed it as we read. A fishing boat larger than our panga had sunk in the Sea of Cortez, though by good fortune they were near another boat which rescued the passengers and crew. I resolved not to let Anita see that article. She had been worried enough as it was. I noticed an advertisement at the bottom of the first page for an “Escort Agency”. In the ad’s white space some previous reader had noted “$150” in blue ballpoint. I chuckled and wondered just what services that quote covered.
The flight home was uneventful, and I slept a lot. Before I knew it, we were descending into Mordor International Airport, known to the locals as SeaTac. After we claimed our bags, we waited half an hour for our friend Tina to pick us up without any luck. By this time, around 11pm Pacific Time, we were so fed up that I simply forked over seventy bucks for a limo. It was a good move. We sat in the back of the limo, watched the unusual lightning storm outside, and relaxed all the way home.
When we finally got to the apartment, we were pleased to find that Marcus, Anita’s youngest, had cleaned the house before he left and that my mother had come in the morning we were due home and had changed the sheets, leaving us breakfast-makings and orange juice in the refrigerator. We left the unpacking for later and crawled into bed.
We were just dozing off when Tina called. She had been circling the airport drive trying to find us. Anita assured her that we were okay and that we had arrived home safely. We snuggled back into bed, listening to the thunder.
Note to self: The honeymoon’s over, now get to work on the marriage…

