Last Snapshots

Articles

Holly Winter
Living The Life Of Holly

Last Snapshots
June 23, 2003

“What are you doing?”

“Taking some last photos.” I said. I had already gotten the resort, the beach, the surf shop, the restaurant. I wanted to get some last snapshots of anything that I might have forgotten. I was perched on a chair taking a picture of Darlin-man’s shoes. There was something artistic about the way he had them sprawled across the entryway.

“You’re not taking pictures of my shoes, are you?”

“Yes I am. Think I’ll call it the Two Hundred Shoe Collage.”

“I don’t want you having a record of my shoe collection.”

“Too late.” I said, ready to take the photo.

He kicked the evidence out of the viewfinder’s field of vision.

I laughed and showed him the two pictures I had already taken. “It’s too late.” I repeated.

There was no way to make that last morning stretch on for another day or too. We had to catch our planes in a few hours. We dallied through our last bacon and egg breakfast, and then read the local newspapers. They covered a different scope of international news.

“Look at this.” I said. “A white boy was kidnapped in Africa when he was twelve years old by his family’s black maid, and forced to herd cows up in the mountains for eight years. He has finally escaped.”

“That’s nothing.” He said. “Listen to this. A woman has insured herself for two hundred thousand dollars against ever getting ugly. She has given the policy to her husband as a gift. Here’s her photo. Do you think that she’s already ugly?”

I continued. “The boy showed up at a remote police station speaking a strange African dialect. He doesn’t even remember his name. They have sent out news releases to see if there were any missing children from that time period.”

He cut in. “Her husband thinks that the policy is a great gift. She hopes that she will never have to cash it in. Get this. A board of people will help to decide if she has ‘lost her looks.”

I read: “One family has come forth. They think that it’s their son. They’re going to have to prove some kind of DNA testing before they can get the boy back.”

Darlin-man glanced at my article. “Your article isn’t news. See. It only takes up about ¼ of the space that my article takes up.”

“See. That’s why I don’t have a maid. It is far safer to let your house get dusty.”

Watching Darlin-man pack to go home was a total giggle. He took huge armloads of clothing and shoes and books and bungled them up into a big heap into the middle of his suitcase, and then zippered it shut. It was amazing. I had to carefully fold everything just right so that I could fit it all back into my small space.

We stopped at Billy’s house on the way to the airport to say goodbye. His mother was busy cooking.

“Something smells good in here.” Darlin-man said.

“Conch chowder.” She smiled.

“I’ve heard that you’re the best cook on the island.” He said. We really had heard that, over and over again.

She shrugged her shoulders. “So they say. So they say.” She dished some conch out into a little bowl. “Try this. I’m not done with it yet. That coconut you saw me cutting up yesterday?”

“Yes.” I said.

“That will make a sauce for the conch. That’s a specialty here on the island. But. Try it this way.” She poured some hot sauce over it.

“Careful, Mom. They won’t be able to eat it.” Billy warned.

She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s not that bad.

Darlin-man was only able to eat one piece. The fish was on fire. I ate the rest. Oh. I know. I couldn’t feel my lips or tongue. But it was worth it.

“Here.” She said, pulling out a cake. “Try this. I made it for a wedding.”

“Don’t cut into a wedding cake.” I said. Too late.

“It’s ok. The bride will understand that I wanted company to have a taste.” She said.

My mother would chase us around the kitchen with a knife if we considered cutting into a cake before the appropriate time. And. Here Billy’s mom had just cut into a wedding cake.

“Oh.” I said. “It’s perfect.” I know. Flour. I’m allergic. But. This cake was sticky. Could it be? “Is there flour in this cake?”

“No. No flour.” She said.

I smiled and accepted another piece. “Now you’ll have to make another cake for the wedding.”

“That’s ok.” She smiled graciously. “I’m glad you like it.”

The hospitality of the people of the Caymans had been that way for our entire trip. Not simply friendly. Beyond friendly. Not just giving. Beyond giving. More like family. Well. Since Billy’s mother hadn’t chased me around the kitchen with a knife when I had a piece of her cake, perhaps it was even beyond family.

“Thanks so much for everything.” I said to Billy, giving him a hug goodbye. It was time to go to the airport.

“You like our Cayman Island?” He asked again. He had asked the first time when I had just arrived. I had said yes, politely. But. It was really too soon to say, wasn’t it?

“Very, very much.” I said, emphatically.”

“Yeah mon. Everybody likes it here.” He said with a smile and a goodbye hug.

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About the author: Holly Winter is a teacher and a writer and a flight attendant living in Denver, Colorado, USA. She can be reached at her website or email: Holly@livingthelifeofholly.com

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