Revelation
He sat on the same balcony that they had their first breakfast together with his tea watching the rain pour down. Liz gave him a letter.
My Darling,
By the end of this letter, you will understand why I did not give you reasons for my farewell and most of all, why I did not remain here with you in your sub-tropical paradise.
The quick answer is that it’s now time to fly back to California from your wonderful country you shared with me. But there’s something else, something that I didn’t want to say, but I had to write to you lest you think I was tormenting you…or you believe that you had done something wrong to upset me…you haven’t…and you never could…
To cut to the chase, I have a terminal illness, it doesn’t matter what its name is, but I am living on borrowed time.
The ‘one-derful’ thing is that borrowed time is the sweetest. Everything has a stronger taste, aroma and enjoyment.
If I remained here, or anywhere else, those that know me as the adventurous, or embarrassing as you say, Random will see a deteriorating creature that will tug on your sympathies. You soldiers have a colourful phrase for where you’ll find sympathy in the dictionary. I shall not have it.
My wishes are for you to not only remember me as I was in our precious time together, but for you to feel the times we had together as well as remember them. When you are body surfing the South Pacific, dancing like a demon in a Mexican restaurant, or merely walking barefoot through the morning dew and watching the sunrise, firstly feel everything, and secondly, imagine me with you, but most importantly of all, imagine you too are living on borrowed time. Then ask yourself, is what you’re doing something you really want to do? My time with you has been so very much so for me!
I shall close by thanking you for the most wonderful time of my life. Shall I find others just as good? I shall try…but as I feel my time growing shorter, so shall I have to look more quickly and intensely…
My eternal love,
Random
Reflection
She was right, you had to enjoy things when you first saw them, otherwise they would never come again. You may imitate, but you’ll never duplicate a special time, the chances of the stars of destiny, the winds of fate and the mood where two strangers realised that they ‘clicked’ together would rarely be in conjunction again...and there would never be another Lady of the Sub-Tropics…
As Random said, everything happened for a reason; you just had to discover it…
He observed Liz studying him.
Liz’s brown eyes seemed sympathetic and understanding, but perhaps that was as much a result of good hospitality training and experience as her eternal smile and ability to predict what her clients desired.
A single lorikeet flew by…
Return
He returned to his salt mines of work with his sadistic giggling manageress. Had it all been a dream? Had Random returned to California, or wherever she was really from…
Who was she?
He recalled an episode of The Richard Boone Theatre entitled Captain Al Sanchez where a Mexican labourer worked all year long at an awful job and building a small sailboat in his spare time. Once a year he would spend all his money on a trip to Mexico where he would impress the locals with his stories of being the captain of a large deep-sea fishing boat. He had also read identical stories of 19th Century European peasants visiting casinos with an imaginary identity of a sultan or maharajah of an exotic non-existent land. As long as they kept to their image, they provided entertainment to everyone, except perhaps to a lover whose heart they broke.
Perhaps she was sitting in an office somewhere far away from the coasts of North America in an office as he was; counting the minutes until it was time to leave, then dreading the hours until returning to work…but cheering herself up by remembering the role she played of a woman of mystery in a far-off foreign land…
Reunion
Relaxing with a beer and bargain steak dinner at a pub, his eyes were attracted to a news story on the television on the wall…there she was…her name really was Random…
The news story told of a terminally ill woman who somehow obtained clothing, escaped from her California hospice, stole a police car, blindfolded and handcuffed the police officer, then extremely fatally drove herself off a high cliff into the ocean with the siren going…with the local police department refusing to comment just how that had happened…
He thought of her comment,
‘All I want the cops to do is wave the chequered flag at my finish.’
She had fought her way out of her barranca because she was the lioness who ruled it. She was forever in his Alma Corazon Y Vida; he would never be alone…
Resurrection
He strode into his office the next morning dressed as on holiday; unshaven, in his navy suit trousers and his unironed, unstarched short-sleeved white shirt worn outside his trousers with the top three buttons undone; his highly polished black oxfords and socks were replaced by sandals. He was holding a cardboard box.
His upset manageress clicked out in her extra-loud high heels with her Play School hostess persona.
‘What do you think you’re doing? Casual dress day is not until this Friday!’
‘Gather round, everyone. I have cake for you.’
‘Thank you, we’ll have it later; after you shave and dress in a more suitable way for the office.
I’m surprised at you!...Is it fresh?’
‘Made this morning…’
‘Well, thank you…it’s very nice of you…’
‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!’, he laughed, ‘This won’t take long.’
He opened the cake box; her eyes grew as big as the proverbial town hall clock as she loved sweet and expensive things…everyone gave sighs of approval.
He smashed the whipped cream cake into her face.
‘Never mind…’, he smiled.
His fellow workers cheered!
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