I DARE YOU

NO REFUNDS

 

Robert, my fifty-two year old husband, has been driving me crazy for close to thirty years. He still hasn't out-grown some of his youth and is beyond control when his id suddenly smacks him across his face and makes him try something he has never tried before. I've argued so many useless times that my tongue has gone numb.

 

Because it's Mothers' Day, I know something that shouldn't happen, will. Harvey, our adult son, will be making a special effort to stop by for a few minutes, hand me a beautifully wrapped gift that he hasn't seen. Varoom, varoom, it's noon and the sound of a motorbike enters through the open, inviting front door. Robert's ears catch fire. He waves a tiny wave at Harvey, doesn't notice my unopened gift and stands up close to the motor bike, turns the steering wheel a speck and calls out, 'Harvey, can I take a short ride?' As he mounts the bike, Harvey grabs him and orders him to put on his helmet. 'I don't need that, Harv, I'll just scoot down to the end of the path, turn around and be back in a jiff.' Forced to wear the helmet or get off, Harv puts it on, doesn't strap it and gets another scolding and zooms away for no more than two minutes.

 

There is a terrible crash, no yelling, just the sound of the motorbike's wheels spinning. Robert is lying in the street, unconscious. 911 appears from heaven, rushes Robert to the hospital where he stays for days.
The doctors there take a cardiogram and insist Robert has had a heart attack. What an argument ensues only because the last cardiogram that Robert had was back in our bedroom. I had to get it and show the doctor nothing had changed. Robert was not having a heart attack. Mother's Day, Harvey's dare-devil, catastrophic short bike ride ruined everything. My present has yet to be opened.

 

The St. Maarten's beach beckoned. The sand was cool, the sky iridescent blue, the waves more formidable than we expected. I was content going into the water up to my knees, letting the waves fight for the right to knock me over. They won many times, enough that I went back to our little private hut to compose myself. Robert was there, taking his morning siesta. My effort to be quiet didn't work when I tripped on his beach sandals and let out a yell, 'Damn it!'  Before he asked if I hurt myself he let me know he rented a sail fish and was going out on the beautiful sea –alone. 'Oh, no you're not!' 'Oh, yes I am,' the back and forth argument jangled my nerves and I gave in. 'Go,
Robert, go drown yourself.' As he left me standing in the doorway, he told me to come down to the water's edge to see how far out he could go.  'I'm going to the horizon, way, way out, as far as, maybe further than anybody else out there.' Head high he walked to the sailfish rental area, listened to instructions for maybe one minute and was set adrift on his dream boat.

 

For what seemed forever, I watched that little boat get smaller and smaller until Robert was gone. My eyes stayed glued to the horizon, watching. Pandemonium broke out among the life guards. They couldn't see Harvey any more. I kept my camera aimed where I believed I last saw my husband. Was that a whale or a seal or flotsam rolling in? Life guards heard my yelling, surrounded me, looked where I was aiming my camera and hurried back into their own boats.

 

I ran to meet them as they were pulling, pushing Harvey and his sailfish up on the beach. He saw me, walked slowly, sort of just ambling. The wind carried his voice to me. It  was over-flowing with excitement. 'I did it, I reached an atoll. What fun I had!' My camera, later showed me that particular moment of exultation, my foolish husband experienced. I didn't speak to him for two whole days, didn't know what new thing he would try to do, tried not to care–but did anyhow.

 

Saint Helen's was to be our last cruise stop. It was the most beautiful, peaceful resort we had been to so far. For our grand finale, Robert signed us up to snorkel in an area that usually swarmed with gorgeous colorful fish. It was to be a fantastic ending to our trip. I can't swim but that nutty husband of mine insisted the water would be so salty, I could float to heaven. The native who handled the boat that held forty one people, believed all were good swimmers and that included me. When I was handed my snorkle and mask, I asked how deep the crystal clear water around us was, learned it was sixty feet and I was only five feet two. Nothing, not chains nor whines nor arguments would get me overboard into the turquoise water. One by one each of the signed up swimmers slipped gently into the sea, The captain, wearing not much more than a loin cloth, handed me a bag of broken up pieces of bread to attract the fish to make friends with some, take pictures of everything. I hadn't noticed an anchor dropped and sat there alone
in the boat wondering if I would be adrift and out of sight before the swimmers returned and could never find me. Hell, I was really frightened, dumped all the bread into the water and saw rainbows swirling around the boat. I was entranced until–until in the distance I recognized my husband floundering in the water. He went under, took too long to come up. My other fears disappeared. Harvey was choking, coughing, trying to wave. No swimmers were close to him. From the depths came the captain of our boat who got his arms around Harv's chest and pulled him closer and closer to me, to salvation.

 

And where was I all of that time? Sitting alone in the boat taking  pictures of the group swimming away from me, the fish swarming for the treats I had tossed them....and Harvey doing what comes naturally, being a dare-devil, going outside the box.

 

If anyone wants to see my excellent photos of an insane man, ask soon, because Harvey laid out $2000 to be a possible astronaught – and I will not be there to take pictures of his final disappearance.