PANAMA
“A Man, A Plan, A Canal.”
December 2002
I remember
watching a show about the Panama Canal and I thought to myself, “Hum, I want to go see that canal some day.” So this was the day. It was winter break, Christmas
time and that meant just one thing to me: time to head out someplace warm for the holidays.
I arrived
in Panama City on Christmas
Eve. The air was warm. The sky was
clear. I immediately
get on my bathing suit, headed to the lovely heated pool, ordered a margarita and jumped in to relax and float around in this gorgeous pool. I felt on top of the world. Who was I to be so lucky to come here on a whim and to be so unencumbered at a time of year when most everyone else in the western hemisphere is bogged down with the superficial, commercial burden of Christmas? Yes, I was free and I was living life. I was one lucky bitch.
I went back up to the bar to order my second delicious
margarita and the waiter just couldn’t believe my very bad fortune to be here all by myself on Christmas Eve. He conveyed
his deep sorrow for my situation and I just knew that I was going to have to defend myself and my solo status to some reasonable degree before I could get my next refreshingly, cold, lime margarita. Yes, freedom does come at a cost.
“Madame, it is Christmas
eve and you are all alone. I am so sorry. Where is your family?”
There is so much sadness in his voice that I feel sorry for him, not me.
Anyway, I did have to lie and tell him that I had a dead husband.
“But your children, why are you not with your
children? You should be with your children.
This is family time.”
Shit, now I have to lie about kids. So I tell him
I had two sons who stayed behind to be with their families. I wasn’t with them because
I did not want to burden them with my grief. One son was an engineer
and the other one was an accountant. Johnnie
and Jimmy, my two grown sons.
Fortunately for me, the bartender’s
mother just died and he began to tear up as he talked about her shoes which are still under the bed. He made me a drink and I got away from him before he might have made any offers to run to the local church to light candles in honor of my fictional dead husband.
