Blizzard in the Caribbean

A short story about a dream that came true.

It was the dead of a New England winter. Christmas and New Year’s had been over for months. The snow no longer heralded in the Holiday Season. It was just cold, ice, and snow. Shoveling the sidewalk and walkways, spreading the ice melt. It was no wonder people retired to Florida or went south.

And now the day had arrived and I was on the verge of escaping this weather for a while.

The flight was scheduled for 6:30 AM and on top of that, it was Daylight savings time. I awoke and dressed in the dark. The clock read 3:00 AM. I needed to be at the airport two hours early for my flight to Belize.

The cab company called to let me know they had arrived. I looked out the window and there it was, on time. The trip took all of 15 minutes, plenty of time to check-in and wait in line.

Had it not been for the darkness, I would have thought it was early afternoon or evening. Cabs were lined up along the curb, state police directed traffic as passengers jumped out of cars and grabbed their luggage.

Inside the terminal, people were checking in, lines were long, kids cried and harried parents rolled their eyes in anticipation of the flight ahead. I scanned the crowd, searching for my sister and brother-in-law. I wandered back and forth for a few minutes, too tired to be nervous.

My phone beeped with a text message. It was my sister.

“We’re here. Don’t panic.”

A few minutes later they found me.

“We almost didn’t make it. We woke up when the cab pulled into the driveway. But we’re quick,” my sister added giving me a hug and kiss.

“It’s a good thing you’re a morning person now. I don’t move very fast when I first wake up. That cab would have been waiting for me for a while.”

We checked our luggage and slogged along with the rest of the early morning zombies who were in search of adventure. Our gate was crowded with groggy passengers. Some sipped coffee, others stared at their phones or hammered away at their laptops. It was a common airport scene. We slumped into some empty seats, sitting quietly in the still dark pre-dawn hours.

“Attention passengers. We will be boarding the plane 30-minutes later as the co-pilot forgot to turn his clock ahead one hour. We should be able to make the time up in the air so you can make your connecting flights. Sit back and relax and we’ll be in the air soon.”

“Oh well, looks like you weren’t the only ones who overslept,” I said.

“Ya, but it’s not our job either,” my sister replied. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll still get there.”

We sat in silence.

Time dragged. I closed my eyes for a brief moment and remembered the day the plans began. I was at work staring at that picture of paradise when my sister called.

“Hello. I’m calling to check on you. How’s your horrible job going today?”

“It’s horrible,” I replied. “But there’s a lull. They’re in a meeting right now, so there’s a break in the complaining. I’ve been sitting here staring at my picture of the beautiful beach with sunshine. I so want to be there.”

“Hmmm,” she started. “I think I’ll take you to the Caribbean for your birthday this year. It’s a big one, so let’s celebrate it that way.”

That was in January. In February, my brother-in-law made the reservations for the flights and the resort. And now here I was, in March, on the verge of being on that beach.

The adventure was about to begin. We lined up to board and buckled ourselves into our seats.

“Good morning and welcome to American Airlines flight #172 service to Houston. We’re still waiting for the co-pilot to arrive so we’re going to be standing by. We’ll let you know when we’re ready to taxi out.”

More groans and grumbles.

I pulled my book out of my carry on and sat back. I wasn’t looking forward to spending extra time on the plane, but I had no control over the situation. Anything was better than sitting in my cubicle.

What was an extra hour or so after waiting years?

Soon, I would step inside that picture and free myself from the realities of Winter. The beach, the sun, and a Margarita in my hand.

Another announcement brought me back.

“Passengers, we are preparing for take-off. Please buckle your seat belts and follow the instructions of the flight crew.”

Whistles and claps filled the plane in mock appreciation. We had waited an hour for the co-pilot, but soon we were in the air. Three flights and a 20-minute drive later, we arrived at Hopkins Bay, Belize.

Mexico borders this Central American country on the northwest; the Caribbean Sea is to on the east and Guatemala on the south and west. We arrived as the sun was setting and I awoke the first morning to the smell of coffee, sunshine, and a warm breeze.

I walked to the sliding glass doors and pushed them back. And there is was in front of me. The water, the sky, the palm trees. Even the hammocks on the beach.

The sun was rising as was the temperature. The red and orange orb peeking over the horizon, laying out a fluorescent carpet that grew brighter and closer as it rose. It beckoned me to the ocean, a greeting of sorts, a welcome gift for my first morning.

As the night continued to recede and the light prevailed, birdsong slowly crescendoed, welcoming the light. I inhaled the smell of cut grass and salty air. The palm on the trees wavered as the light continued to creep into the corners of the scene in front of me. I longed to dive under the colors into the blue sea, weightless and free from gravity.

But I needed coffee to complete this perfect picture. My brother-in-law sat on the deck sipping his and reading a book. We nodded to one another in silent acknowledgment. A single page of rippled the silence.

I dressed quickly and returned to the deck. I need some ‘legs up the wall’ and my back against a hard surface to open up and relax my shoulders after the long flights. I sat on the deck, lay back, and flung my feet up against the wall, arms outstretched, palms facing upward.

I inhaled deeply and exhaled completely. My lungs filled with the warm air and the smell of coffee, completely relaxed, with no sensation except the solid deck under shoulders.

“I don’t think you can drink your coffee like that,” my sister said with a laugh, placing a mug down on one of the small tables.

I let my legs drop to the side and rolled to sitting. I stood and reached for the hot mug, inhaled the aroma, and took that first, precious sip. Steam warmed my face as the coffee hit my throat. The day grew brighter and the birds alighted on the branches in full view. Another aspect of the beautiful scene in front of me.

I sat staring. In awe. Waves rolled up on the beach and people started to enter the scene slowly.

Coffee in paradise.

My phone buzzed. Out of habit, I reached for it. What troubles were there in the outside world today? The location said, Dangriga, but I was still receiving news from home.

“Powerful Nor’easter with gusting winds causing high seas and coastal damage.”

No surprise there. This was the third blizzard to whack Boston in as many weeks.

I envisioned the blue parking ban light at the intersection blinking, warning cars not to park on the street. The municipal lots, where I parked, would be crammed.

Ice, two feet of snow, fallen trees, downed power lines, winter storm warnings, shoveling, deicing, emergency management, and my favorite, parking restrictions, were all stories that disappeared with a swipe of my finger.

There would be subway delays, windshields to scrape, and snow to shovel. People shivering as they scurried around in the sea of black coats, jackets, and boots.

I knew all this was happening. I had experienced it for 60 years.

I took another long sip of the rich, hot coffee and lifted my face to the sun. “There are two feet of snow back home. How awful,” I said smiling at my brother-in-law.

He understood and smiled back.

This storm just wasn’t my problem.