The Island Boy.

Who said one- (well, technically two-) night stands couldn’t be a little romantic?


We swung gently in a hammock at the back of the beach, the palm trees sheltering us from the rain that had begun to fall. The ocean waves crashed with a force much stronger than I ever thought was possible in the Caribbean. A storm was brewing, but I had no intention of moving.

I don’t think I could if I tried.

With my head on his chest and his arm hung easily around me, I felt more alive than I had in 365 days.

I realized then that it had been a year ago to the day I’d last seen the one. And despite the fact that there was still a tug on my heart strings when my thoughts inadvertently drifted back to him, I felt liberated. It seemed rather empowering that I could lay here, on a tropical island, with someone I had met less than 48 hours ago, and feel the same ease that I’d felt with him.

He told me about his life and his hopes for the future. He disclosed a rough time his family was going through.

I didn’t pry.

I felt wanted and appreciated, just for being there. Just for lending my ear.

I didn’t want the night to end.

So, I listened.

“I never talk this much,” he confessed. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this.”

I craned my neck to look up at him. He was a boy of 22. I was a woman of 25. Yet, in that moment, there was no age difference. We were just two people, enjoying each others company and giving each other what we needed. He, an ear to listen; I, a body to hold. I pushed a piece of his shaggy hair out of his face and shrugged.

“I’m a good listener, or so I’m told. Keep going.”

And just like that, there was nothing left to say.


He walked me back to my hotel room, hours later. His fingers brushed down my arm to find my hand. I opened my fingers and wrapped them around his, looking over and giving him a tight-lipped smile. So much had happened that night that it felt like we’d known each other  longer than the last two days.

“When do you leave tomorrow?” he questioned me as we walked up the stairs to my hotel room.

“Our flight leaves at two,” I told him.

“Maybe I’ll come up to New York sometime soon,” he suggested. I stopped walking and turned to face him.

“I had a really nice time with you,” I began. “But, I understand if this was all it was.”

He said nothing and we continued to walk up the stairs. When we got to the door of my room, I turned to him and put my hands on his shoulders.

We stayed outside for a few minutes, clinging to the little bit of time we had left together.

Finally, I pulled away.

I kissed him lightly and turned towards the door, looking back before I opened it.

“Thank you,” I said, entering the room before he had a chance to ask what I meant.

I shut the door, leaned against it, and hugged my arms around myself as I saw my two friends fast asleep on their beds. It was so late at night that it was early in the morning, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Grabbing my camera, I walked out to the balcony and began to take photos as the sun rose over the ocean.

Here were friends and beauty, serenity and love…

He’d given me what I wanted, but I realized that what I needed, I’d had all along.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Trackback: This year was about… « Wild oats.

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