A Last Night on the Island

A Last Night on the Island

 A feeling of authenticity runs over your soul if you sit at a local eatery on a Sunday night in Utila. As you sit on a wooden bench you lean against the open screen-less windowsill to feel the cool night air greet the warmth of the restaurant’s interior. Your friends around the rectangular table are tired and content reflecting on their morning dives and under the orange glow of the Chinese lamps they are patiently awaiting their plates of barracuda, wahoo, or tuna fish. It is one of those moments when you truly feel great and you do not want to leave it behind for anything else. You have felt this way before about other moments, but realize with experience, that the following day will be completely different and you will be going somewhere else. You fix yourself on the room and the people scattered around it eating their fish and conversing lightly at small round tables. Across the entrance path an elderly couple speaks French to three youths while a mixture of Creole and English flows through the room. A barefoot man passes the table and wishes them a good meal in Spanish. You think to yourself how Creole sounds wild and without any structural roots and then you return to the joke your friends are laughing about around the table. If you tilt your head back out of the window you can gaze the stars above us and if you stretch your legs out there is no one stepping on your naked feet. Your friend lights a cigarette and the kitchen a few steps away is cooking fish. You don't let your ears hear, but your heart listen, for you are dreading the end of such a wonderful feeling.

January 2011

Útila, Islas de la Bahía, Honduras

 




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