Fruits of Insanity

summer vacation

It all happened because the air conditioner broke. There I was, in an old studio above my sister's garage in the middle of the ridiculously ludicrous Texas summer heat, trying to make my deadline with my publisher breathing down my neck from her air conditioned office, with characters in a Valentine's frame of mind while I melted into sweat.

Yes, Mama, I know. A lady glistens. I sweat that week. I sweat ten pounds off, as well as all my energy, brain cells, and motivation to do anything.

I'd come down to Houston because Lucy promised that she had a place for me to finish my novel in peace. Not a first draft. That was done and dusted. No, this was a last substantial rewrite with preferably an extra three chapters from the last time they saw it. I tried, but we don't have peace at home, not with my brothers' children (three brothers; seven children ranging from eight to three months) coming nearly every day to visit Mama and getting into everything and everyone's business with sticky fingers and questions about why couldn't I play some game with them instead of typing on my computer.

After a week of summer vacation, I knew I couldn't work at home. And Lucy had that big house with a separate mother-in-law apartment over the garage with its own kitchen and laundry, and “Chloe, come down. It'll be fun. You can work all day and I'll take you out on the town like you've never been.” Lucy was a sweet girl, always wanting to share experience with me, even when I was the introvert in the siblings.

So, I came down to Houston and everything'd been perfection for nearly a month. I was two weeks from deadline. I was nearly done. Only one major misunderstanding and reconciliation left before happy ever after.

And then the air conditioner broke.

Everything was so damp (and that wasn't just me—the air around here is so wet that it can drown a frog) that I started to worry about my laptop, which was glistening almost as much as I was, despite the constant fans. I'd taken off everything I could decently remove, which made me stick to surfaces, and my hair was clipped with claw I'd twisted a couple of blue flowers onto when I was thinking about plot. It piled off my neck in a tangle of green and purple curls.

“My laptop's going to burn up and die, Lucy,” I told my sister when she came home with popsicles. Emergency medicinal food would normally have been chocolate or Ben and Jerry's, but they'd melt too fast. “I make backups, but the fan is running so hard (even with a bitty extra computer fan) that I'm scared I'll lose it, and then what'll I do? I need it done in two weeks.”

“I called the HVAC guy, but it'll be next Friday. Between twelve and five pm, because they think we don't have anything else to do all day but wait around for the repair man. It's a heat wave. Everyone's AC is out.” She sighed and fanned herself with one of my books. I surround myself with about fifty when I write because I'd look up something and then start writing again before putting it back on the shelf. And maybe I'd need that one again.

“I guess I could camp out at the library for a week.”

“I have a better idea,” she said. “Jared said that he wants a get away to the island.” Her husband had a vacation home on one of the lesser known Hawaiian islands. Yes, I know. I'm not that well off. Before Lucy married him, I vacationed at Nana's house in Mississippi after a road trip. “Let's head off tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” I said. “It seems like a long way to go on a whim.” I'd never been.

She just smiled and called Jared.

And so, that's what we did. It took surprisingly little time to pack, collect Jared, and head off. I spent the long flight with my ear plugs in, listening to Classical, typing away. It just felt so good to be in real air conditioning that I spent all eight hours of the flight revved up and energetic. It felt good to get my characters out of Valentines day and into major communications error. Things were going well.

I didn't write through the puddle jumper from Honolulu. I'd like to see someone try to concentrate through that vibration, even with ear plugs in. Instead, I looked out at the water.

On the little island, the caretakers, a couple with big smiles—he had a red tank and shorts while she had a bright yellow and white sundress and a flower over her left ear. Both of them had leis, and were ready to greet us with smiles, leis, and kisses.

“Aloha,” she said, and I tried not to stare at the giant eyelashes she had on, while she kissed my cheeks and gave me a giant white flower.

“Thank you,” I smiled. “Aloha.” I stepped back and started putting it over my left ear, but Lucy stopped me.

“You're single, Chloe. Right ear for single. Left for married or dating.”

I nodded. Everything was so bright, especially after spending so long on planes, but there was a breeze and I could smell the salt and fish and the heady scent of flowers.

In a burst of introversion, I slipped away into my room.

A giant window looked at the beach. Everyone seemed to be moving slower here—well, I have to say that people don't rush in Texas heat, but here, they didn't even move with purpose. Instead, I saw people stop and look for long minutes.

If I wasn't careful, my ending would slip into doing it tomorrow until tomorrow was too late.

I turned away from the window and typed.

By the time Lucy knocked on my door for dinner time, I was nearly to the admission of love, which was perfect. If I could get this rewrite done and edited before deadline, my publisher would be happy. I wouldn't be done, of course. But I'd be one giant step closer.

“There's a luau, tonight. Do you want to borrow a dress?”

About an hour of primping later, and I was in a green and purple sundress that matched my loose hair. Lucy gave me a new flower, this one hot pink, that I carefully placed over my right ear. And sandals that were sure to get filled with sand before the night was over.

The luau was a mix of unfamiliar scents and sights. A pig roasting. Fruit, rice, skewers, sweet potatoes, fish, poi (which I didn't terribly like), vegetables, bread. Dancing—someone taught us a hula while I watched from the sidelines because I wasn't ready to try, but I saw Lucy dancing. And then Jared danced with the men. Laughter, Noise. Firelight. Drained by the traveling and the writing, I curled up on a chair and didn't notice drifting off.

I half woke as someone picked me up to carry me away, only to wake up the rest of the way in a panic as I realized that I didn't know the rumble of his voice.

Word count: 1223
Prompt 4: Flowers In Your Hair Day (6/26)