It is an idyllic afternoon in the Imperial House pool. While perfecting my elementary backstroke I marvel at blotches of white cotton floating about the vivid blue heavens. Thoughtless, I notice a silver haired gentleman waving at me from the 2nd floor walkway of the aging Florida condo.
I mindlessly wave back—an involuntary action.
Next I flip over onto my empty stomach and flit across the glistening pool not unlike a frisky frog. I am totally alone in the water.
Coming up for air I see the afore mentioned man perched on the bank of the pool staring at me. His eyes are as blue as the sky above him. He looks normal or actually better than normal. He is handsome.
I retain my composure as best I am able.
“It is hard to make friends around here”—he begins his tirade.
I am not allowed to talk as his is so fast there is no space in the air for replies.
“I did not serve in Vietnam.
I own 3 tuxedoes. One is an Armani and ran me 2,700 bucks.
Being a color person, I also have an orange tux and I think the other is purple.”
Now, I am a fairly sharp cookie, but it was not until the orange tuxedo that I became convinced “Dave” as he introduced himself, is stark raving mad. Evidently he got into trouble in upper Manhattan and had to hire an intellectual psychiatrist to write him a letter to get him out of prison. Plus she wrote it in Russian—backwards, I think he told me.
When asked if I did drugs I thought fast and answered—
“Not really.” (Only 2 words I got into the “conversation”.)
Then Dave suggested I try marijuana but not the harder stuff as it can really fuck you up.
At this point a Canadian couple arrived at the pool and rescued me from the nightmare which would come back to haunt me later that night–
in my bad dreams.