At the gate there is a taxi waiting. “500 to Home Sweet Home?” I ask. “Yah, mon,” he says and opens the door. “I saw you when you came in, mon. You look like the boss mon when you show up. The hat and jacket, mon, you be runnin’ the place. I like that, mon!” These freakin’ Jamaicans! I don’t know exactly how Sweetie Pie got home tonight, I know I flew.
We get back to the room and after Sweetie Pie slips into her little nothing I walk her out to the verandah and seat her facing out to sea. I grab a poem and turn off the lights. Kneeling behind her I caress her neck and tilt the page so I can see it in the rising moonlight. “This poem reminds me of you,” I say and recite:
She Walks In Beauty Like the Night
a poem by Lord Byron
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
I drop the page in her lap and grab her belly and neck from behind. I nibble and kiss her ear lobe and whisper, “I love you, Sweetie Pie, today, tomorrow, forever…”
