The Summer We Came to Life

Chapter

16





WHEN I WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING, EVERY-body was still asleep. I tiptoed into the sunshine. I walked off the porch and through the palm grove until I arrived at a fence. I put my hand to my throat and gasped. Stunning. It was possibly the most perfect beach I’d ever seen. The sun was still low in its early morning splendor, casting diamonds across the waves and bathing the sand in glittery warmth. A proud palm tree posed jauntily at the beach’s edge, begging to be made into a postcard. To the left, I saw the beach run along unfettered until a jutting tip of jungle and rock. From what I’d read, I knew that was the biggest settlement area of the Garifuna.

I tried to run over everything else I remembered. Aboriginal peoples from mainland Central and South America migrated to the Antilles Islands and intermixed. Columbus “discovered” the islands, so Spain colonized and enslaved the population. So many died off from disease and mistreatment that African slaves were shipped in. Runaway slaves and shipwreck survivors were taken in by the Carib population and the new blend constituted the Garifuna. Then Britain gained the island of St. Vincent in a treaty. The Garifuna resisted valiantly, but Britain rounded them up and shipped them to the Honduran island of Roatan. More than half died at sea, but the survivors persevered and even flourished. Finally, many migrated back to the coast of Central America in places like Tela. But to this present day, the Garifuna people maintained native South American and African customs. They make casabe (yucca) bread and dance punta—a frenzied ritual expressing all the joys and sorrow of their past.

I shielded my eyes from the sun to count seven canoes along the beach, all painted in bright teal and bloodred. The Garifuna were fishermen and lived off the sea and the land. I’d seen pictures of the settlements just down the road—small thatched huts by the sea. I looked around. The area we were staying in was so isolated. I wondered what would happen with the arrival of the outside world. If it was anything like the U.S. or other places I’d seen, beachfront property always went to the wealthiest bidder who immediately turned it into private compounds of cement and plastic.

But until then…What a place to live. It was completely silent apart from the water and the wind in the palm trees.

I turned to watch the waves, waiting for each dramatic curl to crest and crash. It was heartbreakingly beautiful—the exuberant crush of the whitewater. I loved that sound—rushing water. Everything, in fact, that morning, was perfect.

“Mina, run!” I called aloud, and took off galloping down the sand. I spun in circles, my feet pounding the warm ground. I spun faster and faster till the blue sky blended with the ocean and swirled around me like a cyclone, until I collapsed on the sand, giggling at myself.

That’s when I caught sight of Ahari, standing in the shadows by the fence, watching me. I waved, a night crab caught in a flashlight beam. Ahari continued to stare, his eyes steady. He knew I could see him but he didn’t smile. It gave me the chills.



Many hours later, the entire brood had made it out to the beach, and discussed every intimate detail about a person’s digestive system that should never be shared in public. Empathetic groans all around. I got heartily teased for my choice of destination—treacherous roads and instant food poisoning.

I sent Kendra quick texts to update her and hopefully make her laugh. The others went on walks, collected seashells, took pictures by the fishing boats, sunbathed and dipped in the waves.

By late afternoon, we’d all assembled back under the umbrellas.

Jesse and Isabel were drinking Bloody Marys, though I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how. Jesse thought Bloody Marys settled the stomach and replenished your vitamins.

In her black designer swimsuit, Jesse stretched out like a royal feline, her face shaded by an oversize Grace Kelly hat.

I followed the line of Jesse’s figure from her delicate shoulders to her tanned chest speckled with age freckles to her nearly flat belly, to her gracefully full thighs to her gleaming Corvette-red toenails. My God, I hoped I would look that good at her age.

Just then, Jesse peered over her Jackie O sunglasses at me. “Sammy, we’ve been discussing your decision about this Remy Badeau character. You want advice from some senior citizens? Not like we got it all figured it out—a divorcée, a widower and…well, at least Lynette and Cornell should be able to tell us a thing or two.”

“You can give me advice on what not to do.”

“Ouch, honey, now that really stings.” Jesse lay back on the recliner. “Good advice. Bad advice. I hate to break it you, darling, but all anyone’s really got is stories.”

Not a bad idea on a beach afternoon. “Does that mean you’re going first then?”

Jesse’s whole body tensed. I just assumed that was what she was getting at.

Isabel stuffed a finger sandwich into her mouth and clapped her hands delightedly, obviously imagining more glitz and glam stories of Jesse’s modeling days.

Jesse heard her daughter’s glee and slowly rolled to face her. It was hard to read her expression due to the ridiculous sunglasses. “My precious child, this trip has made me realize a few things. For one, you girls aren’t really girls so much anymore. But mostly, without our dear little Mina, I see that I might not have all the time in the world to tell you a few things I left out.”

Jesse sighed and lay back once more. “Like about your father, for instance.”



November 17

Samantha



The Copenhagen Interpretation was one theory, but there’s another one called Many Worlds.

It says that each time the universe is faced with a choice (like an electron going through one of two slits), the universe splits into separate universes, one for each possible outcome.

A recent survey found that over half of the world’s top physicists (yes, Stephen Hawking) believe in the Many Worlds Theory.

Max Tegmark at MIT and David Deutsch at Oxford routinely write on parallel universes and why we don’t see the other worlds. One scientist believes we glimpse the other worlds when we dream. But Brian Greene at Columbia has my heart. In The Fabric of the Cosmos, he describes how you could theoretically time travel to parallel universes of other outcomes of your life.

Doesn’t it mean that in one universe, Mina, everyone made all the right decisions? That there is a world where we have mothers and Isabel has a father? That it is only by chance that we’re the “copy” that unfortunately ended up in this universe, with all the bad possibilities? Like cancer.