booktowrite

It was mid-winter in Miami. I was there for a mixture of business and pleasure… the pleasure being primarily a company party that meant I’d be spending the weekend there. On Sunday, the day after the party, I met up with my colleague who was over from France and with whom I had worked for several years in Europe. We went to the beach and ended up on Ocean Drive. We walked the length of Ocean Drive, bewildered by what we were witnessing… two Europeans lost in an American fantasy land of loud music, bright lights, remarkable outfits, glamourous cars, palm trees, winter heat and a beautiful beach. The street is lined with bars and restaurants and outside of each is someone, or more than one, trying to convince passers by to enter and part with some of their cash. It was difficult to do anything else other than laugh or feel irritated by constantly having to say ‘no, thanks’ whilst trying to enjoy the stroll. Then, from nowhere, appeared one of the promoters… but she was different. She stood still, calm, quiet. She wore glasses, had auburn hair and freckles. A storm was brewing so she was wearing a hooded sweater that seemed a contradiction to her hot pants. Printed on the back of the hot pants was ‘Down and Dirty’. She was a multitude of contrasts; her glasses and her freckles, her humble expression and demeanour, did not seem to match her shorts and her job. We asked her if we could sit outside, but under shelter, and in very Spanish English she said that we could sit anywhere we wanted to. We chose our seat and she followed us closely with a couple of menus in her hands. She smiled lovingly, like a motherly love, and ensured that we were comfortable and happy in our seats before she moved back to the front of the bar where she quietly assumed her position. I was spellbound. A few moments later a torrential downpour began and the covering above us simply formed a series of waterfalls pouring down around us. Freckles ran to us, started to grab things from our table, and kindly guided us inside to a warm and dry table within. From there we didn’t see much of her and the bar lost its charm without her in sight so we finished our drinks and left. Each time I fly to Miami I think to myself ‘maybe you will be fortunate enough to meet Freckles once more’ and I live in hope.