St. Nowhere

Clear green waves lapped against the white sand. Giant thunderheads rose from the distant horizon, like effervescent volcanoes bursting out of the sea. Forked lightning danced around the tops of the far-off massive cumulonimbus clouds, providing nature’s own fireworks show. Ex-patrioted Americans added their own pyrotechnics to the mix, creating a sea of color, light and sound.  It was an appropriate celebration for their abandoned country’s birthday. It was the fourth of July and a lone man watched quietly; his very small place in the universe was illuminated.  It was ironic he had to leave the United States to find his freedom.

While he was once the master of his universe, Robert (Shifty) G. Gabriel had been laid off during the Great Recession (although Shifty wasn’t sure what was so great about it.) On a cold January morning in 2009, he left his blood, ego and career on the cold pavement of Wall Street.  His boss threw him under the bus and received a fat bonus for doing it. She, being a #$%#$, pocketed the money and immediately bought a 7-series BMW.  Shifty preferred the sharks here. They were nicer.

Four years later, he now sat on a beach of St. Nowhere, the island of failed careers. Shifty didn’t mind it, though. He liked the people. He took  his severance, bought a floatplane, learned to fly and began a new career as a bone fisherman and guide. He had called his girlfriend after he had been laid off. She left with the  furniture and the dog before he ever got home.  By the next week, he was in a friendlier place.

No longer would he walk the cold sidewalks of Manhattan.  Frozen concrete had been replaced by warm sand beaches.  The frozen Hudson River by the Caribbean Sea.

“Shifty, you ever want to go back?”

“To where?” Shift looked the source of the question. Tanned, lean and gray-headed, Jenny McGuire had made it to St. Nowhere after a particularly bitter divorce.

“New York. The Brokerage Firm. You know what I mean.”

The warm, clear water lapped at their toes.

“Um, no.”

“I think I want to go back.”

Shifty looked at his girlfriend and smiled,” And why?  You’re in paradise and you have me.”

Jenny looked at Shifty, “I’m not sure it’s enough.”

Shifty looked at her like an angel would someone wanting to leave Heaven.  “I’ll miss you.”

“I KNEW YOU’D SAY THAT!” Jenny hit him as a particularly large shell burst over them. Her silver hair glowed red, white and blue.

Both sat there and watched as more shells were launched from the shore.  A small fishing boat cruise past the coast. Fishermen’s voices rolled across the water in between explosions.

“They say there is a sunken Nazi submarine nearby,” Jenny changed the subject. “Bet it has buried treasure.”

“Nazis were marauders, but I’m not sure they had pirate’s booty.”

There were rumors of ruins of a Nazi sub base on the other side of the island. U-boats had harassed Allied shipping throughout the war.  Another rumor claimed one sub had escaped in early 1945 and the Germans had lived on the island for the rest of their lives.  Dietrich, the old bartender at Tom’s Beach Bar, was rumored to be one of the submariners — although he always swore he was not a Nazi. Just a German.

“Why would they run?” Jenny asked.

Shifty answered knowingly, “On St. Nowhere, we’re all running from something.”

A Jimmy Buffett song wafted across the beach from the bar.  Rumor was that Jimmy himself used to come to St. Nowhere to get away from his fame.  His name was scratched on one of the bar’s wood beams. His voice sang, “There’s a cowboy in the Jungle…”

That’s what Shifty was. A cowboy in the Jungle. Or at least a broker in the Jungle.  He chose to roll with life’s punches instead of fighting them anymore.

In a non sequitur, he said, “You know, I haven’t owned a cell phone in a year.”

That was Shifty’s hardest addiction to break. But he gave up Social Media for shellfish, texts for tequila, Facebook for fresh fruit. The Stock Market was now the name of the store where he bought his stocks of canned goods.  His main vice was a good cigar.  His friend Manuel sold those at the Stock Market — and they were Cuban.

Both sat in silence and watched the fireworks and distant storm.  A dolphin splashed playfully a few yards off shore.

“You want to get married?” Jenny blurted out.

Shifty sat for a minute as the lightning became more intense on the horizon and then answered.

“Yes.”

Jenny sat stunned for a moment and then threw her arms around his neck.  Then she pulled away.

“You’re not yanking my chain are you?”

Shifty picked up a beautiful shell and handed it to Jenny.  “Jenny, will you be my soul-mate and partner for the rest of our lives?”

“Yes.”

A warm breeze blew across their faces.  Another shell burst revealed tears running down Jenny’s cheek.

And on that Independence Day on a small Caribbean island, Shifty Gabriel stopped running once and for all.