Pink ticket

By Carole Blackburn

Grabbing the armrest and my father’s hand with my other clammy palm, the Boeing 747 bumped along the runway at Nassau International Airport. The gateway into the Bahamas. I tried to reassure myself that traveling again, would help, both of us.

“We have had, a wonderful life, haven’t we, Jacinda? And it will return, my love.” Dad was forever the calm in my storm.

Stepping back, into the wider world, had been an unexpected treat. At first, Dad had been reluctant, due to the limited travel time on the tickets and the unpredictable weather of our destination.

“The Bahamas are tropical, after all, Dad.”

 I knew this lucky treat, we deserved.    

Gathering our belongings from the overhead locker, we followed the procession of tourists to the Arrivals terminal. It opened into a vast honeycomb canopy that surrounded me with unfamiliar sights and sounds. However, I found myself with my familiar accomplice which permeated ripples of rapid firing into my chest that knew, no ceasefire. A familiar sensation, that tested my control once again.

Jacinda, breathe, breathe, I thought.

In the airport terminal, we absorbed the atmosphere. Whilst strolling, we located the exit and flowed with our fellow travelers towards the gliding, sliding doors. The warmth bellowed in, as I spied the line of taxis. We rippled out into the late haze. The anticipation flowed from the face of our cabbie-to-be. He beckoned us to his cab, which took us into the bustle of New Provence island.

The 4-star hotel with its sleek walls lined with doors, which would open into awaiting rooms of untold promises for those seeking paradise. Following the directions given, Dad and I trundled until our door number 103, smiled back at us. On entering, my eyes conducted a tour around, only then did they judder, as the sea view which came into focus through the French doors. My vision hypnotized, paralyzing me for a moment in a welcomed stance of relief. We had made it, safely.

Within the hour, my suitcase emptied, and with the lighter feel of cotton floating over my body and my feet freed, which were able to breathe again. I could then shake Dad from his catnap. Waiting as he stirred, I peered through the Sun-drenched gossamer window drapes as they fluttered, as paradise awaited.

Stepping outside, I blinked at the jeweled azure waves that danced in the distance. Daring me to take its invite. I accepted. Dad stretching out lounging with pride, again watching his only daughter, now happy once more.

 

1

That evening, bought a relief of a cooling breeze to my sun-kissed shoulders. Glancing at Dad, the atmosphere wound its self around me like a seductive pashmina. The hapless band with their West Indies tone percolated, only added to my intoxicating feel of how lucky, Dad and I were to be here. Whilst I reminisced, our recent stroke of luck.

Ted’s stubby, pincher, digits had picked out the last raffle ticket for the evening and with his tannoy-like voice.

“Pink ticket number 3-6-7, pink ticket 367,” while scanning around the seated audience. My eyes popped and nudged Dad to look down at the winning first prize ticket in my hand.

 

Only four months later, with that prize unfolding now, the ripples of the sea tickled the shoreline. I languished, as it instilled me into a troubled slumber.

 On that late afternoon, Mum had grabbed her car keys, happy just to run an errand for me.

“No worries love, I have time to pop into town, before my Bingo. It won’t take long” 

How true.

Her kindness, until her end, cradles me, still.

The only certainty in all our lives is that it will end one day. The ‘’how and when’ hangs, like the sword of Damocles. It accompanies us, always.

Now my morning, sprung into life as the beachwear clad bodies began to litter the loungers. We ventured out. The sand shifted beneath my naked feet, whilst my glittery flip flops entwined in my fingers like jewels. Dad in his comfy prone position having the full attention of one of the waiters lasted, but a few hours. The sweltering midday sun in Paradise summoned him to a retreat, into the coolness of our cocooned accommodation and for a wishful, refreshing nap, behind our French doors.

“You don’t mind, Jacinda, do you? love.”

“No worries, Dad I will soak up the Sun, a little longer,”

Drifting in and out of my thoughts. Alone again …I must do this. I turned and watched him shuffle back inside.

The afternoon heat faded into balminess with the sea blending with the cloudless sky, veiled me with its tranquillity. I needed to turn over like a spit roast, in doing that, I noticed the beach fringed parasols were swaying like dancers in time to the wind. I reached for my beach top as the sand began to cloak me like a shroud.

The ease of the afternoon quickened its pace, as others around me scooped up their belongings. Hastened by the agitated, angered waves. Seemingly, reacting to the loss of its Paradise and all it had known. It roared and spat its emotions, this despairing response, prevailed. It had no control of this situation.

2

The Palm trees and the clumps of surrounding grasses twisted and turned in support to the reactive turmoil of the waves. Every step I endeavoured towards my shelter; Nature’s tidal tyrant smacked me with its forceful attitude. Our French doors slammed behind me, I was safe, again.

 I continued to witness others deserting this haven, who scuttled to safety. My focus fixed on an older couple hand in hand, but torn apart and then discarded like empty seashells that had once bedecked Landgrove cove, such unnecessary cruelty.

Frenzied panic mounted, as it surged my mind to find a release. My eyes widened to this apocalyptic vision; the heaviness of a parked trunk doing a ‘roly-poly ‘like the ease of a floating feather twirling in a warm breeze. The cacophony that orchestrated with the lashing, whipped destruction of this paradise, rendered me helpless. I freeze-framed in the pandemonium of hurricane Cecilia.

A moment of stillness, human voices cut in. Their panic vocalised with screeching at this catastrophe, to halt. Desiring to be awoken, to resume with their normality in Paradise. Now in my trance-like minds’ eye, I tried to focus on the calm of the previous day.

However, it engaged me back to my pink ticket, that had bought me here, which laid crumpled in the bottom of my flight bag.

The Pink ticket bought clarity to my mind, “Storms if you allow them Jacinda, they will always rage within you.”

Earlier, Dad had stirred into the world and had shuffled to the opened doors. Only noticing the calm before the impending storm, he closed them. Now being shaken into the world of violence that threw him against those same doors, splintering his head.

My world shrunk.

Outside, the palms bent and gyrated to the aggression and screams of Cecilia beating without care on those who succumbed to her terror.

Cecilia’s purpose was to make her presence felt. Her destructive journey had collided with mine. Both unexpected to this paradise. I mourned, as the world beyond continued to cartwheel out of control.

 The only certainty in life drew me closer. Paradise rescinded.

 

Copyright Carole Blackburn