I remember the same spot from last year, a short breakwall that protects the small marina. Benches were placed along its length every twenty feet, providing just enough privacy from your neighbors.
I walked to the last bench and sat down. It was peaceful. I watched the small waves break against the rocks and wondered where was the family of friendly cats I saw around here last year. I suppose they moved on.
It was nighttime. In the distance to my left were hotel lights. In front of me was infinite darkness. I closed my eyes to listen to the notes of the light breeze. Heaven under heaven. I breathed slowly.
Then I hear female voices on the walkway. A group of young women pass me, cackling in Russian. I already took the last bench; where will they go? They decide to sit on the rocks, not far from me. They’re laughing, enjoying their friendship. I don’t own the breakwall. I will share this slice of heaven with them. Maybe their laughter will infect me, and I will laugh too.
What’s that noise? I hear music coming from the speaker of a cheap phone. A Russian rap song. The girls are bobbing their heads, loudly rapping along. Why are they ruining it? Maybe a thought was about to enter their heads, one of the infinite darkness, of the notes of the light breeze, and that was too much for them. They blocked out my tranquility with violent noise. They canceled heaven under heaven.
I had been trying in vain to find silence. The beaches were too crowded with tourists. There were too many Bluetooth portable speakers with extra bass boost. There were too many friends and families talking in languages both beautiful and stringent. I won’t find peace here.
But wait, my hotel room! With windows closed, barely a sound can enter. The sun has drawn out thousands to the beaches, but in my room there is nothing to hear, and nothing to look at. Peace at last.
Read Next: The Ball On The String
