A Caribbean bar full of mixed race Orientals.
A quiet, backstreet location that promised socialising, dancing, cheap food, local drink, and snooker. A serene little business run by honest people, where you never quite felt unsafe. A place where one expected to see the locals, with a scattering of tourists from everywhere imaginable. Somehow though, the place was overrun with what appeared to be mixed race Orientals.
She looked and was dressed attractively.
She strolled in and took a seat at the bar. Many heads turned. She was ready to make things happen, hoping to make new friends, or witness something entertaining…anything to mend a broken spirit. The afore-described locale seemed a promising start-point.
A few hours later nothing much had passed: a few hellos, a silly fight between two barmen. She moved to the outside bar for fresh air. An adorable little lad was seated there, sipping something colourful. He smiled at her and recommended some tropical mix, which she indulgingly requested for. A not-terribly-handsome young man came to check on his little brother at the bar. He might have looked more attractive, had his arm not been carelessly thrown around what seemed to be a “random local girl”. He muttered a polite hello as he drew close, played with the boy some, then walked off, girl in tow.
Time to call it a night.
The day was over, and a sunset was beginning. She stood outside and breathed in the fresh tropical air, then decided to walk back to her hotel. A few steps later, she noticed Older Brother mounting a bicycle, and wondered briefly about Little Brother and of course, Local Girl. She walked a little ways down the street. Somewhere off the road she noticed a patch of land with this shockingly green grass, like a lawn with equal-length, but much overgrown grass. It seemed to stretch on for quite a bit. She smelled its moist earth and the alluring lime green called to her, so she settled on a detour, to take a walk in this field of green.
A few steps in, and she was up to her ankles in soil. Her first thought was that it was freshly tilled, hence very loose and unconsolidated. A couple more steps revealed that this was not the case, for she was now almost up to her knees. She panicked, and thrashed about wildly. A voice from the edge of the field told her it was some type of quicksand, and she had to be calm and still. She turned around to see Older Brother, just getting off his bike. He walked right in, fighting against the sand, pulling her back toward the edge of the field and helping her climb out. But that great effort had left him much worse off than she’d been – he was chest-deep in it, and every attempt to climb out only sunk him further.
Through her panic-stricken haze, she noted the young man’s bravery. She was now safe, but it looked as though he wasn’t going to make it. She went right to the edge – where the soft earth met the concrete of the street – and reached out to him. By then he was thrashing madly about too, alarm clear on his face. An attractive young man had been reduced to a terror-filled, panic-stricken youth. Compassion wrenched her heart at the sight of him in that state, for he was up to his chin now, and still sinking fast. She’d managed to dig in and grab hold of both his arms, and with determination, she pulled with all her might, the combined weight of himself and the sand. She heaved, and pulled him all the way out and onto the concrete.
Little Brother happened by then, and was told to get help. Older Brother was badly shaken, eyes wide, shock apparent. She hugged him close and comforted him. This young man had almost died trying to save her. She rocked him back and forth as they sat on the pavement, whispering comforting words into his ear.
And although he did not know it, and in spite of the existence of Local Girl, whoever she might be, and no matter what other unforeseen barriers lay ahead, one fact was indisputable. This Beautiful Stranger had her heart.