Nine Thirty-Seven

Kat brushed back her long black hair and hooked it behind her right ear as she looked over at me. “You ready?” she asked. I nodded as I reached for my seat belt and clipped it across my lap. 

She turned the key and that big block V8 roared to life. The windows of the Southside Chevy dealership showroom rattled as she revved the engine. That 1957 Cherry Red Corvette convertible had sat as a display for far too long. It was time to take it out for some long overdue exercise.

I watched in sheer ecstasy as she shifted into first gear and dumped the clutch like a professional stock car driver. The tires screamed and smoked as they left black hot stripes across the white tiled floor. They spun, kicking up smoke, filling the huge empty showroom. Through the haze, I could see the clock on the finance manager’s desk. It was 9:37.  The rear end of the Vette slid sideways and the tires caught traction. In an instant the convertible jetted out of the showroom, shattering the huge glass window as we plowed straight through it. She weaved through the parking lot, sliding and skidding, barely avoiding parked cars on the street, and once we cleared the congested city streets, she put the hammer down. We had 600 miles to go, and an eternity to get there.  

Kat drove until we got out of Savannah and then I took over for a while. The sun was over our shoulder as we headed south. We stopped in Jacksonville and made love on a blanket in the sand next to a concrete picnic table. Afterward, I sat cross legged on the blanket as she slept, and I watched in awe as her chest rose and fell with each breath. I glanced down at the watch on my wrist. It was still 9:37.

Kat slowly stretched and pulled herself awake. “You hungry?” I asked.

“Yes, you want to try the Breakfast restaurant we passed on our way in?” 

“Sure, sounds good to me,” I said as I stood up and slipped my flipflops back on my feet. Kat rolled onto her back, slid her shorts over her tanned feet and arched her back into the air as she pulled them on and buttoned them up. She grabbed her shirt from the blanket, and hand in hand, we walked to the bright green and white restaurant on the other side of the parking lot.

Inside, it was just as we had expected. There were tables with freshly emptied plates, some tables with half eaten plates of food, and one or two with piping hot meals that haven’t yet been touched. I walked behind the counter to the line and scanned over the freshly prepared entrees.

“Do they have waffles?” She asked.

“Yes, here’s one with chicken, is that alright?”

“Perfect.”

I brought the food to an empty booth in the corner as Kat poured mimosas from an icy cold pitcher that she found sitting on the bar. We borrowed cutlery from the table next to us and enjoyed our meal together. We ate until we were stuffed, and we drank until we couldn’t speak without laughing. We laughed as the endless picture of mimosas flowed, and when we had our fill, we left full plates, and an icy cold, full pitcher of orange juice and champagne at the table and staggered back to the car.

“Is this heaven?” I asked as we sunk into the leather bucket seats.

“It took you so long to ask that question,” she replied slurping down the last of her mimosa. “What do you think?”

“I think it could be, I just expected something different I guess.”

“What should be different?”

“I didn’t say anything should be different, I just thought it would be different. You know, full of angels or something like that.”

“Is that what you want heaven to be? Angels sitting around on clouds playing harps all day?”

“No, not at all.”

“Hell, I don’t know what this is. This is probably just a dream,” she said as she leaned over to kiss me. Then, she fell back into her seat. “So, drive me to a hotel so I can finish this dream in a soft warm bed.”

I looked at my watch again; it was still 9:37.

And that’s how it was for the six hundred miles. We weaved through parked cars on the highway until we were hungry enough to stop for a while.  Small town bistros seemed to offer the best food. It was always stemming hot and freshly prepared, waiting for us to take it from the kitchen and enjoy until we were fully satisfied. We drank in excess at every meal, and we coveted each other’s bodies every time we stopped to rest. Most of the time we didn’t even attempt to look for a room or some secluded place, we did in the open with the Florida sun kissing our bare skin. Maybe we wanted someone to happen upon us and discover us amid our sin. But no one ever did, we were alone, there was no one else. It was still 9:37.

The sun was at our backs as we crossed Seven Mile Bridge and made it to the end of the line. Duval Street was just as deserted as the rest of the world, but the music played on nonstop, and Kat and I danced together on the sidewalk. For that sidewalk, the one right in front of Sloppy Joe’s Bar, is where we first met. 

It was spring break 2001, and I caught a ride with my roommate, Arthur Hunt, to Key West so we could blow off some steam at the end of our senior year. We didn’t have much money, so we ended up camping on the beach instead of staying in a hotel. We were young and free and happy; we were the luckiest people on earth. 

On the third day of the trip, I purchased two tickets to tour the Hemingway House and Arthur backed out at the last minute. So, there I was, standing in front of Sloppy Joe’s, beer in one hand and two tickets in the other, when I saw the most beautiful creature that has ever existed. She was wearing a white sheer sundress over a blue low-cut bikini, and she was walking straight toward me. Suddenly, the rest of the world melted away and she was the only thing I could see. I knew at that moment, she was the one I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with. Don’t ask me how I knew it, I don’t know how, I just know that I did. And I wasn’t about to let her walk by and walk out of my life as quickly as she walked in. So, I stepped in front of her and offered her the spare ticket.  By the time the tour was over, she would forever be in my life.

We went back to Hemingway’s house. But this time there was no tour, and no guide. It was just the two of us. We made our way upstairs and we relived the days of our youth, we talked and laughed until we fell asleep, wrapped up in each other’s arms. When I woke from my slumber, Kat was standing on the balcony, overlooking the pool. Her long black hair danced in the warm morning breeze and the low hanging sun turned her white sundress translucent and the shape of her intoxicated me. I wrapped my arms around her from behind, and attempted to breathe her in.  “Where do you want to go next?” I asked.

“Nowhere, I want to stay here.”

“Here in the Hemingway house?”

“Yes, I want to stay here, in our house. I don’t think Papa would mind.”

“No, I don’t think Papa would mind.”

*

Arthur Hunt waited patiently until the torn paper number he held in his hand flashed on the screen.

“Are you the next of kin?” The grey-haired lady in horn rimmed glasses asked from the other side of the service window.

“No ma’am, he didn’t have any family. I’m, well, I was, his best friend.” Arthur replied.

“It says here that he has a wife, Katherine.”

“No, ma’am, she passed away twenty years ago.”

“She must have been so young,” the lady said.  “What happed?  If you don’t mind me asking.”

 She was actually on the plane that hit the Pentagon on September 11th.”

“Oh my, that’s so sad,” she said as she stamped the certificate. “I guess I can give this to you.”

Arthur accepted the certificate and gave it a once over for accuracy. 

Name – Gerald, William Allen

Age - 42

Place of Death – Memorial Health University Medical Center

Cause of Death – Alcoholic Liver Cirrhosis

Time of Death - 9:37