Please Don’t Leave Me

Selena and I were dancing hand-in-hand and singing at the top of our lungs out on our porch at the Presidential Suite of the Playa Del Carmen Resort, just feet away from the Caribbean Sea. There was a bottle of champagne in tow and a heap of menthol cigarette butts littered by the landing. 

After exhausting Pat Benatar and Rihanna, we were up to Pink: “da-da-dot-da-da… please… please… don’t leave me…” and the palm trees were two-stepping while the ocean was drumming a steady syncopated beat.

The sun was setting below the surf, and I thought that this had been the perfect day: breakfast on the beach, sex in the shower, a couple’s shiatsu massage, piña coladas by the pool during a foam party, a barbeque lunch of tortillas, queso and tequila, with dinner at Alux—a restaurant in the belly of a cave—being the highlight.

As the sun blinked shut like an eye, giving me a sly wink, its pink eyelashes broke the line of the horizon. I said under my breath, “I wish this day would never end.”

There was a wild bird-of-paradise plant in a clay pot by the porch railing. A salamander perched motionless on one of its leaves, which rumbled under a scorching wind rolling in from the East. The salamander was half orange and half green and its orange face gleamed with an ancient knowledge. I noticed that the salamander had a small gold ring on his spindly green arm, and without thinking I reached out and touched it. 

The salamander dissolved into a gush of swirling blue-green flame and a dark-skinned man with no shirt, a muscular build, and a hairy chest with a rug of thin, tight curls stood before me. 

He wore baggy satin harem pants with red and gold columns which were sealed and came together at the ankle. He stood on hairy hooved feet.  He had long hoop earrings, a nose ring, and his arms were adorned with many gold bracelets. 

Time had stopped. The world was a vat of soft gelatin. I could feel the air on my skin—but my arms moved through it like molasses—knocking into and squeezing through the motionless columns of air particles. Selena was frozen beside me with her blonde hair hanging weightlessly.

“Who are you,” I asked.

“I am Shaddad,” he said, “you summoned me by rubbing Solomon’s Ring and I was beckoned forth by your curious wish.”

“Who are you again,” I asked.

“Your wish,” he shrugged, “is my command…” and he waved his arms, turning himself back into green flames and sailing off on the breeze without further explanation.

“What wish…” I said. But he was already gone.

The bright pink eyelashes of the setting sun had just winked shut, but the eyelids lifted up again, crusty with the dew of sleep. The sun yawned, stretching out its long arms, and arched its back. It rose from its earthy bed and stood to its feet, moving backwards, and breaking the line of the surf from the West. At first, it happened slowly. Then, faster. Like an old VHS tape that was being rewound at 4x speed. Finally, everything blurred into the stuff of dreams. 

I found myself lying in the king sized bed of the suite in the cool of the morning. Selena had confiscated all of the blankets and all of the sheets. 

I had never gotten married before. Well, that’s not true. There was that time in Vegas with Tara, but I wasn’t counting that fiasco—after all it had been annulled.

I didn’t remember Shaddad or anything that had happened before. I just relived the day with a vague sense of nagging déjà vu, without changing a thing.

Selena rolled over, yawning, and said, “Baby, I’m hunngggrrryyy.”

* * *

“I wish this day would never end,” I whispered and noticed that the salamander had a small gold ring on his arm. Without thinking, I reached out and touched it. 

There was Shaddad. As time stood still, I remembered our prior encounter. There he was arms crossed below a dark rug of chest hair, and I somehow knew what he was about to say.

“—Hey, this time let me remember, so at least I could maybe change a thing or two,” I told him.

“Wait, wait. Hold the presses. I thought you were just saying how this was the perfect day. You wanted to relive it forever and ever. Did I mishear that?” Shaddad said in a thick and rumbling voice.

“No, it was the perfect day—but—you can’t—just—go on living the same day over and over again forever.”

Shaddad parted his lips and cocked his head, “men,” he said, “always finding ways to mess up a good thing,” and continued, “your wish is my command…” and the green flames and the sun rising from the West... and I found myself lying in the king sized bed of the suite in the cool of the morning. Selena had confiscated all of the blankets and all of the sheets. 

Selena rolled over, yawning, and said, “Baby, I’m hunngggrrryyy.”

* * *

We were lying on the couples massage tables in the spa and Carmen placed hot stones on our backs.

“Babe, I really need to see if we can find some Newport cigarettes,” Selena said. Carmen had the towel over my torso and was kneading my lower back and hip girdle with her elbows.

“We are in paradise, on our honeymoon, and this is what you are worried about?” I asked.

“I need cigarettes babe. Menthols, at least,” Selena said. Carmen started using her forearms to dig into my shoulder blades.

“How’s the massage?” I asked. “I splurged for the best package.”

“It is incredible,” she said, “I really needed this. I need a manicure too after this—I have a broken nail” she said, and then continued, “and babe, we really need to see if we can find some Newports. I’m serious. You know I get anxiety if I don’t have my cigarettes.”

The other day, I brought Selena to the gas station, and we found her Newports, but today I went out while she was getting her manicure and bought her Marlboro Menthols, the Mexican kind, that have the flavor beads you pinch and crush to adjust the amount of menthol you want and waited for her out by the pool.

While I was having a shot of Clase Azul at the bar, an older Gentleman named Finley with a black Hawaiian shirt, with a very expensive Patek Philippe gold luxury watch strolled up with a twenty-something Latina girl named Maria-Elena. Finley’s red hair and enigmatic grin warmed my heart. Maria-Elena’s loyal doting smile showed real respect and admiration.

“You two want to do a shot of tequila?”

The three of us clinked glasses—chin, chin—and I headed off.

* * *

I claimed a poolside cabana for Selena and I, with the white sheets and blankets and big body-style pillows, got us some big blue aquamarine towels, and ordered up a couple of piña coladas. I stripped down to my Chubbies shorts, oiled up my torso with Bananna Boat and laid back with my tinted Ray Bans to take in the sun.

They were playing Jimmy Buffet over the speakers, “Wastin' away again in Margaritaville /

Searching for my lost shaker of salt / Some people claim that there's a woman to blame /

But I know it's my own damn fault…” And it was. It was always my fault.

Foam clouds were covering the surface of the water. A stringy kid was floating on a Pink Flamingo floaty. Three girls were straddled up on one White Swan floaty, bobbling as their legs flailed. A red-haired balding Scottish guy with a British accent who had to be in his 40s—part of the same group—was riding a Purple Unicorn with his big gut bouncing against its mane, guffawing as he went. The whole scene was surreal. 

A young couple kissed in the foam. It transported me back to an equally strange day when all of this first had started.

After our first trip to Mexico, I remembered standing at the customs gate of the Cancun airport, when Selena and I fumbled for our licenses.

When I pulled mine out, she looked down at my license and said, “You don’t look like a lawyer.”

“What do I look like,” I asked.

“A handsome pirate with dark features and a ‘hell-may-come’ grin,” she said, with a goofy smile.

“Wow! That’s quite a compliment. Did you pull that out of a romance novel?” I asked.

“What about me,” she asked, “what do I look like?” And she gazed up at me.

“You don’t look like a record producer, that’s for sure?”

“Then what do I look like?”

“A lawyer’s wife,” I had said. The words had just slipped out, and for a second, I had thought about taking them back, but then I gazed down at her.

She met my gaze, looking up at me transfixed, holding back the sweetest of smiles. And in that moment, I had been able to see the two of us standing before an altar, exchanging vows.

Disturbing me from my daydream, Selena appeared, doing a runway walk over to me in the Burberry Bikini I had bought for her for our trip, smoking a Newport cigarette triumphantly—God only knows where she managed to find one of those—freshly painted pink bejeweled nails glistening in the sun. She took dainty sips of the Pina Colada through a straw and said, “this is the best day of life.”

Selena leaned over on the daybed and said, “Baby, I’m hunngggrrryyy.”

* * *

“I wish this day would never end,” I whispered and noticed the salamander... 

There was Shaddad. His arms crossed. I knew exactly what he was about to say.

“Wait, what are my options here,” I asked him.

“What do you mean, young master—you said you never wanted this day to end,” Shaddad said, furrowing his brow—"and it is for me to do as you command.” 

“I’m not quite sure what I’ve gotten myself into here. It’s like watching a movie for the second time. I’ve been noticing some things. Things that are a little off.” 

“Noticing things?” Shaddad said, genuinely perplexed. It didn’t occur to me that jinn are spiritual creatures who know and apprehend everything at once, and while they have emotions and purpose like men, the idea of a gradual realization of present truths is a foreign one for them. 

It also hadn’t occurred to me that he was genuinely disinterested in what I was going through.

“How does this all work, anyway—you—all of this—what are the rules?” I asked.

“I am a jinn. We are wandering servants. You came across my ring and expressed your heart’s desire. Now, I must provide you with three wishes—your first wish was for this day to never end—and so it hasn’t. Your second wish was to be able to remember and change the events. And now, you only have one wish left (unless I see fit to grant you more).”

And with this Shaddad put his hands to the sides of his waist, arched his back, and belly laughed with dramatic effect.

“What would you wish for if you had three wishes, just out of curiosity,” I asked.

“What I would wish for,” Shaddad said. “I would wish that on the day of judgment that my lord would call me to his arms. I would wish that in the world beyond this world, I would be appointed and crowned—”

“—Fascinating stuff—and I do want to hear all of it. But what would you wish for, if you were in my shoes, right now?” I asked.

“What are you,” Shaddad said, sizing me up, “about an 11 wide?”

“In my shoes, meaning in my present situation, with Selena,” I said.

“That’s a hard one,” Shaddad said. “Perhaps, I might start by considering whether this perfect day, if you were to live it over forever—as you have asked me to grant—would still be perfect after a week or a month or a year—and I would start by really examining what a perfect day would really be like—asking if it is what your heart really most desires,” and Shaddad continued, “so I’ll see you the same time tomorrow?

“Wait… you mean today?”

“Touche,” Shaddad said pointing in my direction. Shaddad took a small bow with a faux hat roll and said, “your wish is my command…” and...

I found myself lying in the king size bed of the suite in the cool of the morning. Selena had confiscated all of the blankets and all of the sheets. 

Selena rolled over, yawning, and said, “Baby, I’m hunngggrrryyy.”

* * *

Breakfast on the beach involved a quick dip in the ocean. But the shoreline was rocky (alpine mountain pass rocky) and full of sharp shells and slick tree branches that had not been dredged. 

Walking out a bit into the turf, Selena jumped into my arms. “Oww babe,” I yelled as my foot nearly went through a huge, jagged rock from her weight. I felt a pinch in my back that could have been a blown disc. “I need to put you down.” She grabbed her arms around my neck and said, “no babe, if I’m going down, I’m taking you with me.”

I strained and cringed with each step but got us back to shore. I was feeling nauseas and my foot was bleeding. It was bleeding a lot. Both underneath and on top.

Back in the room, in the shower, there was an awkward bit of embarrassing dry, well dry/wet humping of Selena’s leg to get the sex started. She wasn’t as enthusiastic as hoped for.

The couple’s shiatsu massage was relaxing, except for Selena’s recitation of her State of the Union of grievances. Apparently, Selena had a dry, scaly corn on her heel and needed a pedicure, had a broken fingernail and needed a manicure, was starting her period and needed me to pick up some tampons, had an annoying nerve injury in her knee (fix to be determined), was suffering from knots in the fascia of her shoulder, and was debating whether she might have craned her neck and how that could have happened. 

The studio rent was also a week late, her artists were ungrateful, her mother wasn’t pulling her weight taking care of childcare duties for Selena’s niece, she was in a fight with her hairdresser and debating options—a truce, a replacement?, and she needed a raise—and therefore some help with studio rent. 

The piña coladas were syrupy and were making my stomach hurt. The pool was overcrowded. The nachos were soggy and the queso was dry. And Selena took forever to get ready for dinner, so I had to throw our chauffer for the evening an extra $40 for the wait.

There was a bat in the cave. Bats, plural. Actually.

* * *

Selena and I were dancing and singing at the top of our lungs. The Caribbean Sea was fussy and churned with an irritated drone. The palm trees tapped their feet impatiently, like servers waiting on a last customer, ready to call it a night. 

A spilled champagne bottle lay on its side, spoiling in the summer heat. The air was rank of Newport cigarettes. The groundskeeper was hovering nearby, less than amused by the amount of pot smoke coming off the porch of the Presidential Suite.

The scorching wind dusted dry sand up into the air which made us cough.

“I wish this day would never end,” I whispered and noticed the salamander... 

There was Shaddad.

“Hey, dude. We need to talk,” I told him.

“What is it,” Shaddad asked.

“Suppose I go back and change something from before… way before… and end this repeating loop,” I asked.

“I’m following,” Shaddad said. “You can do that. But why? What’s the problem?”

“Well, suppose I change something that means that I never came on this trip, right.”

“Ohhh, Oh, Ohh,” Shaddad said. “That’s in the manual. That’s de facto wish cancellation by proxy—you would be acknowledging and waiving any right in continuation of the perpetual loop by doing so—you do acknowledge and understand that, right?”

“Yes, yes, yes. If I never found the ring… is that a paradox or something—because how could I go back and change something—if I never found the ring?” I asked.

“Hahhhahhhhhahhahh. Paradox. We are creatures of spirit, dude—not physicists. There are no boundaries to our power. Not to worry. One word of warning, though. If you change the past so the future here never happened—it always was that way—and you won’t remember any of this, or me," Shaddad said.

"Good to know, makes sense” I said, pondering my next steps.

“I want to go back to that day in the airport and not say that thing that I said,” I told him.

“Your wish,” he shrugged, “is my command…” and he waved his arms, turning himself back into green flames and sailing off on the breeze without further explanation.

* * *

I found myself lying in my bed back home in Brooklyn in the cool of the August morning. 

Maria-Elena had confiscated all of the blankets and all of the sheets. 

Maria-Elena rolled over and said, “Baby, I’m hunngggrrryyy.”

As I walked down Remsen Street to the breakfast shop, I saw a red-haired man with a young blonde in tow. Selena? He had a very expensive Patek Philippe gold luxury watch on his arm.

“Oh, Finely, baby, we absolutely must get some Newports,” Selena said. He had an enigmatic grin that warmed my heart. I had the strangest sense of déjà vu.