Ripe, sweet and inviting.

So ripe and sweet, I feel the juice sliding down my bottom lip and chin. I love mangoes!

I can’t remember the last time I had one. Apples, they’re easier to come by. Same with oranges, well the cheaper ones with the thicker skin, they stay fresher longer, can travel better. But mangoes are delicate. It’s like the best stuff is harder to get and doesn’t last as long. But then most everything is harder for me to get. Peeling the skin away with my top teeth, I devour the fruit, gnawing away at the large pit before tossing it away. Grabbing a couple extras I stuff them in the pockets of my hoodie as I chew and swallow.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be in here!”

Breath caught in my throat, my head swings in the direction of the sound. Damn, gotta run. I push over a stack of crated pears, turn and race in the opposite direction of the voice as the dark lights up around me. Lights are switched on and thankfully my eyes adjust quickly from the dark.

I came into the warehouse through a crooked section of corrugated metal sheeting that makes up the exterior walls, it’s how I get in a couple times a week. This warehouse at Sunshine Produce always has better quality stuff than the local bodega. I think they use it for the fancy restaurants or at the resort around the south side of the island, the one with the high walls that block out real life from those ritzy types on vacation.

Usually, I always move the section of wall back in place. It’s how I’ve tricked the security guards and their security system in to not knowing I’ve been here. No time to put it back today, and there goes my secret on how to find good fresh fruit. It takes a moment for me to wiggle through the hole. I glance back: two guys are chasing me, but they’re older and a little slower. And neither of them is gonna fit through the hole in the wall. I fist bump the air for the small victory; they will have to go back across the warehouse to the opposite corner, where the dock door is located and I can gain some distance. When I come to the main boardwalk I switch to the right and head for the piers. That’s a good place to lose myself.

I pass by several other warehouses, some with bright outside lights and some bathed in darkness. I stop and wait in the blacked out area outside the fish market. It’s around 1:00 am or so, there’s no one around so I can catch my breath. My hands go into the deep pockets of my hoodie to feel the smooth skin of the mangoes, stroking my quarry as my heartbeat slows. Can’t stay still for too long, but as I move farther down the shore from the produce warehouse I don’t run, just quickly walk towards my destination. But, I don’t really know where I’m heading. I’m only trying to gain distance between me and the rent-a-cops. I don’t want to get caught, not that they will so much to me, not for a couple mangoes. Deep down I know they don’t really care about the fruit, but their job is to wait around for something to happen. When nothing happens they get lazy; eat too many snacks, drink too much coffee, watch too much crappy TV in the tiny office in the center of the lot. And when something does happen, like finding a scrawny homeless teen in a dark, locked up building…their adrenaline kicks into overdrive and they run just to have something to do. If they catch me, it’s just going to be a long, drawn out inconvenience. I won’t be arrested. The real cops have more important things to worry about than a little bit of fruit. I’ll just end up sitting in a store room, locked down until a supervisor or the next shift clocks in, then they’ll chastise me and let me go. I’ve been through it before; I don’t have time to waste on it.

Continuing down the boardwalk, I look back every few moments. I’m almost breathing easy when I hear a loud, angry voice yelling to stop. Pausing, I look back to see the flicker of flashlights, hear the thud of heavily falling footsteps behind me. Time to haul ass.

Picking up speed I run past light and dark buildings. I duck into an alley on the right, and at the end hang another right. May be I can trick them, get them to keep running down the boardwalk so I can double back and end up behind them? There’s another alley at the back of the building, running parallel to the boardwalk. I pass the back sides and loading docks of each building, feeing more at ease as it’s darker. With fewer security lights, and out of the way of the bright moonlight, I don’t head back out towards the shore until I’m almost back at the building where I started. Creeping down one side, I try to keep my breathing calm and even. I’m listening for any sound but all I hear is the music of the darkness on the island…distant calypso notes from a radio…the breeze blowing through dried, spiky  grass…scattering debris on the ground…the lapping of the waves.

That’s it! I’ll hide under the fishing pier!

Living on an island I learned to swim at an early age. I taught myself, crawled around on the rocks under the numerous piers and tested out the strength and coldness, paddling and bobbing in the shallows until I felt confident I wouldn’t drown. I had to be hyper-aware, always knowing I would have to save myself if I got in over my head. Nothing has really changed since then, except I’m a stronger swimmer. I can hold my breath under water for longer. I can push myself farther and harder. I know what I can do and can’t.

Peeking around the corner, I check the coast is clear. It is. The rent-a-cops are a ways down the boardwalk; no longer running but loping away from me. Perfect! I sprint from my hiding place across to the pier. While it’s decently lit at this time the wood is dark and looming, the pilings like tree trunks and I feel camouflaged in my all black clothing. Over the railing I clamber, using the cross beams as a ladder until I’m under the pier, resting among the boulders that break the waves. It’s damp but dark and I feel safe. Safe enough to let my heart rate slow and pull a mango from my pocket. It’s cool in my hiding spot, yet I’m protected from the breeze. The steady and measured sound of the waves rolling in and out soothes me. I peel and eat one mango, but I’m taking my time with it, figuring I’ll hide out here for a while to let my pursuers take their time to get back to their post. I assure myself they shouldn’t be looking for me here. I have no reason to worry. But time passes slowly and my mind wanders over random thoughts. Scraping my teeth over the pit I finish the fruit and turn to chuck it into the water. It plops a few feet to my left, I see it drop, but then something shimmers at the corner of my eye. I squint and turn in that direction. There is definitely something shiny over there. Something shiny could be something valuable. Should I go take a look? Maybe I could find something to sell or pawn, make it easier to get by for a couple days. I’m definitely going to take a look.

I take off my hoodie and fold it; my last mango tucked inside and lay it up above me on a large rock. I do the same with my shoes. I picked them up at the mission just a couple months ago so I can’t get them wet. Right now I don’t have another pair. And I don’t really want to hide out in wet pants the rest of the night, so I slide off my leggings. In a tank top and undies, I crawl along the rocks to the edge of the water where I threw the pit. The water is slower over here, the rocks forming a half circle around a small pool. I can see the mango pit, white-orange, and to its left I see the shimmer again. Something metallic is catching tiny bits of moonlight and shining up from the murky vegetation growing at the edges of the shallow enclave. I’m cautious about making my way towards the pool. Wet rocks and seaweed can be tricky and slipping and getting hurt is just not an option.

Still I’m crawling closer to the edge to drop into the small, natural pool. The water is almost still, almost glassy and surprising clear. I try to get closer to the shimmer but it’s under the surface. Inhaling a large breath I dive down and open my eyes for just a moment. Ah! The salt water burns so I can only keep them open for a second or 2 before I have to clamp them shut. I can see the glimmer of what caught my eye but it seems further away now. I need a breath so I burst up to the surface.

I’m treading, breathing and trying to see below the surface. What I see is weird. It looks like there’s an indentation under the sheer rock, maybe an overhang. Taking another deep breath I dive down for another look. My eyes burning again, a little less though, as I open them to see an alcove. My hands push upwards to clear the water, I surface and I can breathe! There’s an air pocket down here! I’m guessing erosion ground down the rock at the waterline and created a small cave. With a ceiling of stone above me I move towards the shimmer and dive back down. I blink my eyes open quickly, find the shiny object then clamp them shut again, forcing my hand out before me. What I grab is round and very smooth. I pull hard on it but it doesn’t budge. I feel around the sides of it and all I feel is muck covered hardness. I surface again, confused. The shiny thing seemed to be attached.

I know I should get out of the water, climb up to dry off but now I’m really curious. What the hell is down there? After a few slow, calming breaths I dive again, digging through the growth around the shiny circle, ripping debris away. I feel around and find a crease next to the circle. I follow the crease, feeling upward and rising again to the surface, out of the water until it makes a sharp turn and runs across to the right. It makes no sense but whatever I’ve found is flat and straight. It almost feels like a wall or a door…

It’s a door? It’s a door!

Mind reeling and floating on serotonin, I figure if this is a door then the shiny circle would logically be a door knob. I want to celebrate but I can’t. Because I can’t wrap my head around this concept:

Why the hell is there door underwater?

Glancing back over my shoulder at the pier, I’m torn. I’ve hidden out here long enough and the security guards have probably long since stopped looking for me. The sky is barely aglow with the far off sunrise, and I’ve been in the water awhile. I hadn’t noticed my fingers pruning. And yet, my curiosity has grown; I want to know what’s behind the door! Sometimes my nosy nature gets me into trouble, so I shouldn’t take the chance.  I truly want to do and be better.

And yet, the same curiosity that killed the cat might win out. I can rationalize that even living my life every day is a chance.

Mind made up I breathe in, hold it and dive. Coming down even with the shiny circle, I close my eyes and turn. It doesn’t budge. I turn it again, harder. I put both hands on the knob and wrench it hard to the left and right, my whole body twisted to and fro. It turns! I’m right! It’s a door knob! And the door is opening. I don’t get much leverage but it opens slightly before I have to go up for air. I squeeze my fingers into the crease, my legs pedaling harder with effort. It takes some time but I finally get the door open enough I can squeeze through. My shin hits something hard, I slide below the surface and kick outward, passing my body through the small space but then my hands feel a hard slab, it feel like a shelf. Breaking the surface again, this time inside of the large door, I can see a little clearer. There is faint light above me revealing a stone staircase. Why is there a staircase behind a door in an alcove undersea? I start to climb, drawn to the weak light, determined to find out.

Stopping, I let my breath slide slowly in and out again. I can rationalize that I’ve gotta find out what’s up with this door. I know without thinking about it too much that if it doesn’t open, I’ll give up, at least for now. I rationalize about coming back later and trying the door again if it doesn’t. Mind made up, I breathe in, hold it and dive. Coming down even with the shiny circle, I close my eyes and turn. It doesn’t budge. I turn it again, harder. I put both hands on the knob and wrench it hard to the left and right. It turns! I’m right! It’s a door knob! And the door is opening. I don’t get much leverage but it opens slightly before I have to go up for air. I squeeze my fingers into the crazy, my legs pedaling harder with effort. It takes some time but I finally get the door open enough I can squeeze through. My shin hits something hard, I slide below the surface and kick outward, passing my body through the small space but then my hands run into a hard slab before me, like a shelf. Breaking the surface again, this time inside of the large door, I can see a little clearer. There is faint light above me revealing a stone staircase. Why is there a staircase behind a door in an alcove undersea? I start to climb, drawn to the weak light, determined to find out.

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