Inspiring athlete Diana Nyad was honored on the beach this past Tuesday morning. Ms Nyad gave a bracing speech and received an award, an iron plaque.

September in the tropics the sun is an open flame searing pale skin to coconut flakes. Thus I am flipped to a nocturnal schedule, meaning, I slept through the ceremony.

Originally there was to be a statue of Diana, in bathing costume, to mark the spot where she first stepped foot after her recent swim from Cuba. But this was nixed due to hurricanes and the danger of a flying Nyad ripping into a person’s home and the project was downscaled to a plaque to be nailed and soldered to the sea wall.

In her speech Ms Nyad revealed her plans to make America beautiful which includes an ‘ass-migration’, a walk across the country. I fully endorse this movement, and I tried to picture participating but I couldn’t see it.

Then, for an instant, fantasy and reality melded.

Late in the day I was padding around town when I looked up to see Diana Nyad bearing down on me, striding fluently and flanked by crew. A squall of ladies in matching baby blue tee shirts that read You Can Do It, or Get Off Your Fat Ass or something like that, I couldn’t tell because they were moving so fast. But so was I you see  I was booking for the lobster basil quiche at the Coconuts Coffee shop at Truman and Duval. 

Half a week slipped away in a haze of lobster pie and it was Friday night in fun Key West. I stepped out and into the Green Parrot. 

The bar was comfortably full and the band was a pride of dudes. With one of them on something like a hockey stick with two fat strings played with thumbs and sounding like a harp. As they strummed and bashed their machines all the musicians joined in the singing making for a velvety resonance. When they sang they closed their eyes and their groove was palpable. I was smiling and dancing, I couldn’t help myself. 

September in the tropics at midnight is delicious and under the brightness of an engorging moon, the night owls boogie. Surely Diana would approve?

Image John Martini©   www.johnmartini.com

For more short stories by Christina Oxenberg (Click Here)