What Happens in the Garden, Stays in the Garden

Photo Credit: cosmiccrisp.com

I really wasn’t looking for an epiphany. All I wanted was a snack.

“Hey, Evie! Let’s grab some grub so we won’t be drinking on an empty stomach,” Dana said, wisely. So we walked toward the little shop. Like all the shops along the pedestrian street leading to the beach bars, it sold food, beer, flip-flops, souvenirs, and condoms.

Dana strolled inside, but I stopped at the sidewalk, where a black-haired woman was sorting fresh produce into wicker bins. The fruit glowed in the golden light of the setting sun. Oranges, bananas, starfruit, and, to my surprise, apples.

The apples seemed ridiculously round, sinfully shiny, impossibly red. Why did they look so irresistible? Was I missing Milwaukee, here, in the middle of the Caribbean?

“What kind are these? Gala?” I asked the lady.

“Cosmic Crisp. Washington State,” she replied, with an accent I couldn’t place.

She glanced at my short dress and smiled. “Heading to the clubs? Try one of these. They will give you lots of energy.” The sleeve of her black T-shirt slid up, revealing the coiled snake tattooed on her bicep, as she held out the largest, juiciest-looking apple of the bunch.

The price seemed high, but what the heck, I was on vacation. And they were imported, after all. I paid her, palmed the gorgeous fruit, and took a bite.

The sweet juice was so delicious as it ran across my tongue that I uttered a moan of pleasure, which I immediately regretted as I caught the eye of a blond, twenty-something guy. He winked at me, then turned to the dark-haired woman and said, “I want what she’s having.”

Dana rescued me by emerging from the store at that moment, holding a sandwich. “So, you wanna try that Garden of Eden dance club?” she asked, grinning.

“Surfer boy Brad is going to be there, right? How could we resist?” I teased her.

Inside the nightclub, the bass beats thumped, and the dance floor was packed. Dana wandered off to find her beach beau. I pushed through the sweaty bodies toward the outdoor patio just in time to catch the tropical sunset between the palm trees.

That’s when I started to feel good. Really good.

I looked around at the people on the patio, some dancing, others kissing. How beautiful, I thought. So much love! I was overjoyed for all of them.

Then I spotted the blond guy from the store. “Hey!” I said, tapping him on the shoulder. “Did you get that apple?”

“Yes!” He grinned at me. “Isn’t this place great?”

“Amazing! Let’s dance!”

We spun around, laughing and singing to the music. How had I never noticed how wonderful the whole world was?

Dana whirled by. “Want a drink, Evie?”

“Nope! I’m great!” I enthused. Was I too loud?

Blondie was feeling it, too. “Love!” he gushed. “It’s everything! It’s the meaning of life!”

“Totally!” I agreed. “I LOVE EVERYONE!” We grabbed random people to bring them into our dance and share our newfound knowledge.

Joyfully, I hugged a tall, skinny man. “Get off me, you nutter,” he said.

“Okay, you two. Out. And don’t bring that shit back in here.” I got a glimpse of huge muscles and a bulldog T-shirt, and then Blondie and I were dancing down the sidewalk beneath the starry sky.

A few hours later, I squinted at the sunlight as my eyelids creaked open.

I was back in my hotel room. Dana was asleep on the fold-out couch. Blondie was stretched out on the bed next to me. I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw that we were both fully clothed, though I seemed to recall that he was the best kisser on Earth. His head turned and he gave me a wry smile. “Hi,” he said.

I smiled back. “Hi. Soooo… what in the hell happened last night?”

He sighed. “Not sure. But I suspect methylenedioxymethamphetamine.”

I sat up. “Ecstasy?!”

He stared. I raised an eyebrow back at him. “I’m a chemical engineering major! Don’t look so surprised,” I said. “But… I didn’t take any pills last night!”

“Me neither.”

We looked at each other with sudden understanding.

“Holy shit. The apples.”

“I knew that thing tasted funny!”

On my flight home, I pulled the business card out of my jeans pocket. Junior Account Executive, Eli Lilly Pharmaceuticals, it read. He had suggested we keep in touch.

Adam Smith, I thought. The name had a nice ring to it.




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