Kissing is a great invention. On the list of inventions, it ranks higher than the microwave oven and hula hoop.
Tradition says that kissing was invented by medieval nights for the purpose of determining whether their wives had been hitting the mead.
Kissing transcends class and financial status and is a cheap way for two, three, or however many people to pass an afternoon.
Kissing is the glory of humankind. All animals copulate but only humans touch to trigger sensation.
Old Hassidic Jews often kiss their bread before they eat it. These are wonderful kisses that resonate into the cosmos, felt by the g-ds even.
There’s no other flesh like lip flesh, no other meat like mouth meat. Or, the sweet-sounding clink of tooth touching tooth.
It’s a rainy Saturday in Key West, Henry’s working in his study, typing madly as his Cuban wife Lucia comes in and says,
kiss me bebe.
He stands and they turn towards each other, embracing, then kissing, a meaty kiss, tongues galore, nasty. Henry asks,
does your heart jump for joy when I kiss you?
Pendejo, my heart isn't a poodle that jumps on command.
Henry and Lucia were different from their neighbors on Peach Street because they spent a good deal of time listening to music on their large Grundig Radio.
Neither of them understood the mechanics of much of anything, and the Grundig was no exception. Henry would strike the side of the old radio when the reception waned saying,
common darling, give us all ya got, we need enough juice to finish the Ive’s Symphony.
But, today, the rainy day, and the day of the meat kiss, old faithful dies.
So, they wrap the dead radio in a white sheet, carry it to the backyard, burying it in the middle of the croquet field under the center hoop. After last rights Henry says,
Let’s go the Sears Town and buy a radio.
In the twinkling of an eye, they’ve, showered, groomed, and dressed. And are off, riding in their 73 Chevy Malibu to Peacock Plaza Road, then turning into Sears Town and parking. As they get out of the car, Lucia says,
let’s go to Radio Shack,
good idea baby, they don’t make Grundigs anymore, so a ghetto blaster might be the way to go.
Inside Radio Shack a salesman approaches, he’s wearing a sporty company shirt, and his belly’s hanging over his white patent leather belt,
how can I help you folks today?
We need a new radio, a ghetto blaster maybe.
Let’s take a walk,
when they reach the radio section the salesman points and says,
this fella here is a Hitachi TRK-8080E, a white folks ghetto blaster.
He pops in a cassette, the sound's good, without overpowering bass so Henry says,
wrap it up.
The salesman quickly retrieves a box from the stock room and places it on the counter, Lucia pays 88 dollars cash.
Driving south towards their bungalow they turn into The Sonic Drive-in. Lucia gets out of the car and walks to the counter and orders,
let's see, we'll have chicken fried steak, fried okra, collard greens, sweet yams, and two vanilla malts.
They love The Sonic Drive-in, where the home-style southern cooking sings to the soul.
The drive-ins' carhop is a Black lady, real nice with red hair with a hairnet on. She passes two brown paper bags through the opening of the glass partition saying
enjoy your soul food.
Home, they eat in the kitchen, drinking creme de menthe, vanilla shake, sonic shamrocks.
Tired they strip, tossing their clothes on the floor. Before they fall asleep they promise to get up early to do something physical. This, dubious and out of the ordinary for them, because sex was the only physical thing they did regularly.
They are up at five, sipping coffee in the hot tub on the patio, and Lucia mentions last night,
darling, last night we promised we'd do something physical today.
Like what?
Jet skiing?
How’s that physical?
Well, if you fall off the jet ski, you have to swim and get back on it.
That’s an awful thought, Lucia, people don’t fall off of jet skis.
How bout fishing from the pier?
It’s physical for the fish, only.
OK, culo inteligente your turn,
let’s walk to the Ernest Hemingway Museum and do the tour.
It’s only five blocks Henry,
OK then, we’ll walk somewhere else afterward.
They shower quickly, dress in shorts, tank tops, straw hats then Lucia asks,
where are our jogging shoes?
We don’t have any darling, flip flops will do,
chancletas for a marathon walk?
Sure, ancient Roman soldiers marched from Constantinople to Gaul in leather sandals.
Lead the way, Mark Anthony.
So, the heroic journey begins— five blocks to The Ernest Hemingway House and Museum.
They walk east on Whitehall Street, bowled over with wistfulness seeing the neighborhood kids playing jacks, double dutch, and kick the can.
The children's fresh-faced joie de vivre is infectious— the couple holds hands and skips the remaining way to the museum.
There’s a line of papa wannabes a block long waiting to get in and Henry says candidly,
fuck this, I’ll be damned if I’m going to pay twenty bucks to pet a six-toed cat you can’t hold and tour empty rooms with furniture that only ghosts and cats can sit on.
The controlled climate in the museum puts Henry on edge, like the impeded feeling you get in a bank. Anyway, Lucia says,
let’s walk until we drop.
They walk ten blocks, surely, a world record for them, reaching the Key West Butterfly and Nature Conservative— a two-story conch-style house with a sprawling greenhouse behind it.
Agog, the couple walks into the lobby where they’re met by a caretaker who looks like Karl Marx and is wearing a safari suit with a pith helmet on his head. He says in a magisterial air,
salutations, follow me into paradise and let your stress fade away as we commune with butterflies, flowering plants, waterfalls, and wing creatures in nature—all under climate control in a glass parrock. Henry whispers to Lucia,
what the fuck is a parrock?
Quiet Henry.
As they step into the glasshouse, they’re hit by a gust of flora oxygen that ameliorates their physical being.
A kaleidoscope of butterflies lands on Manfred, the caretaker. He smiles, looking at the couple saying,
You see, the Rhopalocera and I are old friends.
As they approach the flamingos Manfred tells their story.
Our lovely flamingos were born on Valentine's Day. Our conservatory is the only place in Florida you can see flamingos. The sandy beach and pond were built especially for our pink babies, and after hours, they're free to roam the atrium.
We feed them a special diet that contains the alpha and beta carotenoid pigments found in algae and various invertebrates that the birds eat in the wild, which gives them their pink color.
I have work to do, thank you, and enjoy your stay.
Henry walks toward a flamingo, wanting to make friends, and the bird grunts loudly, it's a warning. Lucia laughs saying,
be careful darling, paradise bites.
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