Bora Bora

.

 Dennis had lived up in northern New England for close to nine years now. The adventure of three feet of snow and minus thirty degrees had worn off completely.  Now, he craved warm sandy beaches, maybe in the South Pacific – wherever that was.

Mona worked in an Italian restaurant in San Francisco. She did mostly waitress work, but was learning how to cook. Luigi, the owner and cook, needed someone to listen to him in the kitchen. Everyone else who worked there was in his family and they already knew how to cook. “Lasagna – you think it’s just noodles and tomato sauce huh?” – and he’d smile his smile like he knew something you didn’t. “If this was a true, nobody ever come to this a place.”  Then he’d explain about the spices and the history of the orient and how India was the spice capitol of the world – things that Mona totally didn’t care about and certainly didn’t impress her – but she listened any way and smiled. He loved that – the way she smiled and the idea that he was sharing ancient secrets about tomato sauce. Actually, tomatoes, as well as most of the spices he used came from Mexico and parts of South America, but who cared. Luigi’s tomato sauce was the best in the Mission – and everybody knew that.

You could look out front across tables and chairs under the awning and watch the sunlight rippling across the waves on the bay. It wouldn’t be long and both Mona and Dennis would be watching the sunlight rippling across the ocean from a café in Bora Bora.

Can it be that two persons from different places entirely, watching a travel commercial on TV at the same time, share a psychic moment where their minds meet and something fine and almost holy is generated by this event? Probably not, but in this case, both Mona and Dennis were eating spaghetti with just the right amount of garlic sauce to create the necessary magic. Simultaneously and at the words – “Bora Bora is the place for the both of you” – it happened. The chord was struck and the rest was just following the music to the magic island paradise.

“What!” her mother was in panic mode. “What could you possibly want in Bora Bora?” Mora felt 

defensive, even though she didn’t really have a sensible answer. “Mom, the world is a different place today.”

“What –  in fact -  could she possibly want in Bora Bora?”  Mona thought hard about this. What did she actually expect to find there?  This was to be a central moment in this adventure – not a little thing either. After all, what were the American colonists really after? For that matter, the West India  Company – the Gold Rush -  the Roman Empire – Miami?   An easier life?  Less blisters? Indoor plumbing?  Romance? - The answer would appear while lying on the white sands of the Bora Bora beach.

Mona thought of  the adventure, meeting new people, warm white sands, and the young fellow in the commercial. Soon she would be standing at the table of such a young man and  taking his order for dinner.

Dennis sat in a Tahitian Hut with a martini, a flowered shirt, and a straw hat of all things - and he spoke to the waitress - "What's good for dinner?"  "It's all good sir - catch of the day is always excellent - Mahi Mahi - marinated in french dressing is the chef's special - the lobster is great". Mona went down the list of what most customers enjoyed. She looked down at his American tourist shirt  and smiled.  Dennis looked up. "I'll have the lobster, baked potato and the salad." He watched Mona as she wrote down his order. She looked just like an American despite her sarong and large ear rings. The only thing missing was her name tag.