New year

The guy is late picking us up and Andrew is antsy. He’s been trying to work this out for a couple days now, and he’s very excited. A few different times, the doorbell rings and he leaps up, beckoning me to follow, only to return shaking his head in disappointment a moment later, saying, “Wasn’t him.”

I’m sitting by the pool in a deep sense of relaxation. The mystery novel that I’m reading is getting better and better and the sun warms my skin as I alternate between reading and swimming, reading and swimming. The fact that the man is late doesn’t faze me. Here, it’s next to impossible to be stressed or in a bad mood and I’m happy to spend the day relaxing. I arrived in St. Martin on New Years Eve, a few days after the rest of the group of nine friends.

It had been a perfect New Years; after a home-cooked meal, we drank beers and watched the sun set over the picturesque ocean skyline. At midnight, we drank champagne and jumped into the pool. The next day, we got massages.

Today is day three of my trip and, unfortunately, we are all leaving tomorrow. It’s been an easy routine to get into.

When the guy finally does come, Andrew, Aaron and I are waiting by the front gate. Andrew is annoyed and about to go back to the house to call him one more time when the guy pulls up, recklessly in a black jeep, music blaring, shoveling things off of a backseat so we can sit down. He introduces himself, turns up the music and screeches away.

“Have you guys done this before?” he asks loudly.

“Yeah,” Andrew says immediately, which isn’t a lie. He has done it before, but I haven’t.

We are on our way to rent scooters to drive around the island. I am nervously excited.

He takes us to an underground parking garage where we fill out paperwork as he readies the scooters. Though the forms require a valid drivers license, the guy never actually checks that we all have one. We get a rundown on the scooters work in less than two minutes.

“Throttle, front break, rear break, turn signal, press here to start, lock like this,” and on and on. He hands me the keys and leaves.

Andrew and Aaron get on their scooters.

“You guys ok?” asks Andrew.

I nod.

“See you at home,” he says, as the two of them pull away.

The nervous excitement that I felt on the way over has now turned to fear. I gently twist the throttle, feeling the bike lurch forward, my legs dragging awkwardly on the sides. I catch up with them as they wait at the intersection; we are making a left turn across a fairly busy street. They both go. The rest of our group has gone to the beach and I wonder if I should have gone with them.

I’m not sure I’m going to make it, not sure I’m even going to attempt it, not sure I know my way home, and know that the longer I wait, the harder it will be to catch up with Andrew and Aaron and find my way. I take a breath and it just happens. The bike responds immediately and I scoot smoothly through the intersection.

I tentatively lean into my first turn, and then my second. My heart is pounding as I catch sight of Aaron up ahead and breathe a sigh of relief.

I twist the throttle. The ocean stretches out to my left, the wind is whipping at my face. We don’t leave until tomorrow and there is open road ahead.

- Zac Stuart-Pontier