Second time in Mexico. Part 2 of 3

He must love me. Why else would he have quietly turned and walked away just because I told him to leave me alone?

Because he is a nice man and he had made a promise.

I had never put much stock in promises. From my experience they were just a concept. Just like mañana is a concept, although it means tomorrow in Spanish, it doesn’t necessarily mean that next day. It just means, not today.

Just yesterday, I had broken a promise to one man and on this night I came close to breaking another. To my supposed to be husband.

Alcohol induced arguments laced with flammable emotions complicated by exhaustion and impromptu table dancing leads to more than a disagreement. It leads to an all out snarling fight.

Keith was about to be caught up in the Perfect Storm and there was little he could have done to prevent it. Although he tried.

Booze was the most powerful storm approaching very slowly but with gale force winds expected.

Fatigue had sat down in the area for a number of hours. Although not as fierce at Booze, it left the area weak and exposed.

Fear had been lingering just off the area for years. It was waiting for the added force of Booze and Fatigue to wreak its havoc.

The three systems came crashing together after a long day of fishing, with little to eat and too much to drink. Me, not Keith.

Petulant fit. I did not recognize myself. Was that really me dancing on a table? In a bar? I threw my shoes at Keith in the hallway of a ritzy hotel. I spat venomous words and locked him out of the room.

Than I sat. And waited. And waited.

I gathered up my stupid self and went in search of my supposed to be husband. He was on the beach, weathering the storm.

No apologies offered. I was too prideful for that. He was to kind to demand any. He must love me.

We walk silently down the echoing hallway. Two strappy sandals lie haphazardly on the marble floor, just where the lunatic owner had thrown them.

In a fluid, yet deliberate motion, Keith bends over of scoops them up. He stashes them under one arm and puts the other arm around my waste.

We promise to talk about it mañana. And we do.

Promises. They are no longer a concept for me.

(Note; I cannot believe what an idiot I was. I would like to think that I had a bad reaction to the food, but I didnt have any. A rookie mistake. Keith tried to prevent this. But I was having none of his “control measures”. That’s what started the fight. I guess he didn’t think the public table dance was a good idea. I hope to redeem myself in the 3rd and final installment of this story)