The "Faces of Strangers: #13" Story

Marilyn

It was am ordinary day.  Cloudless sky and the sun’s rays are starting to sizzle my tanning lotion so I grab my beach towel and Kindle and pull my complimentary lounge chair into the shade.  Jerry is already sleeping by the time I turn the chair around and spread the towel over it’s scratchy surface.  Jerry is my lifelong friend who came with his wife Just Sue to the Bahamas with Carol and me this year for our annual vacation together.  Had settled into the chair on Cabbage Beach and began reading my James Patterson novel when I notice a woman to my left also relaxing in the shade.  She’s sitting in the sand, leaning against the stone wall right behind us.  Spread around her on the sand are the wraps, coverups, bracelets and a variety of other wares that she peddles on the beach every day.  She has a pretty face, but most of the rest of her is covered in light colors to try to stop the intense heat from the Bahamian sun.  I watch her for some time then decide to walk over and sit next to her and ask her about her job.  She is reluctant at first to talk with me, but then realizes I’m not as threatening as she initially suspected.  As she speaks, I find her Bahamian English accent extremely interesting.  Most English speaking islands have their own peculiar dialect, but her words are easy to understand.  We talk about her two sons, aged 12 years and 23 months.  “They both are in school while I work.  My 12 year old is in public school while my younger boy is in nursery school” she tells me.  She starts her day walking the beach around 9:00 AM and covers the beach in front of the Atlantis Resort to the end of the beach in front of the RIU Resort where we now sit.  The sand is very soft and hard to walk, especially for one who is weighted down with all the items that she carries.  She is a life long resident of this island and only ventured off the island one time when she went to nearby Exuma to see the pink sand beaches that dot the coast of that island.  She doesn’t offer any information about a husband so I don’t approach the topic.  Her shirts and scarfs that she sells are purchased at a nearby warehouse, but the beads, bracelets, and the like are all made by her in the evenings.  Her day ends depending on the season.  In the off-season, such as the hurricane season, she usually quits around 2:00 PM, but when the beach is busy, she may stay until most are off the beach at 6:00 PM.  Can’t imagine having to carry the array of merchandise she does for that many hours and walking in the hot sun on the porous Cabbage Beach.  As I look at her I have a hard time trying to guess her age, but I know I dare not ask.  She looks older than she probably is, because of the environment in which she works.  Well, she decides it is time to get back to work, so she places a heavy cotton towel over her shoulder and begins to arrange her items over it.  I hold out my hand and tell her my name.  She shakes it with a strong hand and tell me her name is Marilyn.  “Oh, the name of my first love in elementary school,” I tell her.  She smiles as I snap a photo of her and give her a small donation for her two boys.  It was another extraordinary day in the life of an ordinary guy.