I told JT who works on the Abateyra that I was going to da Conch shack. He said “Make sure you say hi to Pete.”
“Absolutely.” I love a good mission to meet someone new.
Except…I already met you.
How could this be if you were in the Turks and Caicos?
I envisioned a man who had owned da conch shack for however many years it has been open. Old and grey haired. Happy as a conch.
When we were at the table, I saw a blonde bloke. It was you. And you were hustling.
So I shouted, “Hey! Are you Pete?”
“JT from Abateryra says hi.”
Well, that didn’t go as well as I planned.
But it opened up a conversation.
“Where are you from?”
“You look familiar.”
“So do you.”
Heh! We didn’t live in the same neighbourhood. That’s weird. I kept looking at you for some semblance. A photo always helps.
I was satiated. I wanted to stay at da conch shack to gobble up some more jerk chicken and relax in front of the turquoise ocean. But leave we must.
I’m in the van. Thinking. Pete. Pete from Toronto.
You worked at 7 Numbers in Toronto didn’t you?
*Yes, I have a crazy memory.
We met 7 years ago (Word play: 7 years. 7 Numbers. Cue symbols).
You were my waiter now. And then.
Oh, and I had such a crush. It was the T-Shirt with a map that said “Caucasia.”
I was briefly smitten. I think you even served my birthday party yonder year ago.
I definitely didn’t think you’d come back into my life.
On Blue Hills, of all places.
Keep smiling and keep eating.