Home Stay - Part II: Ocean View

Part II

Uncle, his brother, and I navigated the streets in his neat blue SUV, cruising, in no particular rush. He pointed out the window at a large building that housed a butcher shop. “That used to be a bottle shop. They converted it some years back.”

“Bottle shop?”

Uncle curved his hand into a “C” and tiled it toward his mouth.

“Ah. Where I'm from, we call them 'package stores' or 'packies'.

Uncle raised an eyebrow, confused. “Why?”

We came to rest at a stop sign and I shrugged. “I have no idea.” Uncle nodded and proceeded through the stop sign.

“The residents here, many of them are poor because of home loans or high rent.” We pass a sturdy white house with a grey stone wall. A woman stands in the yard hanging sheets on a clothes line. Uncle waves. She smiles and returns the gesture. “Everything is rent,” he says. “Everything is debt.”

We pause at another stop sign. An old yellow dogs pads across the street in front of the car, his mouth hanging open. Uncle remains still long enough to let him pass. The dog takes his time, finally settling on his haunches under a palm tree on the other side of the road. A strong breeze blows down the road, rattling the leaves of the palm tree and the dog flops over on his side and closes his eyes. Uncle puts the car in gear and we coast slowly past the stop sign.

The streets in this part of town were named after astronomical whatnots – Neptune Road, Venus Street, Pluto Drive. A mountain lay like a protective arm around most of the town, only allowing an open view directly to the ocean. “Sometimes the mountain boys come down and raid the place,” Uncle said. I raised my eyebrows.

Uncle's brother piped up from the back seat. “Baboons,” he said.

I thought it was a joke and smiled. Both of them stared out the window, suddenly pensive. “You can always tell when they're hear. The children are screaming, the dogs are barking.” Uncle started to continue and did not, and, ass curious as I was for more story, I let it end there.

We climbed a large hill to reach the highest point in Ocean View, stopping occasionally for Uncle and his brother to greet friends along the way. We were in no rush. The top held a spectacular view of the ocean, all frothing waves and hypnotic undulations, white sands and blue skies. “It's beautiful,” I said.

And then I heard, “Lock your door.”

I pulled myself away from the ocean view and paid attenion.

“Lock your door, man,” Uncle said again. I locked my door. Uncle seemed to relax and turned his attention toward the ocean. I joined him. “It's beautiful,” he said.

I nooded, but I don't think he saw me.