When Annie Grins For A Picture . . .

Ann and I booked a cruise during the late 90's. At that time, someone from Florida called, offering us this incredible "free" cruise for just paying a minimal air fare and listening to a "presentation." It wasn't a big deal, because they said it was a "no pressure" thing that only would last an hour. We jumped at it. And when we found it was a Bahamas Cruise, it was even better.

Neither one of us had ever been to Florida, and the thought of sitting on a beach in the Caribbean was too much for us to comprehend. It was just too tempting. Besides, we thought we could say "no," because we never had trouble saying "no."  I remember both of us thinking that, although we never seemed to refuse talking to those callers repeatedly tempting us with yet another "deal."  And I notice that other people say the same thing, just before they buy a condo from a high pressure salesperson in a cheap sport jacket and a pair of white leather shoes.

We arrived in Orlando. The news had been filled with reports of foreign tourists shot by little Florida gangsters, who attempted to hijack expensive rental cars before brutally killing the driver and passengers, so I had a solution: a super idea. We rented this tiny Japanese compact that was almost too small for us and our luggage, and we knew how to pack, so you know that there was not a lot of room in that car.

The morning we were to drive to Cape Canaveral was one that affected me with a bit of nervousness. We had coins for the toll roads, and I began to worry about something I had not remembered to bring.  It was very warm that morning in late May or early June. The road bled black patches of tar in long strips on highways. It was a beautiful day.

Since leaving the car rental spot to get our "free"vehicle, I had continual trouble with our tiny import--a piece of automotive genius that no gangster would want, unless blind gangsters had somehow begun to discover a life of crime.  Letting out the clutch would not do the trick. You had to pop it after pushing down on the accelerator pedal so that it wouldn't stall.   I hit it, right on one of those tar patches on the highway.   Ann and I had our windows down and the sunroof completely exposed.   I heard the tires squeal, and in the mirror I could see white smoke form a tiny but beautiful white cloud that would have made me beam with pride at the age of 15. 

At my age, I didn't know what to do, so I just let my imagination roll with it. "Waaaawhoooooo!"  I howled loudly. Ann sank into her seat and covered her face with her hands.  A bus of Japanese tourists had just unloaded in front of our hotel.  They loved the show we did for them.   "Cowboys!" one shouted while pointing at us.  I have never seen so many cameras clicking at the same time, and in spite of the bright sun, their flashes popped repeatedly in the Florida sunshine.  We smiled because Ann and I knew were now famous in Asia, once again because of my notorious behavior.

During the first days at sea, Ann asked me to do her a favor, and she made me promise that I wouldn't say no before responding. "I really want to do this," she said.

As soon as I determined that it had nothing to do with a parachute and water skis, I decided there wasn't too much I would be afraid to do, so I consented.

"They're going to do some snorkeling in the Bahamas, and I really want to do this?"

I had been nervous about swimming in the ocean because of an experience I had while body surfing in California with one of my early German exchange groups. The tide was strong, so it was difficult to get back to the shore, and there was something even more ominous: a very large fish brushed my leg, a fish as large around as a good-sized telephone pole. 

Most people thought it was a dolphin whenever I related the story, and although I hoped that it was true, the event was still too close to the time when Jaws was a movie in theaters with at least three sequels. But I promised to go snorkeling with her on that day of the cruise, especially after Ann's eyes showed disgust when I began telling the story she referred to as the "damn" body surfing story.

"Let's sign up right now." She didn't let me even think twice about it, and she knew that if I put some coin on the deal, I wouldn't back out of the activity. Ann and I walked to the front desk.

At that time, I was swimming a mile per day five or six times a day at the pool in Idaho Falls. "So are you a good swimmer?" The young man at the counter on an upper deck of the ship was adding names to a list.  He looked at me when I hesitated.

"Well, I swim a little bit." Ann's face flushed.

The young man looked confused at my comment and Ann's reaction. "You meet me at the pool in 40 minutes, and we'll check it out to ensure that you can swim a bit." Ann walked silently ahead of me all the way back to the room. I could see her talking to herself."

"A little bit," she repeated every ten or twenty steps while shaking her head. By the time we returned to the room, I put on my swim suit, a T-shirt and we returned to this fifteen foot pool at the middle of the boat. Twenty people were there, all under the age of four.

The young man saw me and came over immediately. He had a serious look on his face, one that people wear when they are trying not to laugh loudly and uncontrollably.  Ann grinned broadly.

I cursed and began walking toward our cabin. "Where are you going," Ann said.

"I'm not going to make an ass out of myself."  People, sitting around the pool on cheap lawn chairs, stopped talking and stared at me in disbelief, because I actually said a bad word in front of the four-year-old children who were trying to pass the same swimming competency test. I walked quickly to the room, where I could make an ass out of myself privately.

I shut the door.  Suddenly there was a gentle knock. "Ann, I'm not going to embarrass myself with a whole herd of rug rats paddling about in the pool!"  There was another knock.

"Mr. Ward." I opened the door to see the young man standing there with a snorkel mask and fins in his hand. Ann looked over his shoulder at me, still grinning broadly. "Just come down to the pool. The children are all finished, and we will do this so no one will notice you at all."  The young man smiled politely.

I passed the test. Ann said something like, "Doesn't he get a Barney the Dinosaur sticker or something for doing well."  That was the only time I ever heard her laugh at her own joke. This time the steward laughed too.

We boarded a flat-bottomed boat the next day with forty people or more. We anchored about a hundred to two hundred meters offshore over a coral reef, and it was our turn to jump into the water.

Ann jumped in like they told her. There was this step, just like most motor boats have for water skiing. Instead of jumping in, I sat on it and slid into the water.  

It was always more about fear of sharks in the water than anything else. I knew I could swim.

In the beginning of the snorkeling deal, Ann caught me off guard. I thought she was swimming in for me to take a picture. She approached with hands outstretched, and I could hear this humming, faintly similar to the Jaws theme. Just after I took the first picture, she pulled my face mask enough to let water flood it. I cursed and stuck my head into the air and replaced my mask.

Ann did it three or four times, and then I finally decided enough was enough. They had given us little containers of fish food, and I had four or five around my neck. I could hear the Jaws theme, but this time I waited for the right moment.  I released three containers of fish food beneath Ann.  Hundreds of tiny yellow-striped and blue fish began a feeding frenzy. I could see my sweetie's arms and legs flailing at them as she swam away.

I did that two or three more times.  All was well with the world, and I was so proud of myself. 

We never returned the entire ninety minutes to two hours that everyone was in the water. After we finished snorkeling, the steward laughed again, and he really thought it was funny, when Ann told him about my swimming at least a mile daily.

There are a couple of things you have to know about my sweetie--sooner or later she gets to have the last laugh, and she never poses for a picture, unless she clowns around while doing it.  The picture at the right made me angry.  

We were near the city of Weimar in the former DDR or East Germany, and we were on this boat ride that was really beautiful.  I had this picture all set, and just as I took it, here is the pose she did for me, and she refused to let me take a single photograph of her.

When my Annie smiles for a picture, something is "up."

When we climbed back on board the boat to return us to the shore before getting back on the cruise ship, I walked around taking pictures.  People wouldn't look at me.  In fact, they swung their heads quickly, just like drill team dancers do when they perform at a basketball or football game.  And that's what they were doing here.  

People shunned me, and I began to feel self-conscious.  I looked at the back of the boat and took a picture of Ann.  She was the only one looking at me.  Everyone else looked somewhere to avoid a glimpse of me.

I should have known when Ann posed for the picture with "the grin."  

I walked to her, and she kept smiling broadly.   "What's wrong!" I was almost angry, because I felt silly, and I wanted to know what Ann thought was so funny.

"Feel your suit," she said.

I tapped the front of my swim trunks several times.  "No, feel your suit!" she repeated.   I did the same thing again.  Ann stood up, took my hand and placed it on my backside, where I felt nothing but bare skin.  There was at least a ten inch rip in the suit from my sliding into the water instead of jumping in like they told me to do.  People tried to ignore us while we talked about it.  No one laughed.

I worried for hours that I would have to see those people for rest of the trip, but I was wrong, because they never really were able to get a good look at my face.