Still in my bikini, I skipped barefoot through the grass and flailed my happy arms in the air.
It was an hour before my lunch date with a man I’d never met.
Planning to show up without crutches, I tested my injured heel by walking circles in my apartment on toes and bended knees. Along with my newly chopped-off hair, I may as well have been the toe-walking lovechild to Jar Jar Binks and Peewee Herman. I tried to ignore this notion and think of my new gamine charm. But every which way I turned, I caught the reflection of the ludicrous Peewee walk and hairdo in one of the many mirrors around my apartment.
Mirrors are an easy decorating element, which is my reason for having a bunch, but they give people the impression you’re insufferably vain. Now, these bastard mirrors were making me grimace at every step, and it had nothing to do with my hurt heel. See, I was supposed to have stayed away from scissors. That’s because no one should cut their own hair unless they mean to look like an insane asylum escapee with a thing for electric sockets.
I was also supposed to stay off my entire right foot, not just the heel. But I tend to suck at anything I’m “supposed” to do.
So at the time I badly bruised my heel, though we’re supposed to get such injuries x-rayed to make sure our talus didn’t migrate to our big toe, I did not. That’s because I hadn’t signed up for health insurance back when I was supposed to.
Jumping down barefoot from a four-foot wall in my bikini at 1 a.m. in the first place? Yeah, I’d say I wasn’t supposed to.
Nor was I supposed to continue afterwards to hobble around the vast tropical lawns of the resort for fun. But I hadn’t been ready for the night’s euphoria to end.
My non-boyfriend whom I’m probably not supposed to write about, had planned an elaborate romantic evening — by accident. It was an “accident” because for two long years, he had dedicated himself to the “non” part of non-boyfriend. The guy even made sure to never say “happy birthday” to me — except in lieu of “you’re welcome” on all the other 364 days that weren’t my birthday.
Only one of us found this funny.
So sunset dinner at the table by a wall of windows directly on top of the shimmering marina? Accident — surely. The concert that followed of quirky love songs against a sky silhouetted by masts and palm trees, the audience made up entirely of couples? Accident and accident.
Naturally, our suite that was secluded and surrounded by lush tropical gardens was an accident too.
The view from our window.
At the end of the night and three glasses of wine in, I got into my bikini and he put on his swim shorts so we could frolic through the dewy grass to the pool. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to date someone thirteen years younger than me. But running ahead of me through the gardens with broad-shoulder V-shape perfection and a tiny white towel wrapped around his hip, he was the personification of — you guessed it — fucking Adonis.
In the hot tub, I felt both slender and curvy. My skin glistened with moonlit water and Adonis held me close against his sculpted chest. Our eyes shone wildly as we gazed into each other’s soul.
Or else we were lewd and drunk.
Either way, the other hotel guests cleared out of the hot tub and left us to our two-person bacchanal.
Soon, Adonis went to get us more wine and I took a swim under the moon in the long, tranquil pool. At the other end, two women swam in summer dresses. The dresses bulged to their necks while they taught a two-year-old how to swim using a giant donut floatie. The scene wasn’t in keeping with my sense of after-midnight idyll, so I decided to head back to our suite with its magical marina view. I figured I would intercept Adonis on the way.
Still in my bikini, I skipped barefoot through the grass and flailed my happy arms in the air. Every once in a while, I softly called out beyond the enormous tropical leaves lining the lawn, “Adonis! Adonis! Is that you?”
“Yeah?” Finally came his disembodied voice. I sidled through the low-hanging leaves and found myself on a four-foot wall standing above a path where Adonis stood with our drinks. He was about to set them down and help me. But then his eyes rounded and he urgently shook his head “no” because I was poised to jump down without help. And I did.
I landed with my knees bent low so I wouldn’t hurt them. Meanwhile, I didn’t worry about the awful thwack when the concrete slapped against my bare heels. As I tried to straighten up, my right leg buckled.
I expected my heel to stop smarting in a matter of minutes, so I ignored Adonis imploring to carry me and continued to happily hop around the gardens and path. I was too caught up in the night’s excitement to notice my former sexy bikini hip sway had transformed into more of a clubfooted undulation. Oh the pain masked by wine.
The actual resort.
The next day, I simply couldn’t walk — not to get a glass of water, wash my hands or grab a pen.
Adonis carried me out of the resort. I gave him a brusque squeeze goodbye and without letting on, I meant it to be for the last time. Once I was situated in my car, Adonis handed over the tropical pattern cane he had picked out for me at the pharmacy.
With happy-go-lucky Adonis, all was well as long as nothing was said. But if I so much as uttered the word “feeling,” he had a way of turning on me. I, who experienced love and joy like a child without fear, found myself attached to a boy who feared attachment like it had flesh-tearing teeth. If I stopped pretending I was being “accidentally” romanced, I ran the risk of being speared to death. This left me no place to go but away.
I drove off, thankful the driving part of my foot worked. Whatever heartache I felt, I tricked myself and melded it with the pain coming from my heel.
In my apartment, I managed to get about when absolutely necessary with the use of the cane and furniture surfaces. For example, it only took me five minutes to reach the bathroom sink when I urgently needed a session by the mirror with scissors aimed at my head. I proceeded to go at my hair while balancing my entire right leg on my big toe.
But mostly, I stayed beached by a sea of sheets on my bed with my foot wrapped, iced and elevated. I knew once it healed, I’d never view the act of taking a normal step the same way as before.
Within a couple of days, I texted my buddy, Dimo:
Lidia arrived before Dimo. The crutches she brought opened up my world so much that we decided to celebrate with happy hour at a nearby Hollywood bar. So I texted Dimo:
At the bar, I ordered one of my two standbys, a drink called Stockholm Syndrome whose name I liked more than its taste. It seemed appropriate any time I felt captive in a less-than-healthy relationship. My other standby was the Dilettante, delicious and perennially apropos — until of course, my creative endeavors launched me professionally, which was “supposed to be” any day now, barring walls from which to hurl my bikini body.
While staring at the rosemary sprig at the bottom of my Stockholm Syndrome, my phone rang with a call from Dimo. He sounded frantic.
“Where is this place? I keep circling the block! Since when is there a hospital in Hollywood?!”
Hospital? I burst into laughter. The whole time he’d been thinking he was coming to pay me a hospital visit! I mouthed to Lidia that Dimo thought “St. Felix” was a hospital. Her porcelain-doll face lit up below her dark hair, which unlike mine, was a successful pixie cut.
“Yeah,” exclaimed Lidia. “The hospital of booze.”
We laughed and laughed until Dimo arrived. And whether there’s truth to the medicinal properties of laughter or not, my heel improved exponentially every day after that. My heart, of course, was another matter.
By the time my lunch date came a week later, I’d begun using less of the crutches. My date was through Tinder with an age-appropriate man. The idea was to meet someone new in order to eradicate the Adonis pathways from my brain.
According to his profile, the Tinder man was tall. So just to see, I put on my pale yellow high-heel mules even though one is supposed to wear sensible shoes while one’s foot is on the mend. To my delight, I discovered that I could wear the slinky mules and not limp. Since they offered no heel support whatsoever, it was just like walking on my toes.
I probably wasn’t supposed to feel as smug as I did about not having to show up to lunch in flip-flops and Ace bandage.
Next, I tackled the matter of my hair, subjected to days of staggered chopping by hobbling cabin-feverish me. I texted the Tinder man:
It wasn’t an ineffective tactic and lunch wasn’t terrible.
But in the end, I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to look for people to replace other people. I never saw that particular Tinder man again.
* * *
You’ll probably want me to have learned something.
Here’s what I’ve learned: Nothing about men. Nothing about haircutting.
But I did learn that the heel bone is big, and has an ugly name — calcaneus.
Speaking of big and ugly, you’ll get a big ugly calf if you’re forced to use only one foot to get around. And a sad puny one on the other side.
Also, don’t worry about missing exercise while injured because you’ll break into a sweat just by hopping to the bathroom on one leg.
Finally, I learned the internet hates you. Look up heel injury and you’ll “walk” away convinced not only that you’ll be permanently disfigured and arthritic, but the heel bone connected to the leg bone and all will throw your entire body into misalignment of Quasimodo proportions.
If that doesn’t fill you with proper self-pity, just talk to my mother who might tell you:
“I pray you’re not crippled for long-term or even life — you’re so stupid.”
Cathartic Monkeyism
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Gunmetal Geisha 
Priceless! No wonder you and Aussa get on so well, at least you don’t attract psycho though…now where’s the dance off?
I’m not much into cocktails but that Firecracker sounds alright.
The Firecracker is good because of the jalapeño.
There are lots of reasons why Aussa and I get on well, but what correlation do you see in this particular case?
…so many men, so many “adventures”…
Ha! Truly a Geisha-esque tale. You are one of a kind GG, and you are hilarious. Well told story and very engaging – pulls the reader right in. I can just picture you dancing around in your bikini waving your arms to some internal beat. Ha! On the wall, I thought for sure you were going to jump into Adonis’ arms – I was waitng to see you flatten him. But noooo, you had to save the drinks. Always thinking. Probably just as well, you likely needed one upon landing. Ha!
Nice shoes, by the way, I’m surprised your foot wasn’t swollen too much for them to fit. Love the description of the Stockholm Syndrome – “Ever Been Tied Up & Just Fell In Love?” Ha! From that description, I would definitely have chosen that drink for you – even untasted. Personally, I think it is the description that attracts you. “Ever Been In A Cast & Just Lookin’ For Love?” Bwahaha!
Great story and awesome post GG. Classic Gunmetal.
Thanks Paul! Yeah, the Stockholm Syndrome description is perfect.
For the record, my heel was not fractured, thankfully. So, no swelling, no cast. But it was pretty iffy the first few days.
Oh good grief! “clubfooted undulation”! I do so love how you put things. I’m glad you’re on the mend, and that you didn’t have to amputate!
WHY do you have to eradicate the Adonis pathways? Just enjoy them…it could be a ‘for now’ thing, no?
Love the look inside your brain. Miss you xo
Hi!
I’m an all or nothing person, casual just doesn’t do it for me.
It’s not like I haven’t tried — you know I hop (or hobble) around exploring different people (and I don’t mean in a sexual way, so we’re all completely clear).
Hugs and kisses right back at you.
LOL! We are CRYSTAL! Gotcha 😀
Moms. God love em!
There are few things better in this world than a woman in a bikini doing silly things. How Adonis didn’t fall for you as you fell towards him is a mystery.
You are too kind, dear sir.
Ha! Your mom made me laugh.
“ignoring that these facts made me look like lovechild to Jar Jar Binks and Peewee Herman.”
Pics…
My mom makes me laugh too, whenever her “wit” isn’t directed at me…
Ah come on, didn’t I paint you a good enough verbal picture?
Oh, you certainly did paint an excellent picture with your words. Still, there are some things that words can hardly do justice.
I love how this turned out. It was just as intriguing to live through via WhatsApp as it was to read here. More thoughts soon 😀
WhatsApp therapy is invaluable!
Aww… I’m sure you look adorable in short hair. I could’ve helped you fix the “choppy” into something “artfully disheveled”… I was a hairdresser (on fire) in another life.
Loved this post. 🙂
“Artfully disheveled” sounds perfect… Sigh.
I’m glad you enjoyed the post, thanks for reading it!
Love this post. I was on crutches for, well for what seemed like forever, and that was after I was in a wheelchair for even more forever, and all I learned is that people in wheelchairs develop badass abs and arms. Core and shoulder workout with every push. And then on crutches too. So I get the sweaty, breathless trek to the bathroom. Injuries…pfft.
What I learned from this post is that the next time you want to go on a vacation, I should probably come with you, or maybe I shouldn’t. I am forever drinking too much wine and injuring myself whilst wearing a bikini on every single trip, but like you, I keep it interesting.
I hope your heel is feeling better.
P.S. Your yellow shoes are totes adorbs.
Is that Austin Outer Limits (or whatever it’s called) still happening with you? An Austin vacation is something I’m thinking of more and more, especially now that one of my best friends is moving there.
We could figure out a way to get up to some bikini antics and show off body parts that are buff due to injury…
Let’s get out some calendars…
I do so love a good story. This was one, just in case you were wondering…
I first read your comment as “a good love story,” so I thought, really?
Of course, now I get it, and thanks!
I identify with Adonis a bit. I cringe at “feelings” and run at “commitment”. It can be quite frustrating for the ones on the other side of it.
Interesting. But why? Do you know?
I know. I still carry the weight of a violent marriage. And other mishaps happened before and after, so I’ve just stayed away from that which makes me most vulnerable–trust and love.
I completely understand that. But the point is, it’s not something that’s necessarily in your nature – you’ve been conditioned, as unfortunate as that is. (And it fills me with anger for you.)
With men as with everything, I tend to be direct, expressive and analytical, so if I’m close enough to someone, I will want to get to the bottom of their reticence. Especially when they don’t (have the balls?) to tell me it’s me and not them. Does that make sense?
So “Adonis” behaved like someone who’d been badly burned, yet when I called his attention to that, he denied it. Not much I can do except use it for it material…
I’ve been called on it, on having a relationship gone bad, and I tell my story, or some piece of it at least. Mostly I just don’t want to bring that into someone else’s life. It’s funny though. The more direct a person is, the more I’m willing to divulge. To me that signifies an actual interest and a greater potential of acceptance.
Lol this is great… I’ve recently been ditched by my 7-year-younger mad-cap adonis, who was brilliant for 3 years but has now freaked out, sigh. Considering a heel injury to take attention away from the heart-pain. Or at least some stockholm syndromes. That might be healthier. Or not.
Ah sorry, that can’t be fun. Ditching or being ditched, it all feels the same when you care about the person. (The good news is, once you’re healed, there are plenty of Adonises around, or even wonderful, fully-grown men!)
you really should avoid scissors. and walls.
Indeed.
Great story GG. Sorry if this inappropriate but I would love to go on a date with you no matter the state of you hair, your heel or whether you were wearing a bikini or not. Seriously though, aren’t we always looking for people to replace other people we’ve lost?
I take it as the compliment that it is, thank you. (It’s only inappropriate if you’ve got a wife!)
What a tale! I hope your ankle is healing… as a mother of young adults, it’s hard not to snicker at your mother’s words. I might have ushered them myself. 😉 The photos are beautiful! Where is this?
My foot is all healed, thank goodness.
My mother would snicker back at your usage of “young adult” — she’s been saying “you’re almost thirty/forty/fifty, for god’s sake” since I was twenty…
That marina is in San Diego.
Wow! I’m in San Diego NOW. At the Marriott. That is gorgeous! And I was referring to my own young adults… who are 18, 22, 24. I happen to know you’re all woman!
I am pretty sure you are the kind of friend I could sit and just listen to for hours on end.
Oh, it would be a back and forth exchange.
You are a spit fire.
I find you quite hilarious. x
hope you are up and skipping in your bikini soon!
Ha, I’m glad you find me funny. And thanks!
Oh Lord. And, this story on the heels 🙂 of my husband shattering both of his calcaneuses (is that the plural?). He fell from 12 feet onto concrete. As I type this, he is at physical therapy, finally getting around again after 4 months. If his heals can heel, anyone’s can. Scroll down on the link for a look at his injury, if you’re not squeamish.
http://loreezlane.wordpress.com/2014/06/19/it-works-out-in-the-end/
Was this something recent that happened to you? Sorry you broke two parts of your body at the same time. One break of the heart from the Adonis, and the other of the heel from your jump. I hope both are fully healed and functional again.Take care of yourself.
Thanks for this, and sorry for the delay in responding. I somehow managed to miss a bunch of these comments until now. The heel thing had happened around mid-August. It was thankfully just fine by September. I’m checking out your link now.
It sounded so lovely…until the jumping off the wall part..then it just sounded painful. Holy hell…
Yes, I don’t recommend it!
Meh, I’m not one to judge. I fell down a flight of stairs last year. And I also cut my own hair no matter how terrible it looks.
A whole flight?! Hats off. Yeah, I’ll never stop cutting my own hair, I’m afraid.
You do know how to keep life interesting, I’ll give you that! I am sorry that you were injured though. Truly. I’m also terribly sorry about Adonis although I am sure you are aware that would probably not have been a healthy relationship. I take it the lunch date guy didn’t work out?
Thank you for reiterating a fact I am so well aware of: never consult the internet about illness or injury. Never.
Consulting the internet about illness or injury is nothing short of masochistic!
I can’t say the lunch date “didn’t work out.” He was a perfectly lovely gentleman. But as is often the case, one makes choices not to take things further, you know?
This is my favorite:
“Or else we were lewd and drunk.”
Thank you for the much needed laugh! 🙂
Thanks for reading and I’m glad it made you laugh!
That happens to be my own favorite line too…
As usual, loving the ethereal quality of your writing GG, thanks for sharing!
Thanks to you , Sean!
I have a similar story but without the Adonis and more St. Patrick’s Day flashing necklaces. 🙂
Yeah? Well, don’t leave us hanging like that!
Well, if you insist. 🙂 I think it needs a rewrite. Maybe
http://chasingdestino.com/2013/10/21/fell-on-my-face-literally-nablopomo/