Beyond the gravel bars, the higher points of the coral reef were also above water. While the squabs waited for the tide to rise, they would have limited escape routes to the reef. We had some luck and had already caught two of the squabs, which were slapping around in the crocus sack being carried by Timothy. While slowly walking in the shallow where the turtle grass grows and trying to spot another squab to set upon and chase, we heard a girl’s voice calling, “Timothy,” from the shore.
The voice was Lorraine’s, who was standing at the water’s edge, waving her arms high and motioning us to come ashore. Next to her stood Holly, who wore a pair of sunglasses like a hair band to sweep her hair back from her face.
As we drew closer to the shore, we saw that Holly was holding a standard-issue blue school notebook, the same kind you buy from Aunt Sybil down the road at the McNab Store. “Aha,” said Timothy. “I know what’s going on.” “What?” asked Peter John. “Holly’s birthday party invitations,” Timothy replied. Our pace quickened. Holly opened up the notebook, which contained a list of some 25 to 30 boys and girls who were invited. “Next Saturday at 5 p.m?” Of course, we would be there. Our hands were wet, so she wrote the word “Yes” next to each of our names. The following week passed in typical ways, save for the anticipation of Holly’s birthday party.
A good dancer was always esteemed.
On the day of the party, the yard had been freshly raked, cleaned of dry weeds and almond tree leaves, and errant pieces of trash — Fiesta cheese puff wrappers, candy wrappers and the like. The lines from the garden rake were still visible in the sand in the yard. A piñata made to order up in French Cay, constructed with strong chicken wire lining, hung at the end of a lobster pot rope that had been thrown over a high almond tree limb. The other end of the black rope was tied off at the base of a post of the front yard picket fence.
A headless mop stick was at the ready, leaning against the trunk of the almond tree. The younger kids would be given first go, making limited headway with the strong Piñata. Eventually the older kids would open a gash in the wire frame, and the Piñata would come undone.
Kids also sat cross-legged and played ‘Spin the Bottle,’ and it seemed everyone got a sweet kiss. They stood in a circle holding hands and played ‘Ring Around the Rosie,’ and took turns pinning the tail on the donkey. All the while drinking red Kool-Aid and eating spaghetti in a homemade red sauce that included Vienna Sausages.
On the edge of each plastic plate of spaghetti was a stack of Saltine Crackers and a Jimmy Cake (cupcake) with pink, white or light green icing. The older kids also danced for hours on end, and proudly. A good dancer was always esteemed.
On the edge of each plastic plate of spaghetti was a stack of Saltine Crackers and a Jimmy Cake (cupcake) with pink, white or light green icing. The older kids also danced for hours on end, and proudly. A good dancer was always esteemed.
Holly’s family turntable and loudspeakers had been brought downstairs and set up beneath the house floor, powered with an extension cord hanging over the front porch railing. A steady stream of country and western, Spanish language and soft rock/disco songs were being played. The latter would have included hits in the United States that had carried all the way to the Bay Islands. “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,” by Elton John and Kiki Dee and a 1970s cover of Ray Peterson’s “Tell Laura I Love Her” are two I remember well. As were the entire soundtracks for “Grease” and “Saturday Night Fever,” and anything else whatsoever from The Bee Gees.
A favored Spanish language singer was Camilo Sesto, whose slow love songs favored close dancing for the older kids. As for country music, any and all songs were fair game; from Johnny Cash, Dolly Parton and Marty Robbins to Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty, and Freddy Fender and Buck Owens.
