A Latter Day Hamlet

I used to live in Melbourne Beach, Florida and work at Harris Government Systems in Palm Bay. My wife of forty years was a Broker for Century 21 Real Estate. Since the kids, two girls, were grown and long gone, life was much less complex and much more laid back. We could both enjoy hobbies that were difficult while married with children – I liked to spend as much time as possible at the golf course – and my lusty old wife found herself a boy toy from Saudi Arabia, an engineering student at Florida Tech.

I intended murder when I followed Eileen to her rendezvous that Tuesday afternoon with Mohammad Skyhook at the Hilton in Cocoa Beach. Yes, I walked into their love nest in Room 101 using a stolen pass key I took off a maid's cart and let myself into the room armed with my Colt automatic. I'll have to say I admired Eileen's courage; she proved to be more the man than the nude Mohammad who jumped out of the bed to run to the bathroom crying in Arabic when I walked in the room locked and cocked.

My Eileen stood tall, naked, silent and arrogant as I pointed the powerful gun right between her eyes.

I asked, “What does the camel jockey have that I don't?”

“He's younger.”

I would have shot them both if Eileen had went down on her knees to beg for her life, or if Mohammad had tried to go for the gun, as I had expected. When you plan for weeks a bloody murder and the victims act in unexpected ways it ruins the script.

It was out of the question to remain in Melbourne Beach. Aside from the risk of getting arrested for attempted murder, I rejected the idea of a long and messy divorce: Let Eileen hire the lawyer and pay the court costs.

After throwing a suitcase in my SUV, I headed north on I-95 and hung a left on I-10 and went west, way out west. I had this romantic notion of driving to California and jumping into the Pacific to drown.

I decided to stop in Las Vegas on the way to California in order to gamble my life savings at Caesar's Palace. They tell a joke about arriving in Vegas driving a $50,000 Cadillac and leaving on a $350,000 bus. I can tell you from personal experience this is not a joke. A long story short - I crapped out in Vegas and left town on a Greyhound.

This is how I ended up in San Diego with $150 in my wallet and one roller suitcase.

The Greyhound dropped me off in the downtown. I asked someone which city bus would get me to the beach. When I arrived at the shore, me and my suitcase on rollers ended up on a park bench with a beautiful view of the beach below, the hills above and an ocean who shallows were filled with surfers.

I sat there for about an hour plotting suicide in the Pacific on this picture perfect California day in September. A 30ish tanned and very healthy looking woman with short dark hair dressed in running togs sat down on the other end of the bench and spoke after eyeing my suitcase,

“Are you running away from home?”

“I’m waiting for the tide to start going out so I can swim to China.”

“The Pacific is cold even in September. I would suggest a wetsuit.”

I looked at the woman to see if she was having fun at my expense, but she appeared intelligent, serious and trying to be helpful.

“Why on earth buy a wetsuit, which would keep me alive longer when my purpose is to drown myself?”

The woman thought for a minute for an answer while looking at me directly with dark brown eyes. I’ve noticed over the years that most women do not look a man directly in the eyes. Perhaps that’s the reason they believe so many lies told to them by men. On this score I had nothing to fear; I was telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

“If suicide is your goal I would suggest renting a motel room and washing down a bottle of sleeping pills with some good liquor. Oh! And don’t forget the plastic bag over your head before you pass out.”

“Aren’t you going to try to talk me out of it?”

“Why bother? Clearly you have thought the thing through and don’t want to live. You own your life: Live it or leave it. The decision is up to you.”

“Whatever you do don’t try cutting the veins in your arms or running your car off the road. The chances are the emergency people will get you to the hospital on time. Been there, done that.”

She gave me a Hollywood smile with beautiful white teeth.

“What do you do for a living? Do you work at the local funeral home fixing up the dead bodies for viewing?”

“No, silly, I’m a licensed California therapist. When I got over trying to kill myself, I actually amounted to something. It surprised the hell out of me.”

“How many of your clients commit suicide after talking to you? It must be bad for business.”

The woman laughed, “Sometimes the best tactic is to agree with those bent on suicide and let them talk themselves out of it.”

“Am I talked out of it?”

“I don’t see you swimming to China.”

The woman rose from the bench, “Let’s go to my apartment. We’ll talk late into the night about the meaning of life. Then you can camp out on the couch. The house rules are no smoking, drinking, gambling, or drugs.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I like older men.”