They would have thought she had booked a honeymoon suite near the equator instead on the skirts of the laguna near Granada in Nicaragua. It was so hot and so humid; the kind of hellish heat that made moving unthinkable. All you could do was sit in one place and wish God would blow on you.
Inside the suite, she sat slouched in a wooden rocking chair, fanning herself. He sat reading; his face covered by the book. But they said nothing, not a word.
Where was the flirtatious laughter that coos in the ears of honeymooners? Where was the playful foreplay or the seductive wink, alluring glare, suggestive licking of lips? Where was the sparkle of love that would turn this room into an inferno?
There was a better chance of the old fan catching on fire than those two. The fan was the only communication buzzing through the honeymoon suite. Its blades were spinning like the propeller of the plane that had brought them south to Nicaragua. It was a sign of everything that had been, was and was too come.
Then the lights flickered. “Turn off the fan before it blows a fuse,” he said from behind the book.
What? she thought. It was bad enough that no love circulated in this honeymoon suite; now he wanted to suffocate her. It was way too much; he was too much.
“Are you serious?!” she asked with a heighten voice of peculiarity.
He lowered his book to look at her. “We don’t lie to each other anymore, remember?”
He smirked and raised his book back up. She stopped fanning herself, sitting up straight in her chair. If looks could kill, he would have died in that moment.
Thinking — underrated or overrated?
She angrily walked to him and snatched his book. She threw it to the ground. He smirked as he shook his head.
“Here we go again,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“Don’t talk to me like I’m some silly girl!”
“Of course not. I talk to you like the crazed woman you are.”
“This is bullshit!”
“This is bullshit? So much for following the doctor’s orders.”
“Doctor’s orders, my ass! Did we plan this lovely trip together like our doc told us too, huh? No, someone was too busy messing around on the Internet to help save this marriage. Shit, I planned this freakin’ second honeymoon. Remember that buddy! I did it my damn self.”
He angrily stood up. “How could I forget? You don’t let me forget anything you do for this fairy tale marriage. Not one damn thing! Happy-fucking-ever after!”
They stared tensely at each other in silence. The fan became louder. The lights flickered; the fan cut off. The lights flickered again. Then it was completely black.
In the darkness, they both knew they had blown a fuse.
“Blowing a Fuse” Tales from Nicaragua…