Looking for Jimmy

By Kathleen Principe

HONORABLE people breathe life into the "Constitution". Otherwise, it is just an old piece of parchment resting securely under bulletproof glass in a museum. "Civil Liberties" are just an illusion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fully Booked Media Services
• Release date: Jan 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869046437

Book preview

I

A familiar morning mist hung over the mountains and bay It was late in December 2006. 

From the window of her ocean-view condo, Kat could make out a vague outline of the forested mountains, which on this day, like many other, were shrouded in clouds suspended over the water, obscuring the view of the Mariettas. It didn't look like rain, and she knew the clouds would dissipate in a few hours. She wondered if it was the moisture from the lush, tropical foliage on the mountains that was producing the sweet air that blessed the bay area. By the time she made it to the gym, which was also bayside, the haze was clearing and she could see the nose and toes of the Mummy. She admired it every time she looked to the south.

People possess only so much energy- emotional or physical- which, if you're not careful, things or people can sap. If allowed, other people would bleed the life force from you by the gallon until there is nothing left. There must be some source of replenishment. Kat referred to this source as a well. Her well

was the air, smells, sights and sounds of Puerto Vallarta (affectionately known as P.V.)

Some seaside places smell fishy or briny. Not P.V. Located on the pacific coast of Mexico, P.V. smells moist but not sodden or fungal. She could always detect the slight aroma of the ocean, but mostly she could smell the jungle. She loved the fact that the mountains were covered in a dense tropical forest. There was nothing quite like the combination of flowing water and thousands of acres of undisturbed foliage. Her favorite mountain—a cluster of mountains, really—was the Mummy, which resembled a sarcophagus lying on its back in eternal repose, eyes gazing toward heaven. A Mayan titan, forever watching over the bay. There were also waterfalls, megalithic rocks, and a river that ran to the bay. During the rainy season, the ocean took on a pink hue, as mud from the mountains ran downhill through the river and out to sea. It usually occurred in late afternoon. Tie pink would start in a little puddle in the bay, which gradually widened to a lake and was then carried out of the bay to open water by the tide.

If P.V. had a signature flower, it would be bougainvillea. Kat had never seen so many of them.  They grew everywhere, from the resorts to the poorest of homes and into the jungle, and in a rainbow of colors, seemingly with no maintenance, their blooms adorning the city with their multi-colored simplicity.

The aroma of the jungle was of perfectly pristine air, cleansed by Nature's own air purifying system. Nothing could ever take the place of that. You couldn't buy it. It was intoxicating. Rejuvenating. She had felt like that in only one other place—Germany. Years ago, she had been driving with a friend through Bavaria. They had passed through a magnificent forest, so dense and dark and awe-inspiring.

She'd had a childlike urge to get out of the car and lie down on the ground under one of the massive trees and inhale the fragrance of the leaves and dirt. She had been smoking a little grass, which would account for a certain lack of impulse control. The driver of the car, however, was not smoking and wouldn't stop to let her out. Kat hadn't been high enough to attempt getting out of the car while it was moving, so she never got to hug the trees (would that have made her a tree hugger?) Her friend had felt uncomfortable, fearing they might be arrested in a foreign country. Kat wasn't afraid but she didn't want to ruin the beauty of the day by forcing the issue. Looking back at that time—long before the FBI investigation—Kat realized she hadn't comprehended the meaning of fear.

Even humpback whales found the air and waters of P. V. irresistible. They could be observed in the bay in P. V. and up the coast to Punta de Mita in Nayarit from about mid-December to mid-March. Just seeing a whale, and sometimes pods of whales, in the open sea was a mystical experience. What a thrill it was to be within a few feet of these fabulous creatures, which weren't in an aquarium, trained like seals, but freely following the trail of migration, as countless generations had done before them. Maybe it was the rainy season that ultimately prompted these wonderful mammals to migrate to the waters of P.V. The mud that washed down from the jungle was probably a rich source of nutrients for all kinds of microscopic plants and animals. No scientific explanation could diminish the spectacle, so it didn't really matter. What was important was that they were there and that they would continue to come. Kat thought it was magical.

As usual, this morning there were several turisticas on the beach. She couldn't hear them from where she was, but she could see them clearly. were pointing and staring at the beautiful sight that was Puerto Vallarta. Why were people so surprised to find natural beauty? she wondered. Stunned by it, really, as though human beings were disconnected from the rest of nature. Kat could only imagine the conversations of the people she saw, like the woman she saw walking toward her with a little boy:

The mother pointed skyward and probably said something to her child like, Isn't this beautiful, Honey?

Uh Huh.

Here. Hold the camera. Mommy wants to go out on that point and do some Yoga. Okay?

Okay, Mommy.

Oh. This place is so perfect! She gets into the downward facing dog position, rear end pointed skyward. Kat notices she has a tattoo in the small of her back. It is visible now, over the waistband of her drawstring jogging pants. Now, don't knock over Mommy's triple mocha chino, she says to her child, watching him from between her legs. She makes an adjustment in her position and assumes the Warrior pose. Where's the camera? How do I look? Good? Do you think you can take my picture? Hurry, Honey. Mommy can't hold this position all day. Ready? Everybody say 'Namaste.'

Kat watched as the tourists pointed north to the mountains and out of the bay in the direction of Punta de Mita and the Mariettas. The Mariettas, a bird sanctuary and home to numerous varieties of tropical fish, was a landmark of sorts. Once you got past them, there was open water forever.

The tourists engaged in lots of different activities on the beach—picking up seashells, jogging, sun-tanning. She had also observed many women praying on a small grass-covered jetty in the bay near the gym. She often watched as they knelt and performed various rituals, which usually involved gesturing with their hands to the sky and water. Kat thought men didn't worship nature as women did, as she'd never observed a man praying.

Kat was amused by people who looked for shortcuts down to the beach or the marina, or who tried to make use of off-limit private properties like the condo development where she resided while in Mexico. Invariably, security guards would politely usher them off the property and back onto the beach. Once in awhile, she would see someone trying to climb over the wall to the hotel abutting the condo. They invariably landed in the ocean, surprised and sputtering. The surf could be a bit rough, even on a calm day.

No doubt, that was why the wall and fence were there in the first place. %ere were no David Hasselhoff wannabes on this beach. No Baywatch, P.V. style. She had noticed that the people who attempted this were mostly American tourists. The Mexicans knew better. If they wanted to go from one property to another, they came dressed in swimming trunks, prepared to swim around the jetty. Or they came in a small boat. Or sometimes they did the unimaginable: they walked back the way they came and took a longer, less dangerous route.

Having observed Mexicans over a period of several years, Kat had come to the conclusion that they were equipped with a type of intelligence most Americans didn't seem to possess. appeared to be more at ease with nature and the natural order of things. were also more accepting of things they couldn't understand and weren't constantly engaged in trying to improve what was already perfect.

She was also entertained by how the locals conducted commerce on the beach. Two young amigos would pull up onto the beach with their SeaDoos (wave-runners). Driving onto the beach was a process that required some knowledge of the tide as well as good timing. From one of the SeaDoos they'd remove a large beach umbrella (which, coincidentally, was identical to the umbrellas that were poolside at the condo). They would open up the umbrella on the beach and within a few minutes it would be sheltering the bodies of several pale-skinned American adults and children eager to rent the vehicles from the young Mexican entrepreneurs.

Pretty soon, more local businessmen would show up with their amphibious craft. Some of them took people scuba diving or snorkeling, some went para-sailing. Kat could only assume that all were welcome to participate. No licenses were checked. No reservations were necessary. Life jackets were made available when appropriate. Money and services were exchanged. Everyone was happy, smiling, enjoying the moment. It was as it should be. would never happen in the States. Not in a million years. Some government agency, like Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) would have to be involved. Why couldn't everything be this simple and harmonious?

She watched as tiny crabs skittered across the sand, stopping briefly, at intervals, to search the area for Sea Gulls. She noted they ran across the beach in strategic Z patterns, trying to avoid being scooped up by the ever-present, brazen scavengers.

Kat wasn't so amused when she saw a group of three men and a boy around ten years old walking down the beach with a large bucket and a net. She knew what was coming. One of the men would wade ankle-deep into the ocean and cast the net into the surf. He would time his toss to coincide with a wave he was expecting to roll in. Within seconds, he'd be running back up onto the beach, dragging the large net behind him. His friends would quickly wade in to help. When they pulled the net out of the water, it would be full of fish, most of which were dumped from the net into the large bucket. A few would fall onto the sand and begin to flop around, their silvery skins glinting in the sun. men would leave the fish lying there on the beach until they were quiet, and then they would pick them up, put them into the bucket and continue walking. This little drama always disturbed her. She couldn't stop thinking about it. She couldn't bear to watch suffering.

Having finished her workout, Kat returned to her condo.

Be ready to leave by eight o'clock.

It was New Year's Eve, and Mr. Magic had just informed her he was wearing a tuxedo to dinner that night. Never mind that they were in Puerto Vallarta, where probably no one had ever seen a tuxedo on anyone other than a "maitre d", much less worn one.

She told him she wouldn't go out with him if he wore a tux. No one else will be in a tux. Why are you wearing one? Why did she even bother to ask? He always did as he pleased.  Just dress accordingly, please, he insisted.

In what?

We're having a celebration. You figure it out.

Yippee! My mother died three weeks ago. Let's disco! she thought ruefully.

Kat didn't like feeling pressured. Life was a state of being, a gift to be cherished. But living life, on the other hand, was so hard and terrible sometimes that the two seemed to be incompatible, a total paradox. Her mother, Minnie, who had been so good and tried so hard, had died a terrible death after a long illness, and now Kat was going out to celebrate. What were they celebrating? They, Mr. Magic informed her, were going to the Marriott in Marina Vallarta to sit at a table for ten with eight strangers and pretend to have a wonderful evening, eating, drinking, and, God help her, dancing. He had meant to surprise her with the party but thought better of it when she reacted negatively to the tux. Kat loathed the thought of celebrating, but he was insistent, saying, it will do you good. She knew he was well intentioned and wanted her to have some respite from mourning. But he didn't deal with things the same way she did. Fanciful thought was her only escape mechanism. Fantasy was her haven.

She resented the intrusion into her grief. If she wanted to wallow in it, he should just let her wallow. If he were doing the grieving, he'd be at the Sports Book, betting his ass off. Gambling was his way of dodging reality. And she would just get out of his way and let him do it—not that she would have had a choice.

She had to wait until he stopped talking to her. His voice was a drone. Um hmm. Uh huh, she said, pretending to pay attention.

What she really wanted was to be left alone. Why did everything have to be so exhausting? She wanted to grieve in private. And if she found herself crying, she didn't want to have to explain or apologize. If she wanted to relive the sensation of sitting next to her mother's hospital bed, holding her tiny wrist and feeling her last heartbeat, why must she do it in public?

I can't live through auld lang syne tonight. It's too much. Lord, can you hear me now? she prayed silently. Help me to be anything but what lam. Please take my nerve endings away. Help me to be less than nothing so I can't feel anything for a little while.

She took some Xanex. It would be all right with champagne and wine, if she didn't overdo it. It would be good enough to get her through the twenty or thirty minutes she needed to dress for the evening. And she would carry another tablet with her in her Judith Leiber handbag (Bellagio edition), just in case. She liked to carry the bag on special occasions. Mr. Magic had surprised her with it on her birthday. It seemed like a lifetime ago. One day, it would be an heirloom. She had it earmarked for her Angel, her granddaughter.

In a short while, she relaxed somewhat and let her mind wander. As she sat primping in front of the mirror, she thought of the New Year. Another New Year. How old would she be this year? She had graduated from college how long ago? She thought of her fellow nursing students and wondered how they were doing. She hadn't seen them in so many years. She often recalled the line of fantastic thinking they had devised as an amusement where each girl would take turns adding to the storyline.

She allowed the botanical wonders game to come to the surface. It had always been good as a distraction because it could go on and on and keep her from obsessing about things.. .until she was brought back to reality. This automatic diversion technique always stopped her from thinking about Minnie for a few minutes, so she used it while she applied her makeup. If she didn't, she would have cried.

She couldn't remember the trigger line, but it was somehow related to the old saying more people I have to listen to, the better I like my. . . plants. The game always began the same way: Cyanophyta, the blue-green algae commonly found on the hairs of the three-toed sloth... " That was the key phrase. Tie thought made her giggle to herself. (The Xanex probably had something to do with it, too.) For some reason, her nursing class had found the botany professor's lofty tone of voice particularly funny when he'd said this in a lecture one day. After that, when they needed a little amusement during the course of a day at the hospital, they would interject the phrase into conversation, mimicking his tone. Invariably, this would result in a round of much needed laughter. were students, after all—just children, really—learning how to take care of other people's problems. Still innocent. She'd thought that the fantasy, while amusing to them at the time, was innocent, too. And childlike.

Getting bogged down in too much reality was a real possibility, even problematic, for people in the medical profession. Suicide and drug and alcohol abuse were prevalent amongst doctors and nurses. When you cared for others, an imagination and sense of humor were helpful. But patients' problems didn't make good comedic shtick.

Nursing Student: Ha! Did you hear about the guy that was admitted to the ER last night?

Second Nursing Student: No. What happened?

Nursing Student: He was bow-riding a speed boat and fell off. The boat ran over him and the propeller caught him between the legs.

Second Nursing Student: Wow! Is that what they mean by getting caught by the short hairs?

This incident actually occurred, but they didn't joke about it—it wasn't funny.

Kat recalled exactly how botanical wonders got started. They were sitting on the floor in a circle after study group. They hadn't taken their botany lecture very seriously.

Wouldn't it be cool to be part human and part plant? one of them had begun.

Genetic research would, no doubt, make something like this possible. Human beings were already innately able to change themselves into asses, apes, monkeys, bulls, pigs, chicks, loons, or turkeys at will. So, they conjectured, it wouldn't be that much of a stretch for scientists to take