I didn’t keep many friends I made in the accounting program I attended in University, but the ones I did keep are actually… friends. Both of whom are batshit insane crazy, but in the best way possible. I truly love and respect them, and they know it.
I lost touch with the both of them for years but they each came back into my life in strange and funny ways, years later. One of whom is in Bermuda now, having taken a great job there a few years ago. Let’s call this friend, “R”.
If anyone knows me well, I’ll be the first to jump on any opportunity to travel where there’s a local I know. Immediately after R moved to Bermuda I went to visit her. And then I visited again, and again.
They say the first is the worst. I’d say my first time in Bermuda was the best. We did all the typical touristy things; beaches, caves, scooters etc. I wandered around while she worked, and at night it was full on debauchery. One night I just took it too far.
I have a habit of wandering off on my own when things get really rowdy. I either go home or go… anywhere else. Maybe it’s a subconscious part of me wanting to get away from masses of inebriated people whenever I see them.
Or maybe it’s me seeing how similar I am to them, wanting to get away from the thing I loathe most. Whatever the motivation this time, it allowed me to leave R and our friend group entirely. Well… not without a bit of convincing.
I met a (sort of) police officer on the dance floor of the bar my friends and I last were. He looked like a short-haired, pretty Tom Felton. We spoke (amongst other things) and he was trying really hard to convince me he was a police officer (because I blatantly laughed in his face when he said so – I guess I’m hard to impress).
I asked for his badge, because at this point his yelling in my ear that he had some sort of authority on the waters surrounding Bermuda had no effect on me. He shows me some sort of ID. At this point I’m so drunk I can’t even read, but I told him I believed him (I didn’t). So we continue dancing, and soon we leave the club, abandoning my friends who have no idea I’m leaving.
On our adventure we manage to wander off to the boardwalk where the water was. Downtown Bermuda (St. George) is right by the water, a walkway that spans the south end of the island.
Down some stairs we go – how we manage to not slip and fall into the ocean is way beyond my comprehension; all I know is that it was not my time to go yet. So we get up to some debauchery on the stairs, and I tell him I have no idea how I’ll get home.
At this point the bars are closing, people are leaving and walking everywhere, and I don’t know where my friends are. Without data or even my phone (can’t remember, obviously), I wasn’t able to contact R or vice versa.
I just had the address of where she lived. With the address in hand, this “officer” of some sort suddenly finds soberness of a miraculous degree. He says he has to leave me for 5 minutes, and 5 minutes later he drove up to me on a scooter in some sort of blue uniform and two police cars behind him.
“Get in the car behind me, I don’t have an extra helmet.” In to the car I go, making small talk with the big black driver, the second cop car trailing behind us.
We arrive at R’s house, and I’m so fucking thankful for life, I run in, she watches incredulously, thanks them for the late delivery and fends them off. And that was that.
It’s a goddamned miracle that I’m still alive, honestly. Thank you mister whoever you were for not killing me and probably saving me multiple times from falling into the ocean. Hope you’re well.
wanderfulleecom.wordpress.com 