January

Ever since I moved to South Florida I have had a custom of diving into the ocean, something I referred to as my New Year’s Day baptismal. This particular day was bright and sunny, without a cloud in the sky. I walked from my house to the beach, a large towel thrown over my shoulder. When I got to the beach, George waiting for me at the water’s edge.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he shivered.

“I do it every year. It’s my thing,” I chuckled. “One year it was so cold I thought that my balls would never come back down.”

“If you can do it, so can I.”

“Let’s go!” I dropped my towel in the sand and peeled off my shirt, kicked off my sandals, and ran to the water. Once our feet touched the water, we both stopped.

“Well, go on,” George urged.

“I will. I will, don’t rush me.” I took a deep breath, faced East, and dived into the waves. The cold water took my breath away. I jumped up and out of the water turning to face George, who was still standing in the shallow water.

“Come on Sissy Boy, the water is fine,” my voice was high pitched.

George screamed like a big woman as he ran into the waves. When he emerged from the water, his eyes were wide open. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed.

“Great, huh?” I laughed.

“You owe me a pair of balls,” George barked as he jumped on me and pushed my head under the water.

As we walked home, both of us thawed out under the bright sun.

“I hate to admit it, but that felt great. I feel like a new person,” George agreed.

“Told you.”

No New Year’s Day is complete without ham, black-eyed peas, and collard greens. The night before I was with George and his family watching Dick Clark ring in the New Year. At midnight we toasted with champagne, and everyone kissed. It was very natural to kiss George on the lips. “I am glad we are good friends.” He pinched my arm.

I had the spiral cut ham in the oven, the greens were steaming, and the black-eyed peas were warming on the stove top. I was plopped on the sofa watching The Twilight Zone marathon on The Sci -Fi channel when the doorbell rang. It was George and his boys.

“Where is Bella?” I asked.

“She is still not feeling well so the women are just going to lay low,” George said. “Oh look, boys, The Twilight Zone. I used to watch this when I was your age,” he gestured toward the television as he took my place on the sofa.

“I’m sorry that they aren’t here. I have a special treat,” I hinted.

“What am I, arroz con leche?” George asked.

“No, of course not. You know what I mean.”

George walked into the kitchen where I was standing. “Where’s your treat?” he asked.

Oh, if you only knew, I thought to myself.

On the counter was a sterling silver punch bowl filled with milk punch, a Southern delight. My recipe was very different from most because all I did was pour a fifth of Jack Daniels over a half gallon of Bryer’s vanilla ice cream. It was not my recipe but one from someone we met on a trip to New Orleans. His grandmother would make it for special occasions.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Milk punch,” I said. “It’s a Southern tradition for New Year’s Day. You have to try some.”

“May we have some?” Aaron asked.

“It has booze in it,” I looked at George.

“Let them try it. I don’t think they will like it,” he said.

I poured everyone a glass and handed it to them. As George predicted the boys hated it. “Oh gross!” they said in unison.

“This is good,” George said and downed his. “It reminds me of coquito.”

“That is what it’s supposed to be,” I said. “I think it was invented to take the hangover away from New Year’s Day.”

“I’ll have another,” he said.

“Be careful. It packs quite a wallop,” I said as I downed my third glass of the day.

“Just remember that starting tomorrow we go back on our diets,” George said sipping his second glass of milk punch.

After dinner I was in the kitchen cleaning up, while George and the boys were in the den watching television. I needed to keep myself occupied because I had imbibed too many glasses of milk punch. The boys had turned off The Twilight Zone and had replaced it with Sponge Bob Squarepants and the volume was turned way up. I stepped out of the kitchen, and what I saw made me laugh to myself. Everyone was passed out. George and the boys were asleep on the sofa, and my dogs were at their feet. It was such a peaceful feeling to have my men in my house. I felt complete.

The sound of the phone ringing woke everybody, even the dogs.

“If you are finished playing, can you send my husband and children home, please?” It was Bella. “The boys have school in the morning and as much as I love my mother, she is finally leaving for Naples tomorrow.”

“Yes, Bella. The phone had awaken them all. I will send them home pronto. Happy New Year.”

“Thank you, Chick. Same to you,” she added.

January is the best time of year to be in South Florida. The days are bright and sunny with a mild breeze blowing. I am now a native. When I would visit in the winter time, I would dive in the ocean without a care. Now that I have become accustomed to the weather, I can not even think about going in the water until May, with the exception of New Year's Day.

The alarm going off at five in the morning on January second was by far the most horrible sound in the world. I hit the snooze button that gave me nine more minutes of sleep. It did not help. The alarm sounded again. This time I sat up and turned off the damned thing. My feet were on the floor, but my head was in a cloud, and my mouth felt like an army had trudged throught it. The only redeeming quality was the smell of the coffee brewing in the kitchen. I placed my hands on my knees and with a loud grunt, I managed a standing position.

“Oh boy,” I said out loud. “Remind me to never make milk punch again.”

I put on a clean jockstrap and gym shorts, went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth two times trying to remove the nasty taste in my mouth. I was walking to the kitchen when my phone rang. I knew it was George.

“Chick, I was afraid that you would be up,” he said his voice more husky than usual.

“How you feeling?” I asked knowing the answer. “Like shit and you?”

“The same.”

“You wanna start our resolutions tomorrow instead?” “George, I love you,” I said.

“I know.” He hung up and I went back to bed.

The next day was much better. The alarm clock sounded. I sat up turned it off, let the dogs out, used the bathroom, then walked into the kitchen where I poured a cup of coffee, added milk, then went back to the bedroom. In other words, it was just like any typical day only I was happy.

George, as usual, met me out in front of the house. We jogged to Dale’s gym where on this day we worked out chest and triceps. It felt good to break a sweat, as if all the toxins I put in my body during the holidays were leaving my body.

It was hard keeping my focus when I was laying on the bench looking up at George’s crotch inches away from my face. The bar was loaded with two forty-five pound plates on either side. The bar weighed forty pounds. I was about to lift two hundred and twenty pounds.

“I want you to give me at least six reps,” George commanded. “You’ll be with me, right?” I asked.

“Sure thing,” he answered back. I looked up and he was smiling.

I wrapped my hands around the bar about shoulder width apart, took a deep breath, and lifted the bar. I slowly lowered the bar to my chest. It was, to say, very heavy. Once it touched my chest, I started to push the bar back up. That was one repitition.

“Good,” George said. “Again.” Down went the bar with two hundred and twenty pounds to my chest. Slowly, I managed it back up. I started to sweat. “Again.” I lowered the bar to my chest, but this time it stayed there. I could not move it.

“Need some help?” he asked looking down. All I could do was nod yes. He grabbed the bar between my hands and slowly pulled up on the bar. I know my face was red because it felt like it was on fire. With George’s hands on the bar, we finished off three more reps, then locked the bar in place. I laid there on the bench like a wet dish rag.

“How do you feel?” George asked.

“Great,” I answered back. “Now it’s your turn .” I kicked up from the bench and wiped it down with one of Dale’s clean, white towels. George took my place on the bench.

“You want me to add any more weight, big guy?” I asked leaning on the bar.

“That would be a negative,” he said. “What do you think I am, crazy?”

“Yes,” I laughed. George sat up, grabbed his towel, and using it like a whip he snapped it, the tip stinging my thigh.

“Ouch, you bitch,” I exclaimed rubbing my leg where the towell whipped me. “Now lay down and give me at least six.”

“Yes sir, Coach,” George said. He laid on the bench, grabbed the bar, and with a deep breath lifted it. He brought the heavy weight down almost to his chest.

“That’s one,” I laughed.

“Oh hell,” George exclaimed bringing the bar up just short of locking his elbows. He blew his breath out. He took a deep breath and brought the bar back down.

“Two,” I counted.

“I know, I know!” his face was blood red.

George lowered and raised the bar three more times. Each time his face became redder and redder. I helped him a little on the last rep but he did most of the work. We locked the bar in place.

“You George, are a beast!” I said in awe. He could not say anything. He just laid there breathing hard. Finally, after several minutes, when he regained his composure, he declared, “Who’s the bitch now?”