MELISSA HARTZ
News Editor

“Bar drinks? Bar drinks, ma’am?”
I sit up in my chair, moving my thick-rimmed sunglasses up onto my hairline, shielding my eyes from the Caribbean sun with my hand. The young man stands at the foot of my lounge chair, holding a tray in his hands. I tilt my eyes upward at him, a smile dancing on the corners of my lips.
“That would be lovely,” I hear myself say.
The young man takes my order and card before disappearing into the throngs of sun-kissed, bikini-clad bodies to retrieve my drink. I settle my sunglasses back onto the bridge of my nose and recline back into the lounge chair, running a hand through my dark hair and gazing out to the horizon. A contented sigh escapes my lips, drowned out by the sound of a small wave crashing against the ocean liner as it cuts through crystalline-blue water.
The bar server returns with my drink at a speed only achievable by cruise ship staff. Before I am able to thank him, he zips away into the crowd. “Bar drinks, madam? Bar drinks? Something from the bar, sir?”
A thin layer of condensation has formed on the outside of the tumbler, where the frigid glass meets the humid, tropical heat. The ice clinks soothingly in the glass as I pick it up, the scent of Caribbean rum and cola intermingling in my nostrils. I lean my head back against the chair, the waves crashing rhythmically in the distance. I don’t know where the ship is headed, but oddly enough, I don’t care, as long as it is far away from Suburbia, New Jersey. I close my eyes, the gentle rocking of the ship lulling me into a half-sleep state. Suddenly, I feel someone standing over me, blocking my sun.
“Oh my god! I’m so glad I found an RA. I left my keys on my bed. Can you let me into my room?”
Oh no. God, no.
Like a time warp, I am pulled from my tropical fantasy land and into my university’s lounge. With the Internet out in all of the residence halls, people pack like sardines into the lounge, each hooking up to the room’s wireless Internet to get some work done. Bad flourescent lighting washes out our faces, making us look like lost souls, misplaced and confused by our disconnection from the world. I sit on a stained maroon couch with a rip in the cushion, white bud headphones in my ears, my computer whirring quietly in my lap.
“Well?” asks the girl standing before me, placing her hands on her hips for emphasis. Her bun flops to the side as she tilts her head expectantly.
I look up at her in a daze, pulling one of the buds from my ears.
“Yeah…yeah, sure,” I say, fumbling for my keys.
I put my head down, hiking up the many flights of stairs to the girl’s room. It’s been a tough day - the Caribbean escape was a welcome reprieve, even if only a dream. The Internet shuts down on half the campus, my frustration is ever-growing with my job. The day’s events are topped off with a monumental fight with the young man I’ve been recently spending my time with, and the fact that I’ll probably never talk to him again makes me sad. Not sad enough to remedy it, mind you, but sad nonetheless.
The light on the door blinks green when I swipe my master card, and the automatic lock clicks open. The girl slips in without so much as a thank you. After two years, you’d think I’d be used to it.
“You’re welcome,” I say to no one in particular, hearing my own voice echo back to me in the hallway. I shuffle back down the stairs to the lounge, placing my computer back in my lap, the wooden frame of the old couch creaking in protest. I place the white ear buds in again, and turn my music on, hoping that will be the last time I’ll be disturbed this evening. I lean my head back and close my eyes, trying to whisk back to that faraway escape in the islands.
Tomorrow is a new day, but I could certainly use something from the bar tonight.