Mississippi Salt

Sand crunched under Gonga’s fingernails as he scratched his head. The breeze skipped along the beach, spraying salty air into his face and making him sneeze. He took another couple steps and launched into a new accordion song.

Last night I called my buddy, asking him which apartment was his, then asking him to come out and show me where to park. I was hiding on the other side of the door when he came out of the house. I couldn’t resist. I knew it was stupid. I knew I would get pummeled. I simply underestimated the fear factor associated with my Gonga costume.

He must have jumped two feet in the air when I did my Gonga howl. He was six inches from vaulting over the railing before I stopped him from a concrete death. I hit him pretty hard. I mean, I had to save him from jumping!

I got knee to the mouth. Good thing Gonga didn’t try to add singing to his accordion act.

A group of children scuttled past as a distance, looking at Gonga curiously and then pausing to listen to the music. I nudged the big straw hat lying at my feet. A few stray dollars and random change lay on the inside.

“Can you play ‘Happy Birthday’?” a little girl in a bright pink swimsuit asked, pushing wispy black hair out of her face.

Gonga nodded, doing his best to smile. I winced, better let the mask do the smiling for today, I thought. That salt air was stinging.

The girl jumped up and down and clapped her hands as Gonga switched over to a raucous gypsy rendition of ‘Happy Birthday.’

“It’s my birthday!” she cried, capering around on the beach.

“Here honey,” a somewhat pink looking man came up and handed her a paper bill. “Give the gorilla something for playing your song for you.”

I watched appreciatively as she dropped the five into my hat. That was nice! If only more people understood how the traveling musician gig worked.

It took at least five minutes of explaining from a chokehold last night before my buddy finally realized who I was. He was pretty mad. When he finally let me in and I got my mask off, he calmed down some. The blood streaming out mouth and nose was pretty convincing. He gave me a cold pack and we sat up late talking.

Now we were both at work.

Him, in the office.

Me, on the beach.

I think I got the better end of the deal. Even if the Mississippi salt air did sting.