Belle
Thursday, October 29, 2009 at 3:29AM 
I remember swimming in the Caribbean Sea off an island in Panama last year. There was a beautiful girl in the water with me I had been innocently watching most of the day. I have no qualms about admitting my love for Latin women and here I was floating around in a tropical atmosphere at the southern tip of Central America with a gorgeous one a couple strokes away; I was definitely interested.
This girl was playful, intriguing and sexy. Her tattoos caught my attention first followed by her well proportioned body and aquatic colored eyes. "Does she speak English?" I thought to myself before hesitantly opening my mouth:"¿Hablas inglés?" She smiled, "Poquito." I switched back to my native tongue and so began our broken conversation in the middle of the Caribbean.
The girl was actually Spanish and had moved to Panama to work for a newspaper in the capital city. I told her about my life back in Evansville and career in news. She recounted her time living in the States while studying journalism at the University of Missouri.
As the constellations began to light the sky and the crest of waves began to settle, we exited the water. She said she was turning in early but suggested I fly from Bocas Del Toro to the San Blas islands the following morning. She would be boarding the same flight and thought I'd enjoy myself there.
When morning came I did something I rarely do and ignored the romantic in me. I boarded a water taxi and began my eight hour trip to La Fortuna, Costa Rica. I never saw the girl again, didn't even get her name.
Still every time I hear "Belle" by Jack Johnson I'm reminded of her and our conversation in the middle of the Caribbean. Perhaps now you'll understand what I'm talking about - or rather who I'm talking about - when I write the following message on my Facebook status:
Oi lienda.
Bella che fa?
Bonita, bonita que tal?
But belle, Je ne comprend pas francais.
So you'll have to speak to me some other way.
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