There is a land, a secret, remote place that is only discussed amongst closest friends during long stretches of boredom. That place is known as: Love Island.
After quiet, dead air had well permeated and hardened within the rental car I was driving, I cracked the silence and blurted out unexpectedly to my friend, “Okay…so there’s this place, Love Island. You get to take five men..but only five.” And thus the conversation begins.
The rules are simple: One can take five men of their choosing; someone they know, don’t know or hope to know; someone from their past or someone who has passed. They can be famous or the bag boy at the local market. Doesn’t matter. No judgement.
This simple, adolescent, yet amusing game has the magical ability to pass the hours. There are moments of quiet introspection – after all, one does have to choose carefully. Then days later, out of the blue, without any appropriate segue one will bark out a name. This outburst is usually accompanied by a head nod that signifies the certainty of the one being named. During the recent Book Expo, I watched my friend gaze at various men, to which I would simply ask, “Love Island?” Prompting her to nod. No men from the Book Expo made it onto my island. Which, by the way, looks wildly similar to that of Fantasy Island.
My friend had men from her past on her island and men she has only seen in a movie. No one from my past made it onto my island; a sad discovery when I took the time to think on it. There is a love from my past, but even he didn’t make it onto the pristine beaches that encircle my island. We had a falling out just weeks before his death, and his behavior during those moments hurt beyond measure and ultimately made me question the validity of his love. And my island is a place for glorious happiness, maybe even a bit of debauchery. Either way, I don’t want drama, sadness or turmoil. While my friend was saying more to herself than to me, “What is that guy’s name from that one band…” I was noticing all the free space still left on my island. Then I got practical and thought perhaps it might be in my best interest to include a chef…
There are no buff, highly sculpted bodies walking out of the water and onto the white sands of my island. I’m not a fan of pretty boys. I want one that will douse me heavily in love, humor and intelligence. I won’t go into detail about whom, if anyone, made it onto my island, or if the number is only that of one or if I managed to fill the allotted five slots. I will say however, Einstein was in the running…