It's a lovely day on the lanai in our condo, and I'm overhearing my husband on the phone trying to book a boat rental and he's repeating his name way too often. "Bryan." (Pause) "No, it's Bryan." (longer pause) "Bryan...no just Bryan."
What was up with that? I ask. Apparently, they started a bit early at Jenson's Marina and had a wee bit of trouble understanding someone who is now booked for a pontoon rental tomorrow under the name Ron Bryan.
"I don't know..." Bryan says, perplexed, "I kept telling them my name isn't 'Ron', it's 'Bryan', but somehow they decided on 'Ron Bryan..."
My husband, now asserting himself in a more confident manner, decides to adopt this new persona with vigor. Grabbing me tightly around the waist and planting a very dramatic smooch on me, he declares in a baritone voice, "Ron Bryan kisses like that."
Turns out Ron Bryan does a lot of things different. He speaks of himself in the third person, he collects only the best shells, he orders beers with a thunderous bellow.
That afternoon as Ron Bryan, myself, and my parents sit in beach chairs on a quiet stretch of sand, my father sits staring out at the ocean.
"Dad?" I ask, a bit concerned.
"My name is Hawk." What the...? It's as if for the better part of his life he has waited for the chance to claim this. No hesitation, just 'Hawk'. And apparently he no longer answers to 'Dad', either.
"Well, I want a name too." My mother whines. "I'm Periwinkle...no, I'm Sandollar. Sandollar!"
My father looks at her, disgusted. "Hawk doesn't associate with someone named Sandollar." He scoffs. "Your name is Blade."
My mother, in her polka-dot bathing suit, sipping chardonnay, wrinkles her nose. "Blade? That doesn't sound like me-"
"BLADE. That's it." He interrupts. I guess 'Hawk' wasn't the only name he has given forethought to. I later am christened as Scout, and the fab four raise their plastic glasses in a toast to our new found secret lives.
"Blade broke her toe." My mother announced as she limped on the beach the next day. Hawk rolled his eyes and said, "What's new." Turns out the alias didn't protect Blade from wayward driftwood or a lifetime affliction of clumsiness.
Scout doubled over with laughter as Ron Bryan pulled her back onto the boat with the grace of a blind juggler. "Was Blade a ballerina in another life?"
Hawk chuckles at my comment as Blade glowers at me, "Oh, shut up."
The fab four conquer sharing appetizers, finishing 1000 piece puzzles, and being overall fabulous. We later return home to our normal lives; Ron Bryan mows the lawn and Scout sweeps up dog hair. The aliases becomes less visible as we blend into the day-to-day, until we are virtually one in the same.
My cell phone rings the next week and my mother, laughing, speaks dramatically into the receiver.
"Hawk is going to be so mad at Blade! I got pulled over for speeding! I only got a warning, but-"
Without hesitation, Scout reacts: "Your identity has been compromised!! Abort mission! ABORT MISSION!"
Until next year, Sanibel.
Yours,
Scout
This is beyond fabulous Scout!
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