Gate F is located all the way at the northern tip of the Fort Lauderdale International Airport. Sandwiched between gates E and F there is a small, circular bar. Even though it seems to be a perfect location it’s rare to see a groggery positioned so close to the passengers’ boarding area. After spending three days in the Miami sun I was not anxious to be one of the first patrons to occupy my awaiting plane. While I make it a habit not to consume any alcohol en route to my destination, I habitually seat myself at an airport tavern before boarding my return flight home. My traveling companion shot me a nervous look as I guzzled down my second Corona and ordered a third. Rows 20-30 were being called for Jet Blue flight 621 back to Newburgh, New York. There was no sense of urgency as I glared at my bottle of suds. I was still searching for something- a mythical place, the metaphorical perfect wave- quite possibly serenity. It has been a pattern in my life that when I’m feeling lost and unsure of where I’m headed I have a propensity to look into the bottom of a glass for answers.
Three days engulfed in the pretension of the South Miami lifestyle had me feeling more jaded than usual. Surprisingly I had never been to South Beach and was unprepared for the extreme pompous cheekiness that I was surrounded by. It was apparent to me quickly that to thrive in South Florida I was lacking in three important areas: money, supermodel good looks (close), and jewelry. A simple dinner for two, which included one glass of wine each, was $400.00. A Ketel One and tonic at the poolside bar went for $21.00. A chicken salad served to me on the beach ran $27.00. It cost $100.00 just to gain entrance into a night club. Despite these inflated prices, young ladies ages 19-23 were a dime a dozen. All of the youthful girls had several things in common: they were beautiful, well endowed (naturally or not), and working or not, they wore scant string bikinis. These females were usually conversing with men much older than themselves. Most of their prey were in their 50’s and 60’s and came in all shapes and sizes. All of the men had diamonds on their fingers, in their ears, their noses, and one can only imagine where else. We all know the answer but in our heads we still pose the question: “Are these men happy even when they find what they’re looking for?”
For one particular elderly gentleman lying on the Florida shore the search appeared to be over and he had found what he needed. An educated guess put him at 70 and his female companion at 25. He positioned himself to receive the full strength of the midday rays. He possessed a thick head of pure white hair and stood about 6’3 on a hairless frame that glistened with a dark brown tan. I didn’t hear him speak but I assumed he wasn’t American. 
His calmness and perfect posture were far too eloquent for him to be American. Even though the young woman looked as if she could be his granddaughter she never let her attention get distracted from him. She was a tall and slender blond with straight hair cut to her shoulders. She was as sun soaked as he was with a bathing suit on that could not hold in her surgically enhanced breasts. The two of them dismissed any doubt that they weren’t a couple within a few minutes of me getting comfortable in my beach chair. She ran as he ambled into the ocean, hand in hand up to their knees in the deep blue sea. When the two financial partners returned to shore she was quick to was to put a comb through his mane. She made sure his look was just right as she began applying lotion to his back as if she was a mommy protecting her child from the blistering burn. Not sure whether to be envious or sick to my stomach I had seen enough.
Within minutes I was settled in at the poolside bar. It felt great watching the Sunday football games on TV with the December snow falling in the northeast while the sun was burning my back. The Steelers were roaring past the Bengals on the screen as I ordered up another round of Tito and tonics. Of the ten or so men, all of them 45 and over, seated at the bar I was the only one with their eyes on the game. The diversion was a shockingly attractive bar maid from Speedway, Indiana. Certainly the criteria for working at the SLS Hotel, my temporary residence, was overtly obvious but “Speedway” stood out from the crowd. She had what some call the “whole package.” She was wholesome yet sexy, coy yet naïve, outgoing yet reserved. Her glaring beauty was such that if “Speedway” walked into a restaurant in my hometown the music would stop playing and the clients would look up from their meals and freeze. She had the look that changes bank accounts and names on documents. I couldn’t help myself to make an effort to strike up conversation with Miss Indiana. I did find out her given name but kept referring to her as “Speedway” nonetheless. She was appropriately congenial in what turned out to be a mini interview with a 55 year old married man. Her story was probably similar to many of the young girls who had traveled far from home to the shores of South Beach. She was bored in her small hometown and unclear as to what she wanted to do with her life. She easily figured out her strongest assets were her beauty, her body, and her youth. Somewhere during the consumption of a third round of drinks I asked her why had she picked the southern tip of Miami and what was she hoping to find. Speedway didn’t need to verbalize her answer. She smiled, looked out toward the sun drenched pool and then down the elongated bar at a crew of older men trying desperately to suck in their stomachs.
By the time Monday evening rolled around it was time to find a way to the Dolphins/Giants game. The man who escorted me on this trip decided to call Uber, the latest in private service transportation. This adventure landed me in the back seat of a Ford Escort with a sweet young couple from South Dakota. Right away I saw a great reality show in the making: New York Assholes meet authentic South Dakotans. Austin and Page were both 25 years old and their trip to the game in Miami was the first time they had ventured from their birth state. They struck quite a contrast to the cartoon type characters I had witnessed in this land of plastic. Austin is a big Dolphin’s fan and Page had surprised him with the trip for his 25th birthday. Although I couldn’t help but poke good natured fun at these two young lovers, they were by far as real and genuine as anybody I had made the acquaintance of in a very long time. Austin is a farmer and Page wants to be a housewife with four kids. They are high school sweethearts who have no plans to live anywhere but South Dakota. They both handled my jabbing and prodding along with my New York wise-guy comments with dignity and class. My friend in the front seat would never admit it but the Midwesterners and I were enjoying a bonding experience. Finally, I had to ask them why they had not married and what they were looking for. Page didn’t hesitate to answer:
“I brought him on this trip hoping he would come here and finally put a ring on my finger.” Poor Austin didn’t have a ring to pull out of his overalls. The wholesome couple from South Dakota and I walked together to the turnstiles at Sun Life Stadium. I floundered to find my entrance gate as we said our goodbyes. Austin and Page walked towards the stadium with confidence. They knew exactly where they were going. Or so they thought.
The next day after the game I had to make an unscheduled stop before my journey back to New York. At the last minute I planned to meet up with a long time friend of mine who now lives in West Palm Beach and is going through some of life’s common personal struggles. He had always been a talented artist, writer, and photographer. His life had started with a bang and such high hopes for the future. With an Undergraduate degree from Stanford on his resume, he married the first person he had fallen in love with- his high school sweetheart. His first love was a talented vocalist and at 14 was the front person for a well-known local band. It turned out she has made a living as a musician but never made it to the big time. My friend decided to live his life supporting her career so he became the band manager and a stay at home dad who was in charge of caring for the children, which sadly turned out to include his wife. Today in his 40’s the proverbial chickens have come home to roost in regards to his relationship. My friend had chosen to abandon his own dreams and potential for a woman whose best days were now far behind her. He is reluctant to give up on the image he created for the two of them. He realizes his partner is resistant to growth, change, or being anything more than a one hit wonder. He confessed to being upset at himself for not taking care of his independence over the years. We chatted for about an hour before my ride was there to get me to the airport. I heard my old friend’s cry for help. I didn’t have specific answers but I left him confident that he was at least ready to start searching for some.
The attendant was announcing last call for boarding as I chugged down my beer. I felt the sting of a bad sunburn as I threw my bag over my shoulder and headed down the ramp to the aircraft. My head was spinning and my mind was still dazed as I settled into seat 4A and shut my eyes. I saw the old man and his trophy girl awkwardly walking in the sand. I saw Speedway smiling at me with her innocent and alluring eyes. I saw Page and Austin holding hands in the back seat on the way to the rest of their lives. I saw my former student at his car door, trying desperately to hold on and let go at the same time. As the plane lifted into the air with my eye lids still shut, I let out a sigh. I knew I still had so much more to figure out about what I was searching for. I knew the answers that I might have been subconsciously looking for were not to be found in Florida. I had to keep moving forward; it was time to leave Miami behind.
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