The Island Bell

Angela Mazza

Principal or Director: Mr. William Floyd

Ocoee High School, Ocoee, Florida, USA

Our rental car barreled down the causeway, jolting in every crook of the uneven bridge. I had put my window down to breathe in the fresh Florida air. A calm, shadowy sea looked back at me as I spotted boats angling around mangroves in the distance, their wakes painted majestic swirls in the glassy sea.

We were finally there. It had been a five hours flight from Oregon and a forty-five minute drive from the airport. My legs ached from the cramped seating arrangements. As we drove off the bridge and onto the island, all my suffocated agitations washed away like magic. Nicholas, my ten year old kid brother, was sound asleep, leaning against the opposite door. He wore a cheese powder goatee, a permanent stain, and a single drop of drool bounced out of the corner of his mouth in the draft of the AC. To this day, I still. wish he could have been awake to see the first sights of the island. There were whole families riding in bike caravans on the trail to my left and on my right, a handsome boy with bleach blonde locks walked into an island bookstore. The scene was nothing glamorous just a delicate place full of imperfect perfections of paradise. I felt like I belonged already.

Dad was snoozing just like Nicholas in the front seat across from Mom, who was jamming out to Jimmy Buffet on the radio. My mom is originally from Florida. Her family used to vacation on Sanibel Island when she was younger. She knows that place better than my hometown. It's strange to think about her having any other life than the one she has with us in Oregon.

"Here it is, Ann, The Island Bell Resort. It's been too long. You think we should wake the boys up?" She glanced over her shoulder at me and gave me a look of confirmation. "We're here!", we shouted together. My father and brother both jumped up quickly. Nicholas immediately started asking, "Are we going to the pool? Is there a pool? Is there a slide?"

"We'll get there after we unload the car, sweetie.", my mom answered as she shut the radio off.

Island Bell Resort was huge and antiquely beautiful. All the buildings were no higher than three stories, with angled roofs and painted a pale gray. The entire resort was covered in a layer of Florida oak trees mixed with tropical plants and scattered mangroves. In the center of the property, there was an enormous white house. It must have been built in the 1800s and sometime since then was turned into a high class restaurant, The Bell Lodge, in the heart of the resort. Just next to the restaurant is the pool. As I looked upon the deck area, little did I know what romance would take place there and how closely I would be involved.

My window was still down and I could here Rasta music and smell chlorine and sun screen. It was picture perfect.

Our condo was in the last building on the property, #317. As my mom opened the door, a rush of AC blew against my strained arms, carrying my bags. I could see from the front door, straight through the great room, to the back doors. The doors were open, curtains blowing in the breeze as if they were welcoming me into the breathtaking view. The water was all shades of blue. The heavy thunderstorm clouds produced dark shadows just before the horizon. A mangrove canopy reached up just along the bottom of the balcony, green and lush. The beach wasn't visible past the tall mangroves but in the distance, off in the ocean there was a. bright white sail boat, elegantly gliding along the water. My dad teeter-tottered through the door behind us and relieved himself of his bags immediately. "Wow." He muttered as he wiped his moist brow. The condo was just as idyllic and spacious as the rest of the resort. The great room led to the glass doors out to a patio. The kitchen was cornered along side the staircase which brought one to the master bedroom and bath. Under the stairs was the room my brother and l: would share. It had two twin beds and a small bathroom.

At the time, I had never seen anything more captivating than this Florida island. As I looked around the condo and on the faces of my parent, I realized that they were telling the truth when they said there was magic here. They would know. This is where they fell in love after all.