Conch Independence Days

The sky was clear that afternoon/early evening. We were armed with tomatoes, hot dogs, and oranges. And the day was so beautiful! A few clouds, upper 70’s, a light breeze, and every boat that could be was afloat for "The Battle that Never Was." A gigantic, surreal, food-fight-made-up-re-enactment of the defining moment of Key West’s Conch Independence Days.

Some background: As a result of the Mariel boat lift in the early 1980’s, an increase of drugs and illegal aliens headed up U.S. Highway One from the Keys into Miami. The DEA decided to roadblock the Keys to stem the huge number of immigrants and drugs surging into the area, and then consequently, into the rest of the country. Ordinarily, the drive from Key West to Miami is between three and a half and four hours, depending on speed and conditions. During the roadblock, travel time to and from Miami doubled. I’m sure there was a lot of tension and frustration and many more reasons prompting the city’s course of action, but the roadblock is the only one I heard.

So, in response to the situation, the citizens of Key West seceded from Florida and the United States. Someone fired a single gunshot into the air. They surrendered, and applied for federal relief as a defeated nation. And they won! The roadblock was ceased, and the government withdrew. Ha! Take that! Not too bad for a bunch of potheads and drunks, huh?

And each year, in honor of that singular achievement, they throw one hell of a party. A food fight. A fuckin’ massacre. I don’t know if I’ve ever laughed so hard. Maybe once. But I wasn’t in love, then. So this memory is sweeter..

We went out on the water early. There were already many others sailing about, the excitement of impending fun was felt all around. Everyone was amped. One could hear lots of laughter and happy, positive cadences in the rhythms of distant exchanges. The sun was still in the sky, lowering slightly, increasing anticipation. The water became more and more congested with jet skis, yachts, pontoon boats, sailboats, the Coast Guard; you name it, they were there.

And then they were all throwing food. It was amazing. Observation craft like the Schooner Appeldore were attacked: By us! The Captain was totally shocked when we started pelting them. We struck hard, then got out of there. As we were leaving, another boat started to attack the Appeldore as well. You just wanna watch, huh? Not today.

Jet skis ripped by, turning sharply, splashing us, then zipping off, like dragonflies. The Coast Guard pounded us with their firehose. We were falling and yelling and incapacitated and laughing. And as they were driving off, sprayed us one more time, for good measure.

The gambling boat was dead ahead. I had an acquaintance that was the Second Captain of the Fun Kruz. The owners of the boat wanted you to think "Cruise," but I always said it like it was spelled. Kruz. Three levels of Kruz, to be exact. Gambling, drinking, and buffets on one big funtabulous six hour international (waters) cruise. And we were coming up fast from behind.

When we were a little less than 50 yards away, my Fun Kruz buddy popped his head out one of the windows directly in front of us, taunting and laughing, daring anyone from our boat to hit him. So I threw a tomato at him. Actually, I winged one at him, missing the left side of his head by inches, the tomato exploding against the back wall of the second level. Staring and stunned, my friend ducked back out of view. And then everything went crazy.

The people on all three levels on the backside of the boat began to throw their buffet food at us, all at the same time. There was nothing we could do. I wanted to duck, but I couldn’t help but watch all the food, flying in the air, hitting the water, the boat, and us. Rolls, pork chops, pickles, chicken legs, fruit…it was totally and completely off the hook. We couldn’t stop laughing. People on our boat were taking cover under the tarp, but a few had fallen and were left exposed, howling with adrenaline and delight, flailing around in buffet food.

At one point, I remember looking over at ______, an excited smile and bursts of giggles emanating from him, his buoyancy, a comfort of which I was so thankful, and I could not ever remember a time in which I had been so happy. He was talking with a friend, slowly turning to look at me looking at him, and he was smiling. He was smiling at me. And at that moment, my heart expanded, reaching the inner walls of my skin, happy for acceptance.

The fighting continued for twenty or thirty more minutes, sunset heralding the end of battle, signaling peace and victory for all participants. We went back ashore, and I pedaled to my apartment to change for work. I would be barbacking this evening at One Saloon, and would be working hard until 5 a.m.. I go to work at 9. It’s now 8. I am exhausted. I have given up my only chance to nap between my day job (10-5) and my night job (9-5). I brew a pot of coffee, take five tablets of ephedrine, shower, and am content with my decision.

The night goes by very quickly. It is very busy in town. We have strippers tonight. It’s also our five-dollar "Drink and Drown," all the draft you care to drink, but not necessarily care to enjoy.

The music is good, I’m sure, as it always is on Monday and Tuesday, and the crowd is deep and thick throughout the bar. But none of it matters. I keep hitting replay, slowing it down, watching the wall of water, the jet ski screaming by, frame by frame, watching the tomato arc gently by Troy’s head, laughing, ______’s head, slowly turning to me in the middle of a burgeoning smile… And soon, I will once again be with him, sleeping by his side.

I drop a keg, unhooking and moving the empty one, mightily push and slide it into place, make the new connection, and call to the bartender that the free flow of Bud can continue. I smile down at the keg, smiling at him smiling at me. And then I return to collecting empty beer bottles along the back rail of the bar, into and around the dance floor.