Welcome, dear guest, to Blue Oasis! ¡Bienvenida! We invite you to take full advantage, to pamper and improve yourself during your all-inclusive stay here, which you deserve! Please keep careful track of your many satisfactions and report back to us on how we are doing! We strive to win a place in your heart so that you might return, again and again. To that end, we would be remiss not to mention Oasis Rewards™. Ask any passing team member, that old man tugging a cart of green bananas, those young women on their knees, por los baños, polishing tile—We are happy to tell you more!
But first, if you would be so kind as to review the Oasis Reception Gallery, in 3,000 characters or fewer! You may respond in full at your current Comment Kiosk or, for your convenience, log into our interactive application on a personal device. Either way, please tell us, has your experience at reception made you feel at once transported but also as if you have finally arrived? Did your heart take flight at the sight of those giant Mayan-style heads, their gleaming wooden profiles looking out and away? How about the comfort of our leather chaise lounges? How about the swiftness of our porters, those men in dark pants and pale guayaberas who just relieved you of your luggage? How about your complimentary tickets to our Blue Mimosa Timeshare Brunch?
Please, tell us everything! Is your wristband too loose? Too tight?
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We made it! The Johnsons have *ARRIVED!* And what is it we’re feeling: Revelation? Sweet Relief? Except for maybe my baby, AhMari—he’s only 13 and already taller than me. When Mari stepped into yall’s ice-cold lobby, he elbowed me, he rolled his eyes.
Is this it, Ma?, he said.
I started to tell him, you don’t even know, boy! You don’t know the half of what it took to get us here—and I don’t only mean a taxi, two planes, and a shuttle! Anyhow, here we are at Blue Oasis. The AC is pumping, but the line of lobby doors is propped open to the heat of the day. It’s HOT here, for real, and that’s coming from a South Carolina girl by way of sticky, marshy Virginia, so I *know* heat. What I mean is, yall’s is no joke—has it always been this hot? Here I am, and the lobby floor beneath my feet is slick and marbled, like polished teeth. Walking in, when I saw yall hard at work, I had to laugh, because, back home, that’s ME!!! If you came to my house, I’d be the one carrying or cleaning or getting after someone else to clean. To be clear, I teach full-time, too, and grade schoolwork deep into the evenings, so it’s pretty much 24/7, you know. So what I want to say right now is YES, I AM READY!!! I’m ready to let yall take care of ALL of it, the work and endless stewardship, for our entire stay. Never mind that when your porter reached for my luggage, for a moment, I hung on. And the heads—those giant wooden heads—feels like they remind me of something. Please tell me, I deserve this, right? Five days and four nights just to get away, to escape the struggles of this world.
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Thank you, Señora, for your candid and capricious feedback! ¡Gracias! Yes, we urge you to embrace this once-in-a-lifetime experience, which we hope you return for, year after year. Your gratification is not only your due, but also our solemn duty! With more than 900 luxury units, nuestra casa es su casa! ¿No? Either way, please tell us how much you are enjoying your living quarters, whether you reside in Blue Village I, Blue Village II, Azul Adults Only, or Luxe Privilege Plus. Has the warmth of your balcony hot tub soothed you? Have your children logged onto TranquiloNet, or ventured into our classic arcade, just off of the main plaza? Did you feel adequately welcomed by our Blue Oasis Butler, waiting at your door with your bags to greet you? How about the iced bottle of sparkling white wine? The red rose petals scattered across your pristine sheets? Did all of this exceed your expectations? Would you likely tell a friend?
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This room, it’s swanky, though it did look bigger on the website when we booked it. But yes, I’m all about cool tile underfoot, and the bubbly on ice—that was a nice touch! Let me just say, I was not aware our package “came” with a butler, or that butlers still existed—yall should warn a person! Our Blue Oasis Butler popped up out of nowhere as we rounded the hall to this suite. He told us to call him Hector, “like in Coco,” but his nametag had some other name on it—I don’t remember what. When we saw him, the husband patted his wallet in his pocket, as if to gauge how thick or thin an all-inclusive resort tip should feel. Our firstborn shrunk against the far wall, but my baby, Mari, eyed yall’s uniformed man with deep suspicion, as if he might well be a trained assassin or a spy. For his part, Hector pulled our bags over the threshold and showed us our room, as if it held more than we could possibly see with our own eyes. Here is the remote, he told us. Here is the dial for the fan on the ceiling. Hector clicked each light off and on.
As soon as Hector left, the boys claimed a desperate hunger. The husband pointed them toward the room’s mini fridge—all included, right? The boys pulled out cold cans of juice, piled snacks bound in plastic at the center of their king-sized bed. But in the end, they complained to us, they couldn’t find anything they wanted after all.
The four of us in just one room, and beat as I was, I could hardly sleep last night. At some point, I heard the husband in the darkness, his feet shuffling in those skinny slippers yall provide. I heard the click of the bathroom switch, saw a bright seam of light expose the gap at the door. I heard the whoosh of the faucet running, then what must’ve been the husband slapping lotion on his back—he gets so itchy when it’s hot. Eighteen years we’ve been together, and I could picture him at the mirror, his deep brown sloping shoulders, the moles collecting between his blades like barnacles under a workboat in the bay. Afterward, he fell right back to sleep, but I lay awake staring at the texturized ceiling. Our first night, and we hadn’t yet seen the ocean. I listened hard for the rumble of tide, some sign to assure me it was all still there.
Back to Hector though, just before he left, he called us out onto this balcony. There were monkeys, he told us, pointing toward the plot of jungle where I’m looking now. Feel free to feed them, Hector said, and I noticed that Mari unrolled his eyes so that the brown centers sparkled. Make an offering at sunrise, Hector told us, a palmful of grapes, a chunk of red apple, something saved from the buffet. They’ll swing right over and liberate the fruit from your fingers. All four of us peered down at the signs near the path which clearly read, DO NOT FEED THE MONKEYS! But Hector said all we needed to do was hold out our hands.
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We are sorry, Señora, but we have to remind you that all food items from our buffet should be consumed before you leave your table. Your Blue Oasis Butler must have misspoken—Rest assured, it will not happen again. (Do tell us, if you happen to remember, the name typed on “Hector’s” nametag.)
It is true, we ask all of our guests to refrain from feeding the wildlife on campus, as we have seen it end badly before. But yes, we had a family group of spider monkeys who lived in the roped-off patch of trees near your complex. It is quite possible, though not yet confirmed, that they have quietly extincted themselves, sometime during our most recent renovations, by refusing to eat or mate. But Señora, please do not worry—There are plans underway to procure replacement monkeys soon!
In any case, if you could just tell us about your enjoyment of eating and drinking here at Blue Oasis? Poolside, have you felt refreshed by our Mexi-Margaritas, ice cold, salt rimmed, with a splash of juguito de limón? How about our world-class restaurants, featuring cuisine Italiana, Americana, Mexicana, and Japonesa! All four venues are right here on our secure compound, with every meal included, though we do recommend reservations! And we do hope you consider leaving propina—May we suggest the equivalent of fifteen percent or more? How about the sprawl of the Colossal Blue Buffet? Have you found it both extravagant and charming? How about our line of signature cocktails, served daily from 6 p.m. until medianoche, either at the Paloma Piano Bar or any of our conveniently located Hospitality Kiosks? Please tell us, how many adult beverages do you enjoy daily, on average: 0-4, 5-8, 9 or more? ¡No problema, Señora!
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About the food here, it’s pretty good! I mean there is *A LOT* of it—I’ll give you that! I’ll be hitting the gym whenever we get back, so long as I can find the time, you know. Sometimes it feels like I’m always running, and for what? Toward what? But as for how much I’ve been drinking here, that’s none of your bee’s wax, as my 7th grade students might say. I work hard, I’m on my vacation, I’m grown. Truth is, for these last couple of days, the family and me, we’ve been wandering around this walled-in compound, sun-dazed and half bewildered. What should we be doing? Mari keeps saying. What could we do together, I wonder, that all four of us would enjoy, or that no one would hate, at least? Given everything, I can’t help but wonder, are our kids alright? Are we?
Actually, I have a real question for yall at Blue Oasis: What’s up with how the hostesses always ask about food allergies before seating anyone? I’ve noticed they write down our responses in thick paper logs, alongside our room numbers. I mean, why ask *every* *single* *time*, with the waiters sometimes asking *again* as they set down sweating glasses of water? It makes me wonder, what the hell happened here: Did some seafood-sensitive couple from Sweden face-plant into their bowls of lobster bisque? Did some 2-year-old turn blue after biting into a chocolate cluster chock-full of peanuts? Lying here now in these sandy sheets, I’m thinking it must’ve been the 2-year-old!!!
Also, what is going on along yall’s narrow stretch of beach? Today, we finally made it out to the ocean, past 7 pools and a slender gate where a uniformed guard checked and rechecked our bracelets. I’m talking about that streak of bright red algae visible as far as we could see, up and down the shoreline. How on earth am I supposed to let my booty do that sunrise yoga class looking out at that holy mess? When I first saw it, I don’t know what came over me: I grabbed the husband’s hand. He’s not as strong a swimmer as me, still we waded out together, aiming for where the ocean looked greener in the distance. That water reeked like rot, like loss, and it all felt so heavy against our bodies, like being tugged down by a million slimy snares. Thankfully, both boys stayed on the sand—I could see the dark skin of their ankles sparkling with it. Our firstborn hollered and waved us back, but my baby, Mari, held up his phone to film our failing expedition. And I thought to myself ***we came all the way HERE, for THIS!*** So I guess I’m asking, what happened to the ocean? Is it yall’s fault? Is it ours?
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We hope you do not judge us, Señora, for what might well be a temporary stain along the shore near our point of beach access. In the meantime, could you please tell us how much you’re enjoying the other amenities we provide? Do you rush out each morning to our activity listings, posted daily at our hospitality kiosks, the Foam In-Da-Pool Disco, por ejemplo, with DJ Loco on the mic? Have you tested your luck at our True Blue Casino, or enjoyed our live street fair, which takes place every evening as the sun goes down? How about those brawny Blue Libre Luchadores, with their bulging oiled chests and bright wrestling masks obscuring their faces? How about our own lovely Dove Girl, tangled in her high twin ropes, wearing her sequined leotard and tattered white wings? How about the acrobatic Blue Oasis Bailarines who stomp and rise as if ascending those crumbling ancient pyramids not far from our gates? All of this to honor our historia del mestizaje, and for your entertainment! Not to mention the adjacent open-air market, with stall after stall of quality souvenirs: Accessories in silver or hand-punched leather, brightly patterned alebrijes and hand-painted castanets, airplane bottles of mezcal, and bedazzled sombreros in jewel-like colors—Mementos to prove that you were here.
We know it would be quite impossible to partake in all of this and more in just one stay. Which is why we must ask you again—we are, in fact, contractually obligated—to consider our loyalty program, Oasis Rewards™! It offers the greatest access, not only to us, but also to our partner destinations around the globe!
Please tell us, how can you afford NOT to join?
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I may have had one too many of yall’s kicking Blue Lagoons on ice last night. Our second to last night at Blue Oasis, and I had to ask myself, where does the time go? The husband and me, we told the boys they’d have to entertain themselves. Our oldest groaned into his pillow, but Mari craned his head way back and smiled his wild-eyed smile. Never mind the stinking shore, the weedy sea—he aimed to swim out into the ocean, he said, and howl at the newly full moon.
Good luck with that, Baby, and don’t you dare drown, I told him.
We caught the tram to the Paloma Piano Bar, just behind reception. We lay out, side by side, on the leather chaise-lounges, me in my maxi sundress and matching white sandals, the husband in his favorite Ghanaian-print shirt, a neat crease pressed down the front of his khakis. The waiter brought us drink after drink, even as our tongues turned blue and numb in our mouths. Soon enough we started a little game between us, trying to guess if the people we saw in the bar or the lobby were happy: How about the older Black couple, who could someday be us, boogying to an arrangement of “All Night Long,” their moves marking decades of synchronicity? How about the young European-looking parents holding sunburned preschoolers? Seeing those babies fast asleep in their arms, I could not help but remember that heat, that weight! How about the bartender slotting wedges of lime onto a row of tumblers? He was dressed just like the porters, the waiters, our butler, as if all of yall are moonlighting from your slightly different jobs, and every job is taking care of us.
So it looks like yall have auto-enrolled me in your so-called loyalty program. But I feel like I should tell you, I don’t think I’ll be back. I guess I was hoping for something different, something more. Already it’s our very last night, and the truth is, I’m not exactly ready to fly home either. To land right back in that endless grind—of life, of work, of gaining, of losing, of loss.
Right now, when I look at those shining wooden heads, they remind me of the whale shark we saw today. Our tour was well outside these walls, not included of course, and spendy as hell, but Mari somehow convinced us. We had to get up at the crack of dawn, and these men drove us by shuttle along the wounded coast. My head was still aching from the night before, and all I could do was lean against the rattling window and try to take in the jumpy view. Farther every year, the men kept saying, just to get to where a few of the giant migrating fish feed for a period of time. When we got to the boat, we sped out farther still, until we’d reached what felt like the middle of the Atlantic. By then, the husband and the oldest had decided: They would sit this one out. But Mari and me, we were determined. We readied ourselves for the water. The ocean felt angry, all swell and chop, but oh my god, the quiet underneath! There I was, kicking fiercely, when I saw its massive spotted body, its skin a slick and silvery blue, pocked along the side with scars from the propellers of anxious boats like ours. For a set of fleeting moments, I understood that all of this would be far better off without us. But there was something in that floating, the way the light fell: I wanted nothing more than to stay.
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Why don’t you please tell us about your overall satisfaction? Tell us why your children look so sullen—There are *so many* things here for them to do! And why didn’t you bother to tip our porters who just carried your bloated bags back out through the heat of the day? Why didn’t you show up at the Blue Mimosa Timeshare Brunch? They keep track, you know, of the difference: How many tickets we hand out, and how many of you actually show! Can’t you see how very hard we are trying, to gouge a little place in your heart, so that you return even as the ocean bleeds? The least you could do is complete this fucking survey! ¡Cabróna! ¡Hija de puta! Just peck something out before you leave, at the Comment Kiosk, near those giant wooden heads!
When our shifts end tonight, we will fly home too, by bus, by moped. We’ll travel back to our homesteads en el campo, or to apartments in far-flung towns. Maybe first, we’ll detour to that one unspoiled cove, to a shack of a bar with every seat facing the sea. We’ll beckon the girl behind the bar to line them up neatly. One drink after another, we try hard to forget.