It was already past six, and I was preparing dinner as usual, my son Peter was sleeping over at his friend’s house, while my husband was working lat... again and my son Brian was out with his friends. Not even did the clock strike seven that I heard a bang coming from the door, I went toward the door to see my son Brian angry and slamming the door again, before I even was able to ask him what was going on he ran up to his room. I followed him upstairs and knocked on his door asking him what had. In the evening I’d catch a few more waves on my own, or with one of my newfound local friends, and eat at one of the restaurants on the island. Or I’d set up a barbecue and throw on a few fish, freshly hauled out of the azure waters by one of the local fishermen. The staff was good fun, a smattering of Americans, Europeans and locals. We would have parties almost every night, knocking back rum, burning a few logs and playing dance music and reggae until the early hours. With all that daily. More

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