Of all the characters on the beach, my favorite had to be Michael. A tall, gooberish man, I later came to find out he had spent most of his adolescent years glued to a computer, learning the skills he would later use to make his millions. This, of course, did not lend itself to forming many social skills, thus creating the man I met on the beach: the Tortoise.
Before I knew who he was, my friends and I would poke fun. At 6'4" and rather lanky, Michael had a hunch in his posture unlike any I had ever seen before. Decked out in his pink, large-brimmed floppy hat and brightly colored board shorts, we would see him on the beach every day at the same time, making his rounds of the lounge chairs, massaging his way through the crowds. Without fail, about 80% of the time we ever saw the man he had his hands on someone, massaging away, goofy smile plastered on his face. A lot of times he would have two willing candidates at once, one hand on each body, lingering perhaps that second too long on the hips or bum should his recipient be female. Despite the fact that no one ever seemed to mind, none of us could get past the inherent creepiness of some strange man constantly massaging people.
"He just lurches around the beach, preying on people, hovering over them like a tortoise," friend C described his actions.
"Like a tortoise?" I questioned. "Tortoises hover over people giving massages?"
"No," she laughed. "But he looks like one."
Cruel or not, that became his nick name within our group. It didn't matter, of course, that none of us had actually ever spoken to the man, or God forbid, let him massage us. No, I didn't have my first actual encounter with Michael until a good two weeks into my stay on the beach. It was Eden Garden's weekly party, and my friends and I had decided that was the appropriate time and place to try LSD for the first time. Party in full swing, me in full trip mode, I was sitting around a low table trying to make sense of everything around me when I felt a presence hovering over me. Trip gripping me with paranoia, I slyly glanced over my shoulder to see the Tortoise there, body far too close to my own, goofy smile ever present on his face.
Before I knew who he was, my friends and I would poke fun. At 6'4" and rather lanky, Michael had a hunch in his posture unlike any I had ever seen before. Decked out in his pink, large-brimmed floppy hat and brightly colored board shorts, we would see him on the beach every day at the same time, making his rounds of the lounge chairs, massaging his way through the crowds. Without fail, about 80% of the time we ever saw the man he had his hands on someone, massaging away, goofy smile plastered on his face. A lot of times he would have two willing candidates at once, one hand on each body, lingering perhaps that second too long on the hips or bum should his recipient be female. Despite the fact that no one ever seemed to mind, none of us could get past the inherent creepiness of some strange man constantly massaging people.
"He just lurches around the beach, preying on people, hovering over them like a tortoise," friend C described his actions.
"Like a tortoise?" I questioned. "Tortoises hover over people giving massages?"
"No," she laughed. "But he looks like one."
Cruel or not, that became his nick name within our group. It didn't matter, of course, that none of us had actually ever spoken to the man, or God forbid, let him massage us. No, I didn't have my first actual encounter with Michael until a good two weeks into my stay on the beach. It was Eden Garden's weekly party, and my friends and I had decided that was the appropriate time and place to try LSD for the first time. Party in full swing, me in full trip mode, I was sitting around a low table trying to make sense of everything around me when I felt a presence hovering over me. Trip gripping me with paranoia, I slyly glanced over my shoulder to see the Tortoise there, body far too close to my own, goofy smile ever present on his face.
