Sleep When You're Dead

As I stand at the bottom of the hill at Secret Harbor, I hear the sound of “Genius of Love” blaring from someone’s car. Surprised that someone else on the island loves the song that Zoe and I always hula hoop to, I look up to see it’s Roy, my taxi driver. It makes perfect sense because I had just given him a CD with the Tom Tom Club finishing the mix.

At nighttime on St. Thomas, you have a car, catch a lift with a local or friend, hitch hike with sketch balls or rely on the taxis—of which, most are “gypsy taxis.” A lot of the gypsy drivers double as full time drug dealers and thieves as well. So getting into a cab here can be just as risky as walking the dark street. My drivers are TJ, Heartbeat and my favorite—Roy. Roy drives the only yellow taxi on the island and is literally available anytime night or day. Once I asked him when he finds time to sleep. “Sleeping is for when you are dead, I am a business man,” he replied with a smile.

Roy and I did not start off on the best foot of friendship. I constantly thought he was trying to rip me off. And ironically, a girl wearing a pink shirt stood him up for a ride five minutes before I called him for a ride. Wearing a pink shirt, I hopped into the car only to receive a lecture about not wasting his time. We were both bitter at each other for a while.

A couple weeks later, I decided to give Roy another chance, and he had forgotten me altogether. After four or five rides of him not remembering my name, our conversations or where I lived, with some sass I told him I was offended. He apologized and promised he would never forget my name was Liz. Roy stayed true to his word. Now whenever I see him, he stops, calls me baby, tells me he loves me, and pounds my fist.

As a retired drummer, Roy loves music. His dream is to visit New York City to buy an electric drum kit, so he can resume his drumming. He hasn’t been to NYC since the 70’s. Roy listens to a lot of repetitive electronic music because as he says it keeps him going. He turns up the music really loud and says, “There, that drummer is a professional. Professional, I tell you.” I told him that, although I appreciated his music, I had to burn him a CD. He got so excited. My goal is to get him to appreciate true bluegrass music.