PLEASE NOTE: I have to preface this with saying Andreas* is an exceptionally nice man. Super nice. He is not a killer. Though, I think his hands are registered weapons. But he’s only violent for sport. But like in the ring, not for kicks or anything. And while he could be a killer, he is not… or rather, to my knowledge, Andreas has never killed anyone. That I know of.
Um, I don’t really know Andreas that well.
So. I’m in St. Thomas with a bunch of friends, for the annual BVI Summer Sizzle, a fashion event that’s also an excuse to turn up for a week. If you’re wondering why we’re in St. Thomas for a BVI event, it’s cheaper to fly into St. Thomas and take the ferry over to BVI.
So we’re in St. Thomas for a night. And my friends know friends who bring a friend to the festivities: a guy named Andreas.
He’s nice enough, dances well enough, seems cool enough. I don’t really think much of it because we’re a large group and beyond a “hey, I’m Andreas” he hasn’t said much to me and hubs. He’s too busy on the dance floor.
So. A few days later, we’re at our house in BVI. There are about 1O of us staying over. 4 guys, 6 girls. In walks Andreas.
He’s in town for the Summer Sizzle festivities for the weekend, great. And even greater, he says he’s a chef and happily will relieve our chef (and more important, friend) who has been preparing the meals all week. He wants to cook. Perfect.
After awhile Andreas declares the food if ready. Yes, he can actually cook. Well. We have questions. What restaurant do you work at? Do you cater? How do I get access to this food again? Somehow this leads to Andreas explaining his real job. He’s a professional boxer. Has never been defeated.
We spend the entire day into the night doing next to nothing, which is to say we party and bullsh--. At some point our resident techie orders us all off our cell phones so he can download the latest episode of “Power” and the new Jurasic Park film over the very weak Internet. We pass the time having a cannonball contest in the pool.
The techie (hilariously) commentates the competition (from the pool). I can’t swim and I have the fancy camera. I take pictures of the shenanigans.
Night falls. We eat leftovers of Andreas’s cookout, then we all invade each other’s personal space on the couches in the living room in order to watch “Power”, then re-watch “Power” for the folks who were napping during the first airing, then start on Jurasic Park.
One by one, folks retire to their rooms during Jurasic Park, until there are four of us left in the living room. Me and hubs, the techie, and Andreas, who hubs has just realized is spending the night.
And this is where things go left.
Hubs has security “issues”. Not like he needs to be coddled, but like he’s a graduate of military school (not because he was "bad", but he was a Black boy in Brooklyn during the 90s and his folks thought it safer to get him out of the city). And he takes the “protect” aspect of husband-ing to heart.
So like, at the house, he double, sometimes triple checks the locks before bed. If we stay at a hotel, he has to know where the exits are and will take a stroll around the perimeter. If we stay at an Airbnb, he rigs the apartment so that something will fall over if a door opens unexpectedly. And in case, you’re wondering, yes, his current occupation and all previous occupations are legal, respectively. It’s just how he is. My dad is the same, just to a lesser degree.
But back to Andreas. He’s chilling on the couch.
Hubs, who cannot whisper even a little bit, asks Techie, for clarity, ifAndreas is spending the night.
Techie: Yeah, I think so.
Hubs: Lemme holla at you real quick.
He tells me, who is fighting sleep, to go to bed, then he and Techie step outside.
Up I go. I’m almost asleep when hubs bursts in the room, flipping on the lights, and begins frantically digging through his suitcase, then mine.
I sit up, watch this crazy man, and ask, “what are you doing?”
He looks up at me from his bag. “Lemme get your scarf.”
Hubs: The scarf. Lemme get your scarf.
I’m fully awake now. “What? Why?”
In a completely reasonable voice he says, “I need to use it to lock you in here.”
Husband explains that Techie can’t vouch for Andreas. All Technie knows is he’s the dude from the club the other night, and he’s friends of some friends that the girls knew, ie, Andreas is a stranger, and a stranger is sleeping in the house. And stranger danger.
Husband to Techie: nah. How do we know he won’t rob us? Or call some people to come to the house and rob us? How do we know he won’t kill us with his bare hands? I got my wife in here, man!
Techie: I see your point.
So. It’s 2AM. Hub’s isn’t kicking Andreas out. But he’s also not taking any chances.
Me to Hubs: You’re nuts!
I flop back on the bed, and he goes back to digging through the suitcase. He’s abandoned taking my scarf only because he’s found the belts he was looking for in his luggage.
I sit back up and watch him loop the belt through the handles of the sliding doors. I can’t believe he’s doing this.
Me: “WHAT. ARE. YOU. DOING?!!”
Him: “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”
Me: “What? No. Stop that! Stop! Just come to bed! You’re being nuts!"
He’s not stopping. “Do you know Andreas? Do you know anything about him?”, Hubs asks.
Me: “So you think the man who made us dinner, and spent the entire day with us, and we’re letting crash on the couch is going to kill us WHILE WE SLEEP? Really?”
Husband, who has finished knotting one belt, and is starting with another, stops to face me: “Maybe he won’t. Maybe he will. I don’t know him, and no one in this house knows him. So we’re not taking any chances.” He says all of this like it is completely reasonable.
Me: You’re nuts.
Husband: Can you vouch for him?
Me: Well… no.
Husband: Okay then.
Me: *staring in disbelief*
Hubs: "We can talk about it in the morning. I’m making sure you’ll be alive to do that." He says this like he has a sense of purpose, like he is doing something good and important and noble. He finishes knotting the second belt, pulls one, then the other, then tests the doors to make sure they are secure.
I choose my battles. Some aren’t worth fighting, and while I could fight this one, I know there’s no winning. I lay back down.
Hubs flicks off the light, then climbs in the bed and pulls me close like nothing’s completely bizarre about this scenario.
And that is how I came to be locked in the bedroom on vacation.
And just so you know: I woke up early the next morning, untied the belts, and went downstairs to use the bathroom. Andreas was asleep, on the couch where we’d left him the night before, knocked out. He hadn't bothered anybody.