Heaven, heaven is a place...where nothing, nothing really matters... Talking Heads

The Talking Heads song, Heaven runs through my head as I listen to the repitition of the tides touching the white sand. It is quite different from the hustle and bustle of Phuket Town. The constant whirring of motorbikes and incessant honking of horns seemed to have missed the island of Ko Samui. Oh, they're here all right, but not on the same scale as my former residence.
I was picked up, blery-eyed and exhausted from the airport by Erik. I stood at the baggage claim amongst Farang travelers and a group of boisterous young (dare I say) hooligans. Their tousled hair and foul language echoeing throughout the plane and now the terminal. "Are you guys going to the Full Moon party?"
"Yeah, fuck we are." they hooted to each other. I wasn't sure if there was going to be belly bumps-Friar Tuck style- or just high-fives. Turns out they just kind of shoved each other around a bit. "Are you?"
"Yeah. See you there." Nice chaps. I was watching for my bag while scanning the airport for Erik. It was as if he was a figment of my imagination, an old memory on replay, as he walked towards me. I may have rubbed my eyes in disbelief. Was it really him?
We crusie around this island on his silver bullet of a motorbike. I, with my pink helmet and rockets blasting on the side and he, with his red domed cap helmet. The sun shines down on us in blessing as we venture into uncharted territories. We have covered this island, circumvated it, and tomorrow we will criss-cross it.
The only bad thing was the alien I had in my stomach for a few days. I was Sigorny Weaver, hunched over in agony, begging the little bugger to move on or just take me down. It was the oddest thing. Was it the damn noodle house I went to for lunch? That tea, God! The tea! I drank the whole thing. Or was it something more serious? An implanted viral insect burrowing into my guts and turning everything to mush. Everything hurt. My stomach erupted at random moments bending me in half and making me curse to the sickness gods to make it all stop for Christ's sake. My kidneys ached with a dull pain, my shoulder was sore and my head began to be its own construction site.
"Erik, what's wrong with me?"
"Here, drink this. It'll make you feel better. I had the same thing." He said as he handed me what looked like a glass of dark orange urine.
"What is it?"
"Drink it." I took a swig of the liquid as he eyed me, making sure that I finished every last drop. It tasted like warm iodine and salt. Bitter, but sweet and revoltingly salty.
"Ugh, God! What was that?" I moaned. He laughed at me as I lay fetus position on the corner of the bed making faces to change the taste in my mouth.
"It's good for you. Electrolyte stuff. It was recommended to me."
swell, I'd try anything at this point. I tossed and turned throughout the night in an inferno of chills and soaking my pillow. I had half dreams of going to the pharmacy (where you go if your sick. They are basically doctors for non-emergencies) given some miracle pill and doing cartwheels down the street in celebration of being released from the grips of death.
As time wore on, it lifted like the hood of the grim reeper and I was restored side-kick Molly. It was amazing. I really have never felt so out of control of my own body. I can usually ignore things, eat them off, or deal (sometimes whiskey helps), but this, I tried it all and it just wanted to hang around. One more day and I would have sought help. One more.
Now, back to myself, things are much more enjoyable. We moved to a bungalow on the beach and roll off of our porch and into the ocean. A lovely restaurant and Thai family accompany the rental of our little hut and the children squeal and bring things on platters to us. It's nice to be back.