Families are a hierarchy. Regardless of being well beyond the legal age of purchasing cigarettes, porn or alcohol; despite having lived on my own since I was 17, my mother still has this umbilical harness that pulls me down to Florida on her command.
“You’ve got work to do? It can wait,” she said to me last weekend.
“Come say good-bye to your grandmother.”
Yes ma’am. You see, of everything I’ve learned in my 29 going on 30 years here on Earth, the most pertinent given is it’s pointless to argue with mommy. She’s a professional. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again, mommy is the be-all, end-all decision maker in my life. No other person can influence my decision making process like she can, no one can make me shut the fuck up with a single glance like her and not a single soul can get me to drop everything I’m doing and drive six hours through a rainstorm with a five-minute phone conversation.
The catalyst of my last-minute trip was my grandmother’s health condition. She has lived a long life and in some higher-up’s design, her time to move on has come. I’m not a fan of saying good-bye, it’s not my job to watch someone pass away – it’s a tedious task I’ve had to perform on too many an occasion.
My dear friend Vickie was kind enough to join me on my jaunt down to Ocala, Florida as her pseudo-boyfriend Marlon has just moved to Lakeland. Marlon met us in Ocala and took Vickie on further south.
Slower Traffic Keep RightGetting out of Atlanta on a Friday afternoon is tricky in itself, getting out of Atlanta on the Friday afternoon of Martin Luther King weekend is near impossible. Now, throw in a thunderstorm and the idea of dropping $600 on a plane ticket to Orlando started to sound like a sane idea.
We finally left the comfort of 285 only to meet the fun times of near zero visibility on 75 south. After Macon, we started to edge out the incoming rain front – until we hit Valdosta’s attempts to add two lanes through its lovely town. One would think adding two lanes would be a good idea; however the flaw in the plan is that adding two lanes means occupying one of the already existing functional lanes. Yeah, yippie ki yay.
All Visitors Please Sign In We finally got to the urban Mecca of Ocala, Florida in time for the bitch of a nurse to tell me I’ve arrived well past the hospital’s visiting hours. Seeing my grandmother would have to wait as adhering to the hospital’s policies and procedure far outweighed any bond my grandmother and I might have.
I called my mom from the hospital lobby as my little “fuck you” to Nurse Bitchface and made sure she could eavesdrop on every word. I ignored every time she cleared her throat and tapped the “No Cell Phone” sign with her Lee Press-On. Was I being irrational? Absolutely. Did I give a shit? Hell No.
Your Money’s No Good HereVickie got to meet my family shortly thereafter and was amused by my mommy’s subtle control of the family. My sister-in-law, younger brother and new niece, Aimee were all a bit under the weather but were still pretty damn entertaining. Marlon arrived and was forced to sit and eat with us at the quaint Thai restaurant. Vickie and Marlon attempted to pay their share of the bill, but were thoroughly rebuffed by Mama Reyes. I just laughed and gloated an “I told you so” as Vickie put away her Debit card. Like I had warned, mommy’s a professional, she don’t play.
Day 2Ocala is a trip in so many different ways. First, it’s like everyone that lives there are on some mind-inducing sedative. Second, I’ve never seen so many restaurants and churches in one city. Third, people talk without a trace of sarcasm. Well, with the exceptions of my mommy and my sister-in-law.
My mommy had two objectives on my second day of Ocala fun. The first and most important was to visit my grandmother. The second was to do a bit of shopping. You see, she felt my clothes looked old. Yeah, I wasn’t about to explain that vintage tees and ripped up, rugged jeans are perfectly acceptable on a day to day basis.
Action Speaks Louder Than WordsBoth tasks were incredibly exhausting. Visiting my grandmother was for lack of a better term, depressing. Mentally, she had passed away long before I had arrived back in Ocala. For a moment there, I could have sworn I saw a glimpse of recognition in her eyes. In that mere instant, I felt she knew my name, that she remembered teaching me the alphabet, how to tie my shoes and the recipe of my favorite dish before I headed off to college. She wasn’t mumbling indistinct ramblings; she was telling me my favorite bedtime story to telling me to cut my hair in my Alternateen phase
My mommy explained that this may have been true, but it was a split-second thought and one that wouldn’t retain in her memory. It would certainly retain in mine, possibly forever.
She looked so frail in the hospital bed, which was lowered to a foot above the floor so on the eventuality she climbed over the guard rail she wouldn’t have far to fall. I spent about two hours with her, speaking to her like she was one of my seven year old nieces. I made her smile by making her Jell-O dance and held her hand through an early episode of the Cosby Show.
Despite her small frame and weak condition, she’ll always be one of the strongest women in my life, a true inspiration. You see, she somehow funded my Mommy’s education and got her to the United States from that small village in the Philippines. Could I raise a child from near poverty levels, get her a college education and then get her to an entirely different country where she could be successful? No, I probably couldn’t. She did though and then she found a way to get herself to the States too. Yeah, Grandma is a bad ass.
I kissed her on her forehead as the Cosby Show credits rolled; she had fallen asleep shortly after the opening credits. At some point in the visit, I was no longer there for her, but there for me. It wasn’t an ideal way to spend the afternoon with Grandma, but it was certainly peaceful.
Prices Reduced at RegisterAfter visiting, it was off to the local shopping mall. I had been dreading this moment since I arrived. At the very least, there was a Macy’s where I was convinced I would be able to find some Hugo Boss. Yeah, their featured lines in Ocala were Hilfiger, Ralph Lauren and Unionbay. The sales girl’s response to my Diesel inquiry was along the lines of “you mean the fuel?” I simply had to walk away at that point.
I strolled through Aeropostale, thanking the salesgirl and possibly gay salesboy for their compliments on my Puma track jacket. I reluctantly followed my sister-in-law Heather into American Eagle Outfitters and my trip suddenly got real interesting. There, behind the register stood Will.
Years ago, nearly a decade actually, I moved to Atlanta for a job offer. Just months before I left Florida, I was staying at my Mommy’s house while transitioning from Orlando to Atlanta. It was in these last few months in Ocala that I had met Will. He was my first true boy crush and one that would leave me wondering for years what would have happened if I had stayed.
And there was my first true boy crush ringing up classic American fashions with modern day twists at a reasonable price. Yeah, there aren’t many moments that I can recall being truly stunned. This one, folks, was one of them. Did I say stunned? I meant gagged and I was staring. His sales associate totally clocked and tapped him on the shoulder in mid-ring up. She whispered something to him. He looked up and saw me. It took him a second to realize who I was. The funky hair color and excessively baggy clothing were gone and replaced with current day me. His eyes bulged, his words stuttered. The tables had turned; it was his turn to have a crush on me.
While he tried to desperately clear the line that had formed at his register, I browsed the store. I’m not really a label whore, but if I did Mall Couture, it would definitely be more Banana Republic in nature. I picked up some plain white tee shirts and a navy military belt and took it up to his line. I figured, you could never have enough plain white shirts and since most of my wardrobe is either baby or dark blue, a navy belt could come in handy.
He rang my items up quickly and tried to discreetly tell me how happy he was for this surprise. I just smiled and handed him some cash. Then, in a very bizarre lapse of good judgment, I jotted my mobile number down on the nearby comment card. He handed me my change and my receipt and I handed him my number. I left the store feeling confident and smug.
He called before I could even get to the Food Court.
Ya' know that point where you're so exhausted that you start hallucinating and everything seems to be on the verge of some grand punch-line? I believe the medical term for it is "slap happy." Yeah, that would be me right about now.
