The days to the trip went by faster then they should’ve. It was a lame week, friends and studying for midterms, so it should’ve gone slowly and rolled on but it didn’t. It flew by and here I am sitting in one of those bus taxis that drive you to airports next to my mom who looks like she’s about to explode from excitement,
“I haven’t seen these people in years! Years! I miss them so much! There are so many memories…” she would squeal like a two year old. She reminds me of the back of a toy box with all the exclamation points and stupid things to say. I don’t care if you haven’t seen them in years, you’re wasting my spring break. I don’t really want to know her memories either. Not to be rude to my mom and everything, but knowing my memories from high school hers aren’t going to be any cleaner or prettier. She was in the same boat I was.
“Great, mom,” I yawn. She had to leave early for Florida, even if we are taking a plane. She decided she might as well get there early as possible and do as much as she can. She even told me her friend has a kid. She can’t remember who the kid is, they haven’t stayed in much touch in forever. Apparently who ever it is I’m going to sharing a room with.
Woo hoo.
Knowing my mom it’s going to be some dorky, awkward mom and an equally dorky, awkward kid. My mom can’t remember anything – gender, age, where they go to school. She might as well be throwing me into a house with a dead on stranger. Which is what she’s doing. At least there will be another person there to suffer with me as a lesbian love child. That would be nice.
I feel so bad for the driver. He has to listen to everything my mom is saying. She keeps touching his arm and making these faces like she’s going to explode from the excitement. He doesn’t seem to mind her touching his arm much. I’m tempted to hurt him. Hitting on moms isn’t cool. Especially since he looks like one of those guys who think they’re really cool and smooth. He has tanned skin, white teeth and slightly grayed hair. Seriously. He looks like the poster of a male wannabe. My mom doesn’t even seem to notice his looks. She’s just going on and on about this. I’m tempted to lean up to the front and turn up the fuzz the radio station is playing. Apparently smooth guy isn’t lame enough to change the station and block out my mom.
Smooth guy nods again. I’m pretty sure he’s going to like stalk her or something. I remind myself to watch him when he’s taking out our stuff from the trunk. I know all the tricks and I don’t need any ‘hand slips’ or ‘accidental’ brush bys. She may be my mom but sometimes she can be completely oblivious.
He turns makes a turn into the air port parking lot and pulls us into the busy area. Taxis are everywhere, people running around. Its insane seeing this many people around at a time earlier then I go to school. They’re all running around yelling and the young couples are carrying young children or a few random teens holding only backpacks that are obviously waiting for a parent or someone to take them somewhere. There are businesswomen and men that are talking with stiff muscles on their phones or into their Bluetooth’s. I get brushed by a group of what look like lacrosse players who give me approving looks. They must be doing some national thing or another. But they’re cute. If I run into them again I have to remember to get number seventeen’s number.
“Anthony, come here and help this poor man out,” my mom says, not losing her smile once. I give her a look and she exchanges almost the same one with me. I walk over and take a few of our bags out. We’re only down at Florida for a week but my mom packed for a year. She brought a suitcase just of clothes, if that gives you any idea. And my mom looks like a model every second of her life. She carries enough products around in her hair to cover the Northern Hemisphere. My one bag looks super lame compared to her collection of suitcases.
“There,” I rub my hands against my jeans and give the guy the glare. He gives me a dirty look back and my mom is totally oblivious. She’s going through her wallet probably for her a lame tip for driver guy. My mom tips really badly. She depends on her five percent rule instead of the usual fifteen. And this poor guy had to listen to her the whole ride down here. Then again he probably got a few peeks down my mom’s shirt which is more action then he’s seen in years. I can just tell. He looks like the smooth type but it’s obvious it’s all for action. I bet last year he was a fat loser living in his own mom’s basement.
My mom hands him a few dollar bills and we roll into the air port. A fresh breath of air instantly hits us. I take in the smell of an air port – bad fuel and gasoline. I haven’t gone on a plane ride in years. Probably since dad was here.
“Can I get a snack?” I ask my mom and she gives me this distant look like she forgot I was there. Thanks mom.
“Sure honey,” she absentmindedly goes into her wallet and pulls out a few dollar bills as I head off to the small gift shop. She heads off to the luggage circuit and I count all the bags we have as she’s walking away. I go through the boxed foods (who needs box food on a plane?) to the candy and then the stuffed animals and small collectibles. I pick up a bag of skittles and look at the other options. I need something chocolate. Looking around the store, I finally lay my eyes on some candy bars in the front. I grab a soda and head up to the front counter.
Where I run into someone who looks almost like Rebecca.
Her hair was up and her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. I’ve never seen Rebecca’s hair up in all the years I’ve known her. She’s looking at the box foods with a funny look on her face. She must be thinking the same thing I am. I glance down her jeans and raise my eyes brows the tiniest bit, impressed. Definitely not Rebecca.
I buy the food and walk out to meet my mom. She’s looking a little confused standing there. Our luggage was handed in up front and now all we have to do is board the plane.
“We have to get on the plane now,” I tell my mom in a slow voice.
“Oh, okay,” she blinks and we head down to board the plane.
After maybe ten minutes we’re comfortably situated in our seats. I’m next to the window since my mom hates looking outside when the plane goes up. She says whenever she goes high up, like on a bridge or something her feet start to tingle in the funniest way. I don’t really listen to her when she tells me things like this. If I accidentally reply wrong its years more of conversation. After a while (what feels like years but I know for sure it was only minutes) we’re all situated and seated safely.
“It’s only going to be a three hour flight or so, don’t get too comfortable,” my mom tells me.
“Alright,” I pop open my skittles and look out the window.
