Chapter 11
As the jet flew in the anonymity of cloud cover, I watched lights flicker from the towns below. The rain had begun hours before. I closed the window shade and tried to forget. If only things could be that easy. If only I could pull the shade on the storm of my life, then open it to an endless blue horizon. As conditioned as I had become to upheaval, saying goodbye to my life on the island was a painful moment. I never lost hope that relocation would make my life better. The problem was that wherever I went, I brought my problems with me.
The intense turbulence above Florida seemed fitting. I had met the southern half of my family on visits as a small child, but I didn’t know them well. When they visited Washington, they seemed to be from another planet with their southern drawl and mannerisms. It was amazing how people from the same country could be so different in views and culture.
My uncles and grandmother greeted me at the airport. Love and affection was written all over their faces; they showed no sign of knowing my full story. As we drove home to Bradenton, an awkward silence replaced the initial adulation. I sat in silence, studying the faces of those who would be watching me from here on out. I felt unsure of everything.
My two uncles were my mother’s half-brothers from her father’s second wife, Shirley. They were southern in every sense of the word, and I could tell they were curious about having me in their midst. Tim was a skinny, dark-haired fellow with a hefty mustache. Terry, who was heavyset, reminded me of a Washington logger, minus the plaid shirt. Despite their dissimilar appearances, they were twins in every way. One would begin the sentence and the other would finish it.
My grandma, Shirley, loved her grandchildren as though that was her only purpose. Her kisses seemed to come from every direction. To receive so much attention made me feel awkward. “It is so good to have you, love,” She said with a smile. I had grown accustomed to getting little to no attention; I could tell that would not be her style. I was disappointed to find out that I had to have a curfew and would be expected to follow the rules that she imposed. Her number one rule was that I would attend school and bring home good grades. In addition, she imposed a policy of zero tolerance regarding the things that brought me there, in particular drug use. She was adamant that I would not return to the same lifestyle and type of friends I had left back in the Northwest. “If you can accomplish these things, I will consider loosening the grip a little.” My grandma ushered in a new world of root beer floats, glittering jewelry, and The Golden Girls on television.
I arrived in the summer and began taking long walks up the crushed-shell roads to explore my new world. My thoughts drifted to home and friends I had left behind. I soon realized that the best way to avoid the pain associated with many miles of separation was to forget about them completely. I began to live by the expression “out of sight out of mind” to avoid the torment of my memories.
It was not long before I met a couple of “good old boys”. Brian was about my age. Danny was a year younger. We quickly established a friendship, and my summer filled with the exploration of this peculiar place. Water moccasins and lizards became our greatest foes. We honed our knife-throwing skills to eliminate as many as we could find. We took caution, though, as the water moccasin’s bite is deadly. Had I known what lived in the murky depths of the streams and ponds we explored, I would have had second thoughts about following the boys into them.
Although my friendships with Brain, Danny, and others felt familiar, they were also quite different. I had not seen one person of another race in the circles I ran with. My new friends acted as though anyone who was not Caucasian was subhuman. The neighborhoods in Bradenton were still separated, even though decades had passed since the integration of southern schools. I remembered stories my mother told me about school segregation when she was a child going to the same school I would attend. I found it strange that people could be separated because of their skin color. The idea seemed as foreign to me as types of abuses human beings in third-world countries endured. I remember feeling like black and white trenches had been dug by the past, and I was stuck behind enemy lines. The South was still heavily entrenched by years of fear and hatred.
