Sunday – Am
It’s the last day and I’m up and out a 7:30 to get the writing caught up. I couldn’t escape without the Prettiest-girl-in-the-world knowing. Mommy hearing strikes again.
We have a plan for the last day. Our flight does not leave until 7, so we have a few last opportunities for adventure.
Rain’s falling outside. It’s a bit on the chilly side. I’m writing at my spot, the Doubletree Hotel lobby. Right by the coffee. Mmmmm cofeee.
This time I’ve got better hair. This time there isn’t a choir practicing. Or the staff gathering. Knots of regular teenagers are busy grabbing coffees and looking all GTA surly.
There’s a fashion choice down here you don’t see where we live. Sunglasses. Long white shirt (t-shirt, wife beater, whatever), beige shorts, very long, white socks pulled nearly up to the knees. Sandals. Bandana optional.
It’s a barrio look, but this group is NOT latino. The group is… actually, I have no idea. Southeast Asian for sure. Wide faces, broad noses, black hair, dark eyes. Thai or Vietnamese or Chinese? Malaysian, maybe?
I have no idea, but a good number of kids are milling around and trying to look menacing. Especially the girls. They have different clothes from the boys (duh), but holy heck, do they look mean. They glare at each other, arms crossed, frowns on their foreheads. Most have tattoos. Even the boys seem to avoid the larger groups of girls. Hell, I would, too.
A knot of boys walk by me with a side-to-side swagger, sunglasses hanging from their ears around their chins. At least their pants are pulled up. They’re not threatening or nasty in any way, it’s just their look. I’m sure they take their vitamins and call their grandmothers on the weekend, but let me tell you, all of them had mastered the don’t-f*-with-me posture.
Finally they file out, and I’m alone, and it’s quiet again.
Quiet’s not something I’ve had a lot of on this trip. Maybe not for a long time now. I understand now why the Prettiest-girl-in-the-world hides in the bathroom sometimes. It’s quiet there. I understand why those times when we are alone, in bed together, the boys asleep, the house silent, I understand why they are magical.
However, I don’t want to take away from the very thing I want to write about. It’s a tough balance when traveling. The need to record the experiences vs, well, the experiences.
I want to be there, to be present, and to help make the vacation something special. If I’m just on my laptop the whole time, sure my writing gets caught up, but my relationship would suffer, my connection to the boys and the Prettiest-girl-in-the-world would less.
And that connection, that relationship matters to me a lot.
So it’s back upstairs I go.
And hope that we haven’t tried to go a bridge too far with the boys today.