My Trip To Florida - An Essay by Leah Lar

It is sunny and gorgeous in NYC today. Because I did not have to wear a coat today, I am not as wistful as I was yesterday.

At any rate.

We arrived at Laguardia 1.5 hours prior to our scheduled departure on Friday afternoon, only to learn that our flight had been delayed for an hour. This became two hours, then four. Without announcement, the flight was cancelled due to severe weather in Florida.

We spent an hour in line awaiting our fate, and were able to reschedule for Saturday at 3:00 pm. I changed my return flight to Monday at 2:00 pm. I was pissed about this - hence my post on Friday night - as I did not go home to visit my family for Easter because I didn't want to use a precious vacation day. I hadn’t realized I was homesick until Friday, confronted with the idea of visiting someone else’s family when I haven’t seen my own in quite some time. When I did see them last, it was at a funeral and everyone was a mess. D was mad at me when I initially suggested taking a 7am flight on Monday so as not to miss an entire day of work. In order to appease him, I consented to the 2:00, but spent the majority of the night feeling cross without giving him an explanation.

We took a cab back to Brooklyn because I was moody. D is adamantly anti-cab because he is pro-public transit and pro-saving money. I suspect he didn't want to spend two hours trapped on public transit with my being vicious. The cab ride gave me the opportunity to talk to RR, who calmed me down about all things because she is an old friend and therefore understands.

D and I went on "a date" once I was able to make a decision on what to eat. I had a drink and became honest and things were fine.

We headed to JFK the following afternoon. D insisted that we sit at the front of the JFK-transit-train-thing (which costs $5! who knew?) because he is a giddy child about trains.



Check-in was a labor as we no longer had e-tickets. Slightly panicked about missing our flight, we were pleased and annoyed to learn that our flight had, again, been delayed by two hours due to weather in FL. This time it was hail.



Song Airlines rules. They have in-flight trivia and TV, as well as half-decent food for sale. They also have “Song of the Day” safety instructions. It was “Flamenco!” on this particular occasion, and the rules were read by a sultry woman who made arbitrary analogies involving flying and flamenco dancing. I was hoping for “Gangsta Rap!” on my return flight, with the rules for evacuation being read by Snoop Dogg. I was, sadly, disappointed.

Seeing the person you love in a different context for the first time is a powerful experience. I realized, the moment that we stepped outside into the warm and thick Orlando air, that I was going to leave Florida feeling differently about the relationship than when we arrived.

D’s father and niece, who adores D, picked us up. Little Niece 1, who is 3 and a half years old, flipped out when she saw D. D insisted that I sit in the back with Little Niece 1. I tried to insist, without actually saying anything, that this was the worst idea ever, but D wouldn’t have it. His desire for Little Niece 1 to adore me was a little greater than my convictions that Niece 1 would destroy me in a jealous rage or hate me for being unfamiliar or rip my glasses from my face. Little Niece 1 was just in love with Uncle D and therefore suspicious of Uncle D’s friend. She looked me up and down judgmentally at first, causing me to want to jump out of the car. Eventually she warmed up to me, and held both of our hands as we walked into the restaurant to “meet the family.”

Aunts, uncles by marriage, brother, sister-in-law, Little Niece 2, mother. I instantly forgot all names and smiled brightly and hugged his mother and wanted to hide in the fish pool at the entrance to the restaurant.

Dinner was nice. I can’t remember what was said as I was in high stress mode. I was actually in high stress mode for the entire time I was there.

We headed back to D’s parents’ house after dinner. I was ill-prepared for their house. D never mentioned that they lived in a gigantic, sparkly, new and pristine home. I felt like I was on an episode of Cribs. I’ve never set foot in a house like this. It’s gorgeous. This is the view from their kitchen window:



We drank wine and nobody asked me questions. I sat back and observed.

Observation. Amidst an already established family unit, I found myself taking photos of them non-stop. For the first time I understood my father. I wonder if he never feels involved, and that’s why he hides behind the camera. Or, if because he’s hidden behind the camera for so long, he no longer knows how to be involved.

Either way, I got some amazing photos of D’s family. I wonder if, years from now, somebody will find these photos and wonder who took them. I wonder if there will ever be pictures of me. I hope not.
I took about 100 photos of the Nieces and the family and D, who I love to photograph, and also spent a great deal of time taking pictures like this, because I really didn’t know what else to do with myself.



His family is very nice. And photogenic. They told me their life stories when I asked questions, and D said “I’ve never seen either of my parents talk this much.”

I’d never seen D talk so little.

It’s amazing how much you can learn about someone when you see him with his family. On top of the precious and dirty childhood secrets they reveal, they inadvertently shed light onto why he is the way he is. Seeing a person interact with his family is the best data you can gather.

It’s also interesting to compare and contrast families. I can’t read families that are not like my own. I feel comfortable in some families and uncomfortable in others. When you’re growing up, you assume that all families are like yours because you don’t know anything else. I have no idea what they thought of me. None. I have nothing to work with. My family is outgoing and obvious. They have endless amounts of affection to give and life stories to absorb.

I described his family to Roommate and the first thing she said was “Wow, that must have been so weird for you considering what your Mom is like.”

Yes.

I liked them. A lot. By the end of the weekend Little Nieces 1 and 2 were attached to me. Kids are easy to read, and once you have them in your corner they are loyal until the end of time.

We took a ferry to Disney World but didn’t go in. Sister-in-law made fondue. We drank wine and played cards. We tried to go to supermarkets that were closed on Easter. D talked like Mitch Hedberg all weekend and said things like “Wait – what was that Mitch Hedberg joke about the future?” and “Tell them about the rice joke!” I walked around awkwardly and uninvolved, smiling and uttering words nonsensically every now and then. It’s difficult to use words when they are a rarity.

D said “It’s amazing how comfortable this feels. It’s like, so natural. It’s like your being here isn’t a big deal at all.”

I’m not sure that’s a good thing.

After the Disney World ferry/monorail adventure, D and I went for a walk around his parents’ neighborhood, which is a gated community that is still being developed. We played in the foundation of one of the future-houses.



It felt more like something that had been destroyed than something being built. The light was romantic. It was like playing on giant legos. D was blissful and atypically cooperative, and thus granted me permission to take millions of photos of him.



While battling mosquitoes and running around the neighborhood, we learned more about each other. Things are getting better, and I don’t understand how that is possible. I guess this comes with getting to know someone better, and getting to know someone differently.



On our way back to D’s parents’ house, we walked past mounds of dirt that had been dug up for foundations. It reminded me of being a child. The house that I grew up in was designed by my parents, so we were able to play in the foundation and climb the mounds of dirt, which seemed like mountains, before we moved in. I took pictures of the mounds, but instead of looking like mounds of dirt leaking nostalgia, they looked like the surface of Mars.



After dinner we walked again and talked about things like the relationship and photography and personalities and neuroscience and timeframes. We sat by a lake and listened to nothing. We sat on grass, which is something we’ve not done together. We played the “who can spot the most toads” game. We talked about the likelihood of D’s tent still being at his parents’ house and our camping out in their yard that night.

D is prone to asking questions like “What is your happiest memory?” and I never know what to say. Is your happiest memory supposed to be from childhood? Is it sad that I don’t have one? I have vague memories – running around the foundation of my future home, playing restaurant in my grandparents’ pantry, making up dance routines with Sara because we were certain we’d get on Star Search if we practiced enough.

I think the happiest memory has to come from childhood, because it doesn’t risk being tainted. A lot of my happy memories have been brutalized by things that happen afterwards.

Point being, I hope that sitting by the lake with D will remain one of my happiest memories.



I got back on Monday night at around 6:00. My flight was, again, delayed due to weather in northern Florida. People clapped at the end of the flight. This happens every 1 out of 5 flights, and I love when it does. I think people should always clap when people do their job. “Well done! You didn’t kill us! You’ve gone above and beyond and we will therefore clap for you!” Perhaps I’ll start clapping every time I get off the subway successfully, or every time someone at work fills the water bath.

This is the longest and most melodramatic post ever.

If you made it this far, I am clapping for you right now, because you have really gone above and beyond and I am super appreciative of your reading my blog.