First Trip

The first trip committed to memory was Puerto Rico. Siblings, mom and Grammy went to visit our “grandfather”, Charlie. Charlie was not biologically related, but Grammy’s partner at the time. Not knowing much about Charlie to this day, Mom and Grammy describe him as kind and smart. Other memories describe him as self-sufficient and nature-based. Could he be an American cartel leader, forced to retreat to island life, only to escape prosecution? The fact is all that remains is a generous, intelligent and proud spirit with memories of a palmtree-like presence: tall, thin and easy breezy.

A quiet and reserved man, Charlie never raised his voice or complained too easy. When we visited, the one time, he gave so much of himself. Teaching the oldest chess, me the clarinet to the tune of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”, and gifted the baby a small stuffed gorilla which she aptly named, Charlie. Charlie the Gorilla is still with us. Charlie passed away sometime after we left Puerto Rico. It was 1999.

You won’t remember the flight, there or back. It’s not important what was packed or worn. You won’t recall the many warnings or hold on to that tiny fear in the pit of your stomach. Be in the moment, capture everything with heart and hand. But mostly remember to feel.

Late 90’s Puerto Rico was literally and figuratively a breath of fresh air. Most things were bigger and terrifying. Plants and bugs broke through comfort zones every minute on the island. Everything down to transportation was suited to the environment. Charlie’s truck was a gutted Scooby Doo Van with 2 seats and no glass on the windows, on account of the heat. The “bed” was lined with loose, old rugs and blankets to cushion anyone who sat there as they bounced around seatbelt-less, feeling a rush of freedom riding through the bumpy back hills past gardens, workers and playing kids. Staring out the back of the van watching the dust kick up, eyeing the animals who’d shuffled out of the way moments before; traveling backwards.

Despite having to broom giant spiders and tiny lizards away, Puerto Rico ‘s breezy behavior carried from soul to soul.

Even the grocery store was airy. The cart and the aisles. I remember buying what felt like a lifetime supply of WarHeads, individually wrapped. I remember eating fresh fruit in the morning and staring up at the lizard covered ceiling from bed. I remember starry nights and spiders on toilets at 2am. I remember the time dedicated to the clarinet, with my teacher and alone. I remember a colorful living room and an old clarinet box, velvet lined. I remember a wooden coffee table and a thick woven couch, leaving sweaty skin itchy, and opting for the floor.

I remember the “lifetime supply” dwindling, which told me, more than a clock, that our time was coming to an end. I remember wishing to stay. And every time I’ve heard Somewhere Over the Rainbow since, I remember my first trip, bumpy rides with blown out windows, WarHeadaches, Charlie and his Gifts.