To loved ones from my past making time to see me, I thank you.
It’s been seven years since I have been to the United States. Twenty years since I visited Boston barring the time I went there for Appa’s funeral.
Originating flight delayed by two hours. Once landing, I enter the airport shuttle. “Does this go to economy car rentals?”
The driver: “There is economy parking lot, but this bus goes to the rental car companies, like hertz, Avis, and etc.” He sounds like a robot with Haitian accent.
A flight attendant makes eye contact with me, and tells me to get on, “this shuttle takes us to car rental.”
When I land, I look for economy car rentals, to find none. I look on the confirmation email, clicking on the link that takes me to Thrifty.
Economy car rentals is a clearing agency that works with discount car rentals to appoint the company based on available inventory. After forty five minutes, I sign the rental agreement. After realizing I got the date wrong, my original agreement starting a day later. I wonder if this was sign to get another rental car. No car key is given.
As I enter the parking lot, I see the same people that were in front of me waiting for their car. I hand in my agreement printed on the narrow and thick paper and laugh out loud. My first time having to wait. Wondering why I hadn’t booked Hertz with the car waiting for me. The poor guy inside the glass box is doing his best. Another man is fetching cars one by one. Customers are kind and not too demanding – you get what you pay for.
I look online to see Hertz is renting for $550, compared to the $194 I’m paying. Maybe he feels sorry for me, and I am lucky. The man inside the glass box calls me, and I am given a Kia K4, and I drive out. Plotting my way to cousin’s on Turnpike 90west with one lane, night construction taking place.
Upon arrival, I realize I have been here before, 6 years ago for Appa’s funeral, when I stayed over when he had one child, and now he has two. Children are asleep, and we catch up a little before I fall asleep on the sofa.
The next morning, I spend few hours with the youngest girl and oldest boy. Cousin-in-law is a wonderful mother. Calm and caring. Henry spills a drink on his jacket. She doesn’t flinch nor does she raise her voice. She changes the boy, and life goes on as if nothing happened. My cousin, the father makes breakfast for the family, on the island. Quick oats microwaved, with cranberries thrown in, with milk for the children. The youngest eats more than everyone else, her plump cheeks signaling her healthy appetite.
I abandon the impromptu plan to see a new friend from earlier this year. Instead, I go to the grocery store to buy a bag of goodies, to not show up empty handed to my cousin’s parents, youngest aunt from my father’s side.
They live in government subsidized housing, after having paid taxes their lives, making an honest living operating a laundry mat, washing, pressing and delivering clothes. She looks happiest. My uncle says it’s because she doesn’t have to worry about variable monthly expenses. They pay 30% of their monthly income, with no change. In this one bedroom apartment with small kitchen and island perfect for two people. They golf every day, a great exercise they tell me to pick up. It’s better than hiking, safer for your body that’s going to break down as you age. “We prepared for our retirement for years, talking to our customers, getting tips here and there. We don’t have anyone over to our house. We meet at community centers and it’s nice to have boundaries. We don’t have any Korean friends barring one.”
My aunt brings out a plate of fruits I brought. Clementines and cherries.
After a nice chat of few hours, I go on my way to my next destination. The core purpose of my being here. To give thanks to my friend’s parents who gave me a home and family to live with during my working summers in Boston. Grateful to have both of them alive, with one suffering through lung cancer.
On the way there, I notice how wonderful this car is. It has its own Wi-Fi, and I can play music on Spotify. My phone’s GPS is mirrored on the car’s wide screen, and it’s easier to drive like this. All smart features, with even tire pressures on display screen. There is even a choice to throttle between sports drive and regular drive. I ask myself, do I really prefer analog? No. Technology enhances my life. It helps me stay connected. Yet, I have rebelled against change and technological advancements. .
I arrive to find them at a hotel room. Thanks to Noel, I expect to see a raisin. The same fruit that is the father. He is not as jolly as I remember him to be. How can he, with the oxygen tubes coming out of his nose, tethered to the oxygen tank? Mrs. drives the same car from twenty years ago, off the highway. I see what old age feels like. They tell me everything about the house that’s gone awry. How some people will try to take advantage of the elderly. Their sons helping out. Daughter buying a wheel chair for them to use when going out. They allow me to buy them lunch, and I offer to buy them an air purifier with humidifier. I tell them I will see them again, and they tear up, as I drop them off at reception, hugging them goodbye, as I drive to my next destination.
Driving towards Angela, the longest distance yet, I see the same roads divided by the median of lush and green trees. Sky feels bigger and grander here. Driving down, I recognize the same highways, when I used to live at Massachusetts Maritime Academy. The exit to my friend’s place tickles me silly, Quaker’s Meeting House.
Her house is massive with infinite backyard. Great purchase from 2014. What a wonderful and loving reception by the three of them. We make smores by the home made fire pit before going to bed too late, after speaking too much.
After having spent my first day in America with 11 people I go to sleep tired.