Dear Florida

I remember you.

Disneyworld. A rip off. A long plane ride. A Whoppi Goldberg movie about being a man. Grilled cheese sandwiches with onions and tomatoes. The incomprable gift shop. Zorro. Italian restaraunts in conveniant alleys. Beautiful women wrapped up in the drapperies, not yet ready to come out. Getting stung by bad jellyfish in a premature scantily-clad butterfly bikini. It was the first time--it was the last time. Thinking the beach was for old people just as much as it was for young people in tiny things. Buying pink shirts in cool shops where I left my family and acted like I really finally knew what I was doing on my own. Listening to a Discman with a soundtrack that dictated all actions, and all moments, including the one from the hotel to Dsney-univerese, when I looked out and saw beyond everything into the season and how much my parents were paying. I remember how important the waterslides felt over the anxiety attacks my mother had. And I saw where the Golden Girls lived. And I wore authentic shell necklaces. And I fell asleep with stuffed animals because I was then so easy to please. And I listened only to:


The Romeo and Juliet Soundtrack
Jewel, Peices of You.

And I thought I was grown up. But I was not yet. I was still 13.

Funny that I'm still not grown up. and it has been a decade. Haven't been to Florida since that one time that changed my life. But you know, Jewel was never that great a singer anyway...Except that one time...when I was invincible...