A good week
Last Saturday, Zach left. I had seven entire days with him. Seven!!! I love that little kid (who is no longer little). I wish he lived with me, but that isn’t the case. And that’s fine. I want him happy and he’s happy where he is.
We didn’t do much while he was here. In fact, we did pretty much nothing. The only sizable event we had planned was to go to Key West for an overnight trip but hotel rooms were booked due to the mini-lobster thing. So we did nothing. Out to dinner a couple of times. Went to a movie. The beach once. Hanging out with friends. Lunch out, the day he left…
But that’s Zach. He tells me. He was content.
I went into work a couple of days while he was here, just to pad the trip a little (an idea I regretted pretty much the moment I saw his face when picking him up at MIA). Anyway, on Tuesday, I went into work around noon. 12:30ish, I call the boy. I’m waking him up. At 3pm, I come home on a break. And when I come home?
He has entirely re-arranged my apartment! And spot-cleaned a little! I had mentioned to him a couple of days earlier how I had wanted to change it around. Just kind of in passing in conversation. So while I was out on Tuesday, he just decided to do it, putting stuff where he thought it would go well. And it was perfect.
It wasn’t that big a thing, really, but it made me so very happy inside. Plus, for the first time ever, my apartment had a layout that was actually conducive to having people over. It didn’t look entirely like a little box for someone to hide in! I was so elated. And he just did it!
I went back to work, came home later. He hadn’t left all day. Despite it being a perfectly beautiful day and that he was in South Beach, three blocks from the beach. We ordered dinner in that night.
The day we went to the beach, I made myself get in pictures; something I don’t enjoy. But these would be the only ones I would have of us together this summer. And so the value of that outweighed my not wanting to be in pictures. Of all of the photos, this one’s the best. I look classically stupid in all of them, but in this one, the boy is smiling at his old man, seemingly amused by my goofy nature. So I’m taking this one as the winner.
Eventually, Saturday came. After some prying, I convinced him we should have lunch out before he left. Sat at Paul’s on Lincoln Road and had some sandwiches while people-watching. Pleasant. It was so hot all week long but lunch was actually really comfortable. Except for when Bronze Guy on a bike, a South Beach regular, rode by. He doesn’t make for comfortable moments.
And suddenly, we’re running late. Hop on the scooter, go home, pack, and take a taxi to the airport. I hug him, say goodbye, and wave as I watch him go through security to his gate. These are two of the last photos I took of him.
After he left, I remembered seeing earlier that morning that the city was, that very day, opening the orange line running from the airport to downtown. I looked at a map telling me “You are here.” Found the station. And waited. And waited. And waited.
I should’ve taken a taxi, but really, $40 for the trip when public transportation would cost me $4. In a taxi, I would’ve at least had the cabbie to talk to, though, and not had to deal with the social awkwardness of personal space and eye contact with strangers.
Maybe I should get an automobile. I think that would make trips a little more enjoyable.