We Were Moving to Florida.
With college behind me and Larry’s career being mobile, we decided to follow “our” dreams. We were moving to Florida.
Larry already had a house there, and we’d all had enough of our dilapidated hotel room.
While “we” were earning money for the move, I did nothing. I fed “the rats” – as I called them, although they were quite literally hamsters. Chippy and Dozer had somehow survived college – and now they ran on their very squeaky wheel all night long in our tiny room, which especially irritated Larry’s brother.
I’d slept through that wheel every night at college. Plus I loved my little rodents. Chippy – who did most of the running – was a constant source of entertainment. And Dozer was a cuddly buddy whenever I needed a friend.
Since college had ended, I’d realized I had not a single friend in the world.
My pets were my only real pals. So packing for Florida should have been easy; we’d just throw everything into the back of the pickup and go.
Except … Larry said we had to sell the pickup.
“Nooooo!” I whined. I’d never loved anything the way I loved that truck.
“That fuckin’ truck’ll never fuckin’ make it,” Larry laughed.
My dearly beloved oil-leaking Ford pickup was gone the next day.
I stopped in at my parents’ house before we left, presumably to say goodbye. After all, I was leaving forever.
The way I saw it: I was leaving their prison of responsibility to go where I would finally be free and livin’ the life. I’d be an adult in the real world – that ever-elusive real world – and I’d somehow be a success. This “goodbye” marked the end of childhood and the beginning of adulthood.
My parents didn’t see me seeing it that way.
“You’re acting like it’s a vacation,” my mom said.
“This is my life!” I retorted. “I know it’s not a vacation!” I grabbed some of my old jewelry for added effect. I was really leaving forever!
My mother has since told me that I left on her birthday, though I have no idea when I left. I certainly don’t remember saying “happy birthday” to the person whose life I was both dissing and destroying.
I just left.
I had a purple duffle bag, which Larry tied with bungee cords to the top of the tour pack. Larry threw his worldly possessions into the saddlebags. We had two cartons of cigarettes, some jeans and a couple of toothbrushes in a plastic bag.
We lined the bottom of the hamster cage with t-shirts and put the entire cage into the tour pack. The cage was made of metal; we didn’t want them to scorch themselves during the ride. We left the tour pack open half an inch so Chippy and Dozer would have “fresh” air.
Then we climbed onto the Harley and headed off to the Sunshine State.
It was a loooong trip to St. Petersburg. We’d done this trip during spring break, so I knew it wasn’t going to be pleasant. But this time, we also had to stop at least hourly to take out the hamsters and let them run in some grass.
We would rouse the two nocturnal creatures and plop them in the grass, where they’d waddle about a little, nibbling at the green. We offered them water, and sometimes they drank. Sometimes they insisted on sleep.
It was hot in that tour pack. And it was summer. And we were going south, so it got hotter as we drove.
After three days, we somehow got them – and ourselves – safely to Larry’s house.