My Mother is Going to Jamaica Without Me

I spent a lot of time looking up ticket prices for my mom online these last couple of days finally deciding to get them from Cheap Air which is much cheaper than Priceline and those other guys. She's not exactly going for pleasure but rather to support my pastor who is going to support a church member that has recently lost her mother. Still I want to go home!

Jamaica at this time of year is amazing. Everything is blooming and green and fresh. The bogunvilla and tiger lillies are in bloom. I can just see my dad's place surrounded by hibiscus and the trees drooping with the weight of the oateite apple blossoms. Heck I can taste one. Mango is also just coming in and I like the big Julies that are so sweet or maybe a nice little stringy that's coming in tart and tasty. Man. I had one just this past Friday and it was amazing. The juice was just dripping off my chin and when I got to the giant seed...

Mostly I miss the people. I live at the base of the Blue Mountain range and I can't imagine waking up without the sun coming just over the peak and the sound of my aunt singing as she makes breakfast. Her husband would be ironing out the pants just now and outside the bathroom would be this flowering bush that I don't know,whose flowers are giant, white and waxy and smell faintly like cocobutter.

Maybe I'm thinking a little of our old church that is surrounded by forget me not flowers. I know I'm thinking of my cousin's house in Manchester, with the rock formation out back and the cave. The sound of the neighbor's cow lowing just above the house and the view of the coffee walk from their bedroom window. I can see myself taking the treacherous shortcut over Johnson hill to get to my great grandmother's house. Remembering to run as soon as I get to the top to avoid the mean dogs of the people who live there. Checking my legs for tics as soon as I get out the bush.

I can see myself standing at the base of the hill where my grandmother's house is and marveling that we haven't cut stairs in them. I can see myself nimbly climbing after my uncle who has to carry whatever packages up, seeing that he's an old hand at this and I might fall. Grinning at my shoes red with clay and realizing that I'll never wear that particular pair again unless I come back to the house. Walking to the back to survey the outdoor kitchen and bathroom, blocked off from the house next door by a large lichen covered rock. Picking up the dipper and getting some cool refreshing water from the rain barrel in the corner.

My mother is going to Jamaica, and I wish she was taking me with her.