Spring Break
by Elizabeth Loos
Every time I hear the words "spring break", it takes me to a place that introduces me to sights I have never seen and unique people I have never met. Those words take me to a place where my worries are never worried and my problems are never in thought. The words "spring break" make my eyes close and my mind reminisce of the many times I have visited there and how every time it is full of new adventures and learning experiences. This is the place I would go to if I knew my last days were ahead and all was coming to an end. This is a place where my mind is clear and peace is covering every inch of my soul.
Walking up to my Aunt Ingrid's and Uncle Jaco's house, I am pelted with the rays of the steaming, hot Florida sun. I stand in the driveway for a second to indulge the heat into my very last pore. The outside of the home is full of life; birds, flora, a hammock so low to the ground that the grass pokes your bottom, and a small porch shaded by an old wooden canopy full of various flowers and greens. The small house is shaded by a huge tree full of the juiciest, most succulent mangos my taste buds have ever encountered.
When inside the house I take my shoes off not because it is expected, but because everyone here walks around barefoot. As I walk in the house my sense of smell is heightened to extreme intensity. The aromas of homemade Indonesian curry and bami make my mouth water like a puppy waiting for a treat. The kitchen is small but is the perfect place for one looking to expand their pallet. I see the white bowls with Aztec designed trim in which my cousins, Julius and Felix, and I used to eat cereal doused in apple juice instead of milk. I also see the big wooden bowl my cousins and I still use to make popcorn creations such as butter lover's popcorn mixed with Reese's pieces and Swedish fish.
To the back of the house, a big window with wooden beaded shades outlooks a child's dream escape. A huge tree, uncle Jaco's favorite, with branches made for climbing takes over the whole back yard. The floor of the yard is not grass but hard dirt which is great for playing kickball but has caused countless stubbed toes. That yard was the home of the strangest animals, such as their pot bellied pig named Harley. The yard isn't used much anymore for horse play, but is now where my cousins and I sip on wine and talk of past times. The climbing tree is also gone for its wisdom couldn't outwit the strength of Mother Nature, specifically hurricane Frances.
As I enter the living room I am greeted by my aunt's Chihuahua, Zoey, jumping on my leg begging to be held. This living room isn't full of matching patterns and floral couches, but is filled with the memories and sounds of my Uncle Jaco. The cluster of oversized pillows in front of the fire place is where I sit to enjoy the sounds of my uncle's music played through my cousin's fingers; Felix on the bass always cracking jokes and Julius on the drums making goofy faces. I could sit in this spot forever. Not only are my ears busy, but my eyes are too. The living room walls are cluttered with Indian masks that used to frighten me as a child and a collection of my Uncle Jaco's momentos that many people would die to even touch. My cousins jam to the funky jazz beats that are so mellow they sound like a lullaby and put me to sleep.
In the hallway I see my Aunt Ingrid with open arms, sporting a tank top and colorful sarong. The long mirror behind her reminds me of when I used it to pile on make up and she would tell me I look more beautiful without any of it, even though I never believed her. She smiles but has stern eyes that take me back to the time she hounded my cousins and I for coming home intoxicated and smelling like smoke. She is so beautiful with her thigh-length black hair, and her even-toned skin. Her dialect is sophisticated, yet down-to-earth. I sometimes wish I had the courage to be more like her, not caring what anyone thinks and being as natural as a newborn baby.
As I visit my Aunt Ingrid and my twin cousins, they take me to various gigs where I hear real music, not the same repetitive beat I hear on the radio. The people I meet aren't your everyday business men, but are hippy like adults who don't seem to have a worry in the world. At times I am kind of weirded out by them, but am also intrigued to learn more of their unique lifestyle. I feel a bit more cultured after I leave those smokey jazz bars. I feel like I have stepped out of the box and became a rebel against the norm.
Yes, this is the place where all my worries are faded away. This is the place where I can shed all problems and live my life by the moment. Visiting my family in Florida reminds me that being my own person is the most important aspect of life. Staying there puts a pause on the rest of my life and allows me to indulge in the rare ways of others. This is the place where I learn something new each hour, not just each day. This is the place I go when I need to get away; this is the place I go to for spring break.
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