hometown love
I’m from kitschy Florida designs
A bright green full of life, not puke
I’m from hour long phone calls
So Nonny has an ear her daughters can’t always provide
I’m from loud rooms and no AC
Cinnamon scents and soup joumou,
Family friends at every holiday
I’m from adopted lizards in my hair and
rolly pollies in the dirt at the far edge
I’m from apartment soccer matches and
pool parties in the deep end
I’m from loose waist jeans still ripping at the seams
and beaded jewelry tied to silver engravements
I’m from quiet sands and rowdy beaches
I’m from red-brown smooth trees with mean ants
And bushes with four-eyed pink bouquets
I’m from fresh air over the canal
Winter coats when it’s 60 out
Bass booming, cars zooming
I’m from around the way now
“where I’m from” — angel a.m.
I go by my old house on the way to class. Yes, it’s an apartment building, but, no, I didn’t ask for your correction.
Every time I pass by, I remember to look. Sometimes I miss it, but I remember. I guess it’s bearing witness to nearly nine years of my life, and wondering where the rest of them will take me.
I tend to start with what’s not. I can tell you we’re not Miami or New York or Tampa, and I mean that with no animosity. We’re not just a spring/summer break destination, or where snowbirds come to die.
We’ve got outdated flyers on the bus and two stops on Tri-rail, one for the city, one for the airport. It’s courteous to ask to sit in the same 4-seater with someone (but across from them, obvi) before doing so.
We’ve got Haitian food, Cuban, Mexican, Italian, Italian-American; any that you’re missing, you’ll find here. There was that one hibachi place — it’s closed down now — that Mom & Auntie P would eat at, and sometimes she’d get it for dinner for just her and I.
It’s a suburban wet dream. It’s bass boosting, tires speeding down the residential street, reggaeton blasting out the speakers. The old house (no, not the one over the tracks but the one right next to them) used to shake slightly when Florida East Coast came by in the night. I can imagine falling asleep without the noise of cars and laughter and late-evening dog walk jingles drifting through the window screen, but I’d rather not.
There’s one too many lifted trucks with high beams that probably can’t even see my short behind, maybe the top of my hair. Somebody’s always racing, whether it’s the Subaru with the spoiler and Mad-Max-looking window decor or the neon Huracan. No one uses their turn signal, and that includes the cops.
Side note— always wait for the light to turn red, then for two more seconds before turning in your car or crossing as a pedestrian. Traffic isn’t always terrible, but too many of us need a license retest before being allowed back on the road.
The bus driver will know your stop. One night, there’ll be an older man you don’t know pulling the cord for you when a different guy is asking you to sign a petition. There’s people on the bus that get excited to see each other and talk in loud or hushed voices in their shared languages and codes; neighbors and community by bus route, not house proximity.
Every sign, every overhead typed or audio notice is said in three languages. You’ll know one fluently, and at least bits and pieces of a second. You might not know Spanish, but you’ll know no hablo español.
Everybody knows everyone. You meet two people, now you know 10. You’ll see a high school friend at the laundromat years after graduation, and you bring up every now and again that your mom used to work with Bailee Madison’s mom or aunt.
You’ll go on a date with a guy who’ll show up wearing sweats. He is not an uncommon character. Sweats, Lululemon leggings, slacks, and mini skirts all stretch and sway on the same streets here. They’re accompanied by furry boots, stilettos, Tory Burch or Michael Kors sandals, the grandpa sandals, Birkenstocks, Italian leather, and cowboy boots potentially made of Amazon “leather”.
There’s been growth in the last ten years that a younger you wouldn’t understand completely. New businesses, shops, event spaces, catering to a crowd that hasn’t lived here for more than 3 years. You’ll grow to hate seeing realtor signs, seeing a brighter, sanitized, and repackaged place in the bus stop ads and corrugated plastic signs (I did have to google this to name it correctly, so now we both know something new unless you’re well-versed in signage materials). You’ll get homesick when you go farther out west and can’t feel the salty air. Going to the beach won’t be frequent, and each visit won’t be planned, but you’ll learn every moment, feeling, movement comes in waves in life.
You’ll work at an artsy shop down by Las Olas, and you’ll go to the beach or the bar after, depending on if the sun is still up. (Day drinking is for brunch.) The corner store guy will be flattering without being overbearing. Don’t use the bathroom at the corner store though. You know better.
In college, you’ll learn a piece of the ancient African continental plate, Gondwana, is under your home state. You will take this to heart, and home will feel warmer.
People say their cities start to feel like small towns at some point. Maybe it’s when you’ve got your people and your regular places. It becomes more condensed, but more open and inviting. And the foundation gets built up, the colors get more depth and perspective. Then the City of Fort Lauderdale becomes my hometown, and not mine alone, but one to share and be happily surprised when I meet someone in Houston, TX who finally knows what city I’m talking about and it’s not because of scandal or college kids descending upon Las Olas and the downtown clubs.
After Fort Lauderdale? Ask about the rest of Broward, and then you’ll know what magic 954 and 754 are made up of.
If you’re in the Fort Lauderdale area this week, be sure to check out Our Voices: Festival of Words by Art Prevails Project. The festival runs from Thursday the 24th to Saturday the 26th, including an artist showcase, opportunities to meet authors of various books, and a free all-day festival on Saturday with outside and indoor events.
Maybe I’ll see you there? Or at least around town.
Until the next time,
— Angel