The long bus ride from Lowell, MA back to Gainesville, GA (long meaning 1 day and 5hrs.) The constant stops at Greyhound stations which happen to always be in the middle of the ghetto. New York, Virginia, Conneticut, Maryland, middle of northern no where.
Riding alongside of the forest green waiting, anticipating a break in the tress to peer into whats beyond the vastness of the leaves. Jonathan's head on my shoulder as exhaustion overcomes him, an exhaustion come upon by meeting family member after family member. Passing, if I must say, with flying colors, the neccessary tests when meeting the family.
I've been to this place before. The loud salsa music at 8am Saturday morning, the laughs and tantrums of children, running circles around me. My cousins, my generation has begun the usual pattern of children, marriage, then love, or in some cases a strength to overcome the heartbreak and turmoil of lovers/baby daddy's past. My relationship with Jonathan has become a resounding gong of difference and our sleeping in different houses is definetly a conversation starter.
Who is this unfamiliar woman in this familiar place. Still ferocious yet caring, Puerto Rican by blood, spurred on by passion, but now saved by love, covered in a pure blood unknown to the family sometimes even unknown to me. Th familiar and the unfamiliar having collided to create in me more love, more passion, more determination to let the gong of difference ring loud and free, and yes, as if it were possible, more Puerto Rican. More spanish words flowing from my lips. More latin flare in my danicing steps. More delectable hispanic recipes.
I forget how much I Love the familiar. Unlike Chicago, my grandparents in Massachusetts keep things in order, mellow, fun, solid, and drama free. Poor Jonathan, this is just the tip of the iceberg. There is a whole fleet of family in Chicago and Florida waiting to meet him. And with that I say, let the gong of difference, drenched in pure blood, surrounded by light, cascading with love, let it ring!
