Florida - The Sunshine State

My family and I were roaming through sunshine Florida, all packed up in the family car, visiting the mandatory tourist attractions. One night after an exhausting day at Disney World, and a long frustrating drive back, for my father had as much difficulty navigating himself landlocked as I would on water with the North Star as sole reference point, we finally returned to our motel room. A non-descript room with a kitchenette, a few mismatched utensils, a broken coffee machine, two kitchen chairs covered with green and yellow flower plastic material, a kitchen table with stainless steel legs, and a chipped brown Formica top burned in the middle by cigarettes butts, beige shaggy carpet permeated with the smell of humidity, one of the lamp had no shade, two double beds covered with flower bedspreads in red and green tones, a bureau which top drawer hosted an Anglican bible and a dead beetle; a motel room that defied description. That my parents saw fit to lodge their precious heirs in such bleak setting tells much about their nurturing nature.

The sleeping arrangements were also of an intriguing nature. For a reason unbeknownst to me, I would always share a bed with my mother and my brother with my father. My parents never slept together in the same bed, despite the fact that in real life they spent very little time together. My family was quite financially comfortable, there was no apparent reason why we couldn’t have occupied two rooms, especially of this caliber, providing them with a bit of intimacy, and us with a good night sleep, since my father’s snoring was so excessive and I must say, repulsive that there was no dozing off possible, thus exacerbating the general crankiness. However, that night was slightly different. My brother had found a dubious looking pee stained fold-away bed in the wardrobe and decided to spend the night on it. In my opinion, such decision had to be motivated by some level of desperation. More so, given the fact that there were no sheets provided for it and he had to wrap himself up in one of the bedspread.

In the middle of the night, once we had all sunk into a sleep deprived coma, I had a dream. A vivid dream punctuated by some degree with mild somnambulism. I was found kneeling behind my mother, who was sleeping in a spoon shape facing away from me, pummeling her with both fists while screaming at the top of my lungs. My mother, along with everybody else no doubt, woke up abruptly and wondered what was going on. “What on earth do you think you’re doing, are you mad?” To which I apparently replied “Oh! Sorry! Sorry mum! I thought you were Richard (my brother)” upon which I peacefully went back to sleep.

The following morning, the incident was told and retold to whoever would listen. It had become the liveliest moment of the holidays. Everybody thought it was quite hilarious and cheeky. Ah, my dear parents…