Miami Memories

category Jessica Evans, Life 0

Although I live in Brooklyn, NY, I was born and raised in Miami. South Florida is a strange and unique place. Yesterday, while waiting for my flight home, I got a little nostalgic and began to catalog some of my memories of my hometown.

I remember cheek-kisses as greetings instead of hugs or handshakes.

I remember the ballet moms sharing gossip and tiny cups of cafecitos as they watched their daughters dance from the waiting room of Ballet Etudes.

I remember how the pleather seats of the school bus burned the backs of my thighs every afternoon from September to November and again from April to June.

I remember running through the sprinklers on the P.E. field during summer camp.

I remember going to my first quinceanera and learning how to booty dance.

I remember the worst sunburn I ever got, waiting in line to go down the waterslide at C.B. Smith Park.

I remember pizza with my dad on the Hollywood Beach boardwalk.

I remember a tourist approaching me when I worked at Banana Republic to tell me that I should get a tan, so I didn’t look so pale and sickly.

I remember strawberry picking in January.

I remember palm trees with Christmas lights on them.

I remember turquoise waters. I remember the first time I saw the Jersey Shore and thought, “This isn’t a real beach.”

I remember skipping school to go to South Beach.

I remember traffic jams caused by dead chickens in the middle of the road.

I remember my parents pulling over on Kendall Drive to pick up a stray avocado that had fallen off of someone’s backyard tree.

I remember blinding afternoon sun and cumulus clouds like pillows of cotton candy.

I remember red flamboyan trees dotted along the highway.

I remember sweating.

I remember the musky smell of evening humidity.

I remember afternoons that were too lazy and too endless.

I remember all of this whenever I come back.