Worst. Vacation. Ever. Part Eight – The Conclusion

Worst. Vacation. Ever. Part Eight

There are several horrid details I’m going to leave out of this trip – but let me wrap up the final days in quick summary.

The day after the wedding felt like our first day of freedom- I mean MY first day of freedom. My cousins who had skipped off and went clubbing and to the beach were still fuming over the wasted hours spent doing jack-all. I was all out of  pity and encouragement. The real sucker was me – all I wanted to do was go to the beach and eat fried parrot fish and festival. So much had happened that even my body had turned against me. Whatever I was going to do – I could only have so much fun. Maybe a 6 out of 10. So that Monday, I was feeling queasy - but more free  – but there really wasn’t much I could do. I was terrified to go off site alone and didn’t trust anyone else to drive me anywhere so I ate breakfast and enjoyed the scenery. My uncle and aunt disappeared for the entire day to deal with the post wedding debris. So for all of Monday we sat and did nothing – which was perfectly fine by me.Except – we still did not have our LUGGAGE!!! We had been living out of a fancy handbag for days and with not much else but a huge polyester bridesmaid dress that we no longer had use for. How I wish I had a sewing machine that I could have made myself a shiny red toga. It would have been fitting. The other girls no longer trusted that our goods were ever going to make their way back to us, so t hey hired the owner of the guest house to transport them to old harbour (a 45 minute drive) to get all of our things. The attempt was a success although it did ruffle a few feathers. My cousins had to assure the lady of the mansion that they did not come to stay. Sufficed to say, that night I fell asleep without dinner and on the air mattress with my three cousins. They had gotten some snacks but I was done for – food could wait. At least here, I could get some sleep.

On Tuesday, the day before my departure my aunt decided we should have a day off (doing nothing) . I wanted to go the HellShire Beach – but my cousins had already gone so I  figured that we could take them to the infamous Dunn’s River Falls in Ochio Rios. It was a done deal. We couldnt’ wait to get going…to do something…until my aunt’s friend invited herself along (even after my aunt declined the self invite) – which meant I had to sit in the back (where I did not fit) AGAIN.  On the way to Ochio Rios we had stopped to get a snack (at the faux- guest’s advise) when she reached into MY provisions (and no one else’s) and removed with her bare hands – the largest piece of fish. Folks.. I think this was the first time I was truly beside myself. As she opened her mouth to receive the stolen treat I said ‘umm…that’s the biggest piece I have’. She looked at me shocked – as if I was just a statue who had spoken. She lowered the fish back into my plate – quickly scanned my portions and removed a smaller piece. I don’t think she was out of earshot when I started to complain to the only male cousin, my aunt’s son, and he was very receptive since he was having a meltdown after being crammed in the mid seat thanks to our uninvited passenger and new resident thief. But this was not where the madness ended. We had a stalker on the loose. My aunt’s phone had been going off steadily because she had made the mistake of telling a friend on the island that she had a blackberry phone in her position that she had no use for. Unfortunately my aunt had not travelled with the device, and when she finally answered the call (after 8 missed attempts), this is what she told the lady, ‘I’m sorry – I left it back at the house and I’m taking my nieces to Dunn’s River Falls… Sorry’.  Goodbye stalker!!!!!!! When we got to Dunn’s river I was pleased. I had never climbed the falls. I was about to do something that I had never done before..and I did. It was amazing.  I had just reached to the top of the falls ….and was feeling exhilarated when it started to rain. No – it began to pour.  We were completely washed out and it took us fifteen minutes to get from the beach to the parking lot with all our belongings – including our last change of clothes (now wet by the way). When we got to the parking lot , our car was the last in the lot and there was not a patron in sight….except for a lone slim lady standing under a small shelter. ‘Are you with E—–?’ she asked.

I knew right then and there who it was. How many wet people can you fit in a van? One.Two.Three.Four.Five.Six.Seven.Eight.Nine.Ten. aaaand one blackberry stalker.       

Our trip was cut short. We were wet and dirty. We were squished and tired. It was dark and cold. And I don’t remember when it happened but my pregnant cousin started to murmur…loudly. She complained about all the things she never got to do while we sat around waiting for the wedding to happen “This is why my face is sour! This is why.’ She said. Our male cousin jumped in ‘No one is thinking here! This is ridiculous!’ he exclaimed. The rest of  us sat back in awe. They were the youngest and we had not expected them to speak out. I was expected to stay at the fish-stealer’s house the last night but I refused – and when I did so, I was shoved into the front yard to be berated by my uncle,  ‘You shouldn’t let yourself get carried away.’ (he thought I was being coaxed into sleeping elsewhere due to peer pressure)’Why do you want to go to your grandmother’s house?’ he demanded to know. You may be wondering here what the relation is between my uncle and my grandmother. Its HIS mother. I calmly asked him if he realized that we were adults with husbands and children  and that I was in my 30’s. I went to my grandmother’s – via the owner of the guest house. My uncle had been driving for days (to his credit) and was glad to have a break. We all were (Well except our male cousin who wasn’t allowed to come -he’s 18). There is a reason I don’t like driving with anyone except my father in Jamaica…it always feels like my ‘last’ ride. Sure enough this man drove like a mad man AND he got pulled over by the police with us in the car. I was a bit relieved though – and he too admitted that he was breaking the law – and although he did not aplogize – he did take it down a notch. I was happy not to see my one year cousin go flying through the windshield. Thank you Jamaican Patrol. My grandmother lives in the ghetto – but it was okay – as long as we kept the storage room with the large roaches closed and didn’t need to use the washroom or kitchen. She was so hospitable and sent someone out to get us snacks as soon as we arrived (even though it was unannounced). When my uncle asked me to give him money – she gave me the money to give to him. She was an angel. And she went with me to the airport at 4am to the dismay of my uncle who seems repulsed in her presence, but never mind that. I was going to end my wedcation the way it should have started. Now that I think about it, the rain at Dunn’s river was the best shower I had the entire trip – and I needed it because I wouldn’t’ shower again until Wednesday night after my 6 hour layover in Miami and my 3 hour flight into glorious Toronto. I would have my first hot dinner in 3 days and real shower with hot water. Why, do you ask? I told you – my grandmother lives in the ghetto… No running water!

Worst.Vacation.Ever. Part Seven

Worst.Vacation.Ever. Part Seven

 My aunt never made it to the wedding or the reception and when the MC (who none of us bothered to inform) called her up to the microphone for her tribute to the bridesmaids – my uncle turned up instead. He explained her absence was from fatigue because’ they had both been working so hard’, but – he explained his presence to be a result of ‘rejuvenation from the music’. Insert eye roll here. He thanked us for our ‘efforts’ and encouraged us to follow in his daughter’s example. By this time I was sufficed to say enjoying my meal of curried goat and it so humbled me I could find no motivation to correct him. Did I mention that one of the bridesmaids, and a groomsman had left by this time? Not that they missed anything. The bride only approached the mic once – where she proceeded to turn her back to the crowd and sing ‘Still the One” by Shania Twain to the groom. Was this the tribute to us? That she sang a song by a Canadian songstress? Oh Kaloo-kalay! Where are my manners? Well at least she wasn’t being ‘partial’ – she didn’t thank her guests either! She didn’t thank my aunt – her parents – the maid of honour – NOONE. The only time she acknowledged any of us was when she summoned me from the upper bridal table to get her some Advil for her headache (my Advil by the way) – I told her it was in the van and returned to my seat. The only time I heard the words ‘thank you’ out of that girl’s mouth was when we were asking for directions in town. She thanked a random stranger for pointing in a certain direction. That is the kind of act that moves her. We stayed until the end of the wedding and went to the guest house where my aunt had reserved a honeymoon suite for the couple and rooms for the rest of us. My uncle tried to tell me which room to sleep in – the one with my grandmother and his younger daughter (and the one year old cousin whose mother had abandoned him). The nerve! I flat out told him I would not be sleeping with his daughter and went to hang with my ‘cooler’ side of the family (giggle) – I really did feel like a 13 year old rebel at this point). The next day we jointly decided to pay our way for another night at the guest house – for our aunt as well. Disappointed that another room wasn’t booked for her the bride scowled her way into the awaiting taxi without a word to any of the bridal party.  My irritated grandmother, the little boy and the little sister also got sent off into the van – and all the misery disappeared on the Monday before my Wednesday departure. Hurrah! Fun at last!  We’ve got running water, a washing machine – a pool!!!! (That I couldn’t get into)  A-AND we had breakfast with toast and eggs!!!!!! Look at me! I’m so-o positive – eh? My last day was sure to be the best day ever. Ever. Except by mid Monday I was calling my husband (roaming charges and all) to see if he could find me an earlier flight home. Request denied. There was no escape route.

Worst. Vacation. Ever. Part Six

Worst. Vacation. Ever. Part Six

 ‘Why did he tell us to come here for six o’ clock? Lawd Jesus!’ My grandmother made no effort to enter the house but kept her lamentations outside were she could still be heard. By this time I had firmly established role in the house. I was the source of sustenance.

Since there was no breakfast I insisted on going to the supermarket for supplies. The groom stopped me and assured me that there was sufficient stock in the cupboard that I could use whatever I wanted. I thanked him and proceeded to make a large pot of oatmeal porridge. The groom was the only one who did not eat out of politeness – the bride refused any. She later commented to me ‘I can’t believe you guys eat that. Gross.’ I let her know I could only work with what I had. Now here came the interesting part. The evening before, we were asked to get our nails done for the wedding (at our expense of course) – but that’s about as ‘done up’ as we had gotten since our arrival. My clubbing cousins however (who happen to be very attractive women) were dazzling in their makeup and semi formal outfits. So when the groom offered them tea – the bride went haywire. Apparently (as my cousins relayed the story later on), she became visibly and audibly irritate, shouting at her husband- to- be and spying from the crack of her bedroom door if her hubby happened to be in the same vicinity ( that’s right – the house with only one common room) as the ladies. Now that was good for a hearty laugh. Then my grandmother advised the bride that she needed to stuff her bra because her breasts wouldn’t be able to ‘hold up her dress’. It made up for the bride’s earlier comment toward me (she mentioned that my hair was a mess and that I looked pregnant). 

At around 1 (ish) we left for the wedding – and the bride and groom rode with in their wedding gear. We arrive at the site around half hour later, and the plantation was beautiful – there was no expense spared here and I was in awe of my aunt’s accomplishment. Too bad she couldn’t make it to the wedding – since no one brought her clothes from the bride’s house. ‘We saw it’ the bride’s mother explained ‘but figured she had everything with her’ now by the time this happened I already had my first meltdown when I was told by the bride that I had to take my luggage from the guesthouse where we had gotten dressed and bring it with me to the wedding. ( cue throwing of shoes and me yelling ‘this is BULLSH**!!!’ followed by juvenile stomping into the house) So after the clothing debacle I was calm – but the rest of the bridal party was riled up.

‘We can’t worry about that now’ said my uncle when we told him of his sister’s situation.

We got to the beautiful grounds for the outdoor wedding. The theme was red, white and black and it was in stark contrast the rolling green hills. The bridesmaids walked over to the site to get a view of the scene while the bride and her maid of honour held back in the car.

Then it started to rain.

Worst. Vacation. Ever. Part Five

Worst. Vacation. Ever. Part Five

 The next day was bliss. Mostly because we didn’t spend it in a vehicle. AND we got a full breakfast (courtesy of my aunt) and my uncle had charged off to church in a huff (which meant we were free of him for a bit ). I suspect he was peeved because my aunt had gone out to buy provisions for us to eat (and it was Sabbath) – and we had no intention of accompanying him to church. He did ask. I remember laughing. (his church by the way – is a tarp on poles and he is the elder. Seriously? Had I not suffered enough?) Anyway my darling aunt made me a concoction of fresh coconut water and sour oranges juice to calm my infection. I had seconds of breakfast…cabbage never tasted so divine. He came back and we had to leave. It was day before the wedding so were we again heading to the bride’s home where we would stay overnight. So we packed our luggage and again and headed off. By evening we were again on the brink of starvation.  I really didn’t want to buy dinner for he bride, but I definitely could not leave her own mother without a meal – or her father…or my aunt…somebody had to eat! When I announced I was going to get something to eat the bride said ‘I  want Pizza Hut’. I ignored that – we went to get the food (I paid for the cab) and I bought food for all of us. I also gave her (at her request) money buy her mother a pair of stockings, ‘I’ll give you the money when we get back’ the bride said. She returned from the store with her hands clenched and the bag tightly to her chest. ‘Can I have my change please?’ (I had given her 1000 JMD) – she offered it to me. I found out later that she had picked up a little something for herself too. I never got the money back. When we got back to her house (I asked her for her contribution to the cab fare) – she called her father to let him know she had food waiting. I seethed in my misery alone.
Eventually my cousin and I collapsed on the bed with her daughter and made some semblance of comfort for ourselves. I wasn’t concerned with where my cousin would sleep the night before her wedding. I didn’t care. She slept in the room where her mysterious roommate was housed. I don’t’ know how long I slept …3 …maybe 4 hours – when my aunt barged in from setting up the wedding – the chair covers did not fit! So there were around sixty to be ironed before day break. So my aunt, the bride’s mother and the groom ironed till the wee hours while my aunt and uncle discussed why homosexuality would bring down the world. No torture doth compare. I was delirious by the time I was finished I decided to go for a jog in the dark. I got as far as the fence and chickened out. I got my chance again at daybreak. The groom sat on the wall and watched me (and advised me to carry a stick – for the dogs and such). I didn’t carry a stick. I refused. I was jogging on my vacation dammit – and choking on the acrid air.

When I returned we had guests. My grandmother and an accompanying one year old were on the porch and my outlaw cousins were passed out on the couch in their club wear. Apparently my uncle had summoned them all to arrive before six am to help with the wedding preparations…but my uncle was long gone. The house was full of people and there was no breakfast in sight. My grandmother began to quarrel.

Worst. Vacation. Ever. Part Four

 Worst. Vacation. Ever. Part Four

 I told her my name. The woman whose wedding I had just paid six hundred dollars to not only attend – but participate in – did not have a flying clue who I was apparently. I didn’t realize I had changed so drastically since childhood or looked so different from my pictures. After I told her my name, she contorted her face and stood back – aghast.  She went away and entered again at stage left. “I can’t believe it! When did you get so small?”…

Perhaps I was distracted by the hunger – why I was able to pull away from the conversation and get into her driveway where my other cousins stood shaking their heads in disbelief. We got as far as her front porch when the rest of the evening unfolded before us shamelessly.

There are a few things one would expect from an awaiting host – a space to sit (or stand), refreshments (at the bare minimum, water) and in the case of a accommodation, a room in which to sleep. I can even say that without the implication of a bed – to allow room for us to sleep on the floor. What was waiting for us? NONE OF THE ABOVE. We refused to enter the house – my aunt being the only one who ventured in to speak to the elated bride to be. I could hear her explaining ‘ My friend is staying in this room and I can’t tell her to leave, because she has no place to go…’

So we went to buy dinner, my cousins and I and the aunt of one of the bridesmaids and we purchased food for the entire household. Upon our return,  the bride proceeded to help herself to her father’s meal and some of the ours as well. If the groom hadn’t placed a bulb in the fixture on the porch – we would have eaten our entire meal on the ground (or suitcases)- in the dark.  

Hours later there was still no word of our sleeping arrangements. I figured I could sleep at my mother’s property which was ten minutes away, but after a quick drive by – I determined that the years of financial support my mother had sent to my uncle (the bride’s father) must have gone into someone else’s house – not my mother’s. We could not sleep there. Not one of us.

So we split up.  The braver ones among us took off to my grandmother’s place in town where they could partake in nightly entertainment, indulge in alcohol, wear shorts, and relax. Meanwhile, my other three cousins and I went to my uncle’s house…far.far.away – and ….OFF to bed we went. But not before (against her mother’s instructions), the bride’s little sister crawled into bed between me and my cousin and her child – where she proceeded to kick and punch me throughout the night. And what kind of sinus problem did that child have? Those noises she made will haunt me till I’m old and gray. Good thing I wasn’t getting any sleep because I was getting a bladder infection and had to go to the washroom quite frequently….too bad there was no running water. The toilet was a sham. Just an ornament. Just sitting there…and I was peeing in it and it smelled like horse piss. This is Friday.

Worst. Vacation. Ever. Part Three

Worst.  Vacation.  Ever.  Part Three

We awoke early the morning after our arrival and spent the first hour taking pictures on the sprawling upstairs balcony, making sure to keep out of the hostess’ way.  Breakfast consisted of a small portion of callalloo (similar to spinach or kale) and a few bakes. Then we were told to pack two outfits and all our wedding gear into a carry-on because our luggage was to remain at home base.  ’When are we coming back?’ We asked.  I don’t remember the answer (another oversight on my part).

Due to economic costs (and lack of space) my uncle retired the pick up truck and left us solely with the van my aunt was renting as our get around vehicle. With some creative maneuvering we managed to pack all our bags into the van, along with two new passengers; the bride’s siblings, a 3o-year old brother and 11-year old sister. The brother was great. The sister… should have stayed at home. Why was she there? This question still boggles me. Anyway – from ten to six that day we drove up into the hills on roads as wide as my old high school hallway to a house where some of the wedding paraphernalia had been sent. The journey was rough. Our poor unsuspecting friends were terrified, ill, hungry and bored – all at the same time. At some point someone had the had bright idea to enlighten us with a story about a family from our neighbourhood who had died in an accident while visiting the island a week before. Buried beneath the backs of others – I reached out at this point, and grabbed onto the bars that ran across the roof of the car and thought of the different ways I could manoeuvre my body to survive a plunge off the cliff. (nice time for me to be strategic). We got there safely but still rattled by the reality of having to travel on that road again. After all – we weren’t staying in the hills! We cut the cake, boxed it and tagged it for the guests, helped clean up empty boxes and kicked rocks. By evening the day had been spent and all I had accomplished was defending my cousin whose pregnancy had become the topic du jour for the elder male in the house (who happened to be a pastor). Our next destination was to the bride’s home. By this time, the atmosphere was tepid at best. It had become clear to my fellow travelers that we were accompaniments for the bride, brought along for the sole purpose of the wedding with none of our desires or basic needs being at the forefront of anyone’s mind. Oh wait -they were concerned for our safety – so we were not to be left by ourselves. I became more infantile by the hour as I pondered unanswered questions and coddled my belly with worry.  By the time we arrived at the bride’s 2 bedroom home that evening with our wears by our side– we were reduced to nothing but our primary instincts. She greeted us by the gate, looking as I had expected her to – we had connected on FB and having lived in Jamaica for some time as a child – I had been in her life at some point. So I think I had a right to be irritated when she approached me and asked ‘And you are?’

Worst. Vacation. Ever. Part Two

Worst.  Vacation.  Ever.  Part Two

It was a relief to see paved roads, stop lights and tolls, and finally behold what was to be our place of respite; a massive gated house in the town of Old Harbor. Exhausted and sleep deprived, I stumbled to the verandah and helped to assemble our mass of belongings. After twenty minutes of utter paranoia we were finally invited into the house. It was not a very warm welcome, but west Indian women with big houses are known to take on a particular stance about their homes. The bigger the house – the less people they want coming by. Especially the type of people we were– you see this was a religious family who would be offended at the sight of bare legs or chests (we were warned not to wear any shorts ). As we entered the foyer, I could feel the eyes of the maid and the woman of the house, perusing our bodies, scanning the artwork that was on prominent display on all except myself and the one year old we were passing back and forth between each other. The host was hospitable enough to prepare us a meal and we ate what little we could in the awkward silence of the dining room, before heading up the grand staircase at 8:50 PM. It was bedtime. I remember saying my thoughts aloud (which is never a good sign) – when we were told to get to bed. Maybe because it was such a foreign phrase, I was searching my mind for the last instance of being told such a thing. Bedtime? And yet, I had no rebuttal. I drifted upstairs with my fellow captives; the hallways darkening at our backs. I was able to sneak a quick bath in (with cold water) but others who decided not to risk the ’draft’ couldn’t shower the next day either. My aunt was trying her best not to offend our gracious host, and in the West Indies, water is a commodity to which appropriate value is attached. Even if we had changed our minds about showering later on in the night - we would have found the water had been turned off (I discovered this when I used the washroom during the night) Embarassing. Nonetheless, under whatever circumstance, one guaranteed success always prevails – sleep. You see…it was a rough month, thus far. I had spent the first portion of it in and out of the hospital (visiting my mother) and preparing for the new fiscal year at work and the trip had completely drained me. So above all else, sleep would have been a hit on this trip. Right?

Well. There was little to be had. The wind howled right through the night – and so did the dogs. So instead of sleeping, I lay in bed awake, distracted by the noise and anxious about the unknown that awaited me over the next 5 days.

Worst. Vacation. Ever. Part One

Wedcation

Worst.  Vacation.  Ever.  Part One

although I was never under the false assumption that my latest trip would have been one of the most exciting and exhilarating adventures I’ve embarked upon, I knew it would have been memorable. I was right. But even with my lowest expectations, nothing prepared me for the mayhem  I was to encounter, battle and succumb to during my family trip last month to the sunny island of Jamaica.  It was never really a vacation, but no one believes you when you say you’ve taken a ‘vacation’ from work…and happen to leaving the country. To everyone – that’s a vacation. I have a different idea of what a real vacation is. A vacation is somewhere one chooses to go – when one chooses to go how one chooses to go for the sole purpose of relaxation and pleasure. I know this – because I’ve actually been on a vacation before -contrary to popular belief. My trip in January can only be described as a ‘wedcation’.  ‘Wedcation’ is the term I use to describe any matrimonial event taking place where participants and/or guests are required to travel at their own expense. It is often presented under the guise of a family reunion or vacation. I’ve attended a few of those events myself. You definitely have to take the reins ;you must investigate and determine what is going to take place ahead of time – and most importantly, have a plan of action to evacuate.

I dropped the ball on this one. Even when my husband brought it to my attention that I had no idea where I was staying for my duration of the trip. My defense mechanisms aligned themselves – he made what would have seemed a valid point of concern – ‘but I’m going with family! Everything is taken care of – I’m sure of it.’  was my silly reply. Denial enabled.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me preface all this with a number of facts:

1. The bride was a first cousin who none of us have a relationship with
2. My aunt volunteered to coordinate the entire wedding – on her own dime
3. My cousins and I were asked to be bridesmaids, and our only task was to secure our plane tickets
4. My cousin and I tried to get out of it – we couldn’t afford it and we had work and school commitments –so they moved the wedding

So two wedding dresses, and $4,200 in flight costs later – we went; all eight of us, including my pregnant cousin and her one year old daughter. When we arrived with our 28 pieces of luggage, my cousin’s father was waiting to transport us to our destination – in a van the size of a Windstar, a white pick up truck and a Civic.

27

27

I grew up with an irrational fear of the number 27. I know when it began…I was 12 and my youngest aunt had passed away suddenly, on April 25, 1992, at the age of 27. The reason for my fear was not repressed within my unconscious, but rather a pervasive anxiety that rolled into my awareness daily, like the tide.  I used to pray to God ‘Please let me live past 27.’ ‘Please don’t let me die.’

I survived. Actually I cannot recall one single thing I did on my 27^th birthday. I probably went to work, had a slice of cake that I pretended to enjoy – then carried on about my way as if it were any other birthday – expected and deserved. After all, by the time I was twenty seven, I had been married 8 years and had two children who longer required steady after school care.

By the time I turned 32 last year I had completely forgotten about the fear I had overcome (or outlived), but not without my imbued sense of mortality.  In fact that same year I had visited an ill cousin of mine at his home and broke down in a fit of tears telling him how much I loved him. My aunt came and dragged me away – I was ashamed. I don’t know why I did it. I’ve never seen him cry nor utter a single complaint during his bout with Multiple Sclerosis.  I wonder if he lived with the same fear that I did? We both had the same aunt but I had never heard him make mention of it. I’m not sure if he was afraid of anything. I had never asked. My most vivid memory of my cousin was from April 25, 1990, when he lit aflame, the bed upon which I was sleeping. It was an accident (of course – he was five) – but he saved my life by waking me up. I remember his small voice so calmly saying ‘Denise, wake up – there’s a fire on your bed.’ By the time I had come to, I could barely make out his face through the flames. I was 10 but I became only a little more cautious of fire than I had been before. As for Zachary – his incentive to stay away from fire was motivated by positive reinforcement. Punishment – that is. We laughed about it for years. Mischievous Zach. He was vibrant, funny, witty and unforgettable. He died on January 16, 2012.

It is difficult for me to say ‘was’ because he can never truly be gone. No one can. We leave so much of our ‘selves’ behind, I have come to realize. For although he had fallen ill shortly after graduating high school  he continued to make many fine memories throughout his last years, surrounded by his devoted parents, siblings, extended family and friends. Until that moment last year, I had no doubt that he could outlive me. Now I can’t help but contemplate all the time I spent thinking of what I should do to be there for him…all the times I said ‘I’ll be right back’ and never returned…or the time he asked me not to stay – but someone called me away…  

His name is Zachary and he was 27.