Summer of 1985, my sister, Denise, was 12 and I was 15. Not quite a kid, but hardly a savvy world
traveller. My brother Tim lived in St.
Croix, USVI and my sister Theresa lived in NYC. My mom decided Denise and I
should visit (how exactly they came up with the money I don’t know, but it was
bargain basement air travel…). My only experience of airports had been picking
up visiting relatives.
|Denise, getting ready to board|
When Denise and I arrived in San Juan, we had to change airlines to a small puddle jumper. Though PR is a US territory, it’s definitely a Latin American place and, despite growing up in a very Hispanic area of Los Angeles, seemed foreign. So, dragging our bags, we searched the airport for the airline counter and couldn’t find it. Eventually we noticed the sign for that airline, but no one was at the counter. I asked the people in the counter next to it and was told “Oh, they went out of business.”
|Tim and Denise at Grassy Point, East End, St Croix|
First crisis over.
Just pissed off. And calm, in her very-Denise way that involved looks of shooting daggers deep into my body.
|My brother Chris with Malinda and Ronnie's son, Scott.|
|A lake in Holmes County. Buckhorn?|