paradise is home

11 May, 2026

I think about Octavia Butler all of the time, but especially today^{1 2}

orange park (before the divorce): an old trailer that my brother accidentally caught on fire with a zippo lighter when he was three; the dirt road that would (eventually) get paved. me—old enough to crawl—eating out of the dog food bowl; easter with my mother, brother, sister, grandmother, and an aunt; a yellow ribbon tied around an old oak tree. there was a new trailer afterwards, but how long did we live there? i remember baths in the large garden tub of my parent’s bathroom with his and hers sinks on both sides; the emerald green carpet that ran through the entire trailer; the dirt road wouldn’t be paved until years after i left the state; the same dirt road where I threw a rock at my brother and left a scar; the living room with a fireplace where my sister would play “airplane” with me; my father’s favorite chair, where he would bounce me on his knee; the smell of tobacco smoke from his pipe; the gleam of the gold tin he'd spit in while dipping.

are memories real if they’re only things i’ve pieced together from stories or gleaned from pictures?

middleburg (after the divorce): another trailer where we owned a dalmatian named oreo; somewhere there’s a home video of their wedding where i am three years old and the person holding the camera asks me how I feel about mom getting married (again). i am full of excitement, joy, and wonder as i respond “i have TWO daddies now!!” real or not real? cutting my hair with scissors; sticking my hand on a hot iron; a decoy horse statue outside of my window that looks like the statue from “nope."

green cove springs: an apartment; my brother and i sliding down the stairs in a sleeping bag; childhood friends named travis, asia, and reggie that i think about from time to time; another childhood friend, chrissy, who i would still see on occasion after we moved; the spanish moss that hung from the old oak trees in the civil war graveyard that we used to play in; the scar on the front of my left ankle from falling on a curb; a strange man in the backseat of a car trying to convince asia and I to go with him (we didn't); someone breaking into the apartment at night and stealing the television, but leaving the remote behind.

real or not real? me, loving my stepfather and clinging to his leg, refusing to let go, and him, humoring me and dragging me along to whichever destination he was headed.

orange park (again): this home doesn’t exist anymore—there’s a new, picturesque house there; one that i would have loved to live in as a child—but if close my eyes, i can still picture it:

another trailer, painted white with green shutters; a brown front door with a diamond-shaped window; a large front yard with a circular driveway that always shifted between cedar mulch (my favorite) and white rocks (great for sidewalk chalk); large trees and with flag pole in the center; an uncle and my stepfather drinking around the bed of a pickup truck; a large front porch that spanned most of the trailer’s length and nights spent looking at owls perched on the flag pole; days spent watching thunderstorms roll in; the makeshift ponds my stepfather built in the front yard that were always brimming with life; a bedroom that was both a prison and a refuge; the yellow linoleum that i always tried to cover with secondhand rugs; the holes in the walls with pink insulation that i wanted to fix; the roaches that also resided with us and me telling my (rightfully) horrified sister that “you just get used to them”; the smell and fear of kerosene heaters; the loneliness that came from being othered in every aspect of my life and the shame that lingers years later; the fear and chaos that came with having sister who was an addict; a mother who was present but not actually there; an evangelical church as a babysitter.

the memories here are more vivid some days, but eventually suffer from the same problem: there are no specific time points in which to anchor them and any attempt to do so end in frustration. even now, i try my hardest to hold onto the moments of tenderness.

#florida