Mounted deer on backside of Marlen’s house
After leaving the hospital, Allie and his crew head home. The rest of us agree to meet over at this BJ's Restaurant & Brewhouse. Dad makes it as far as drifting inside the building, but then understandably says he just can't do this right now, and leaves. So it's just us three couples: Dewane and Mona, Daniel and Christina, Erin and me. They have a great beer selection here, including Voodoo Ranger, which Marlen surely knows about. I'm pretty sure I order this Dragon Point draft. Foodwise, we like the flatbreads here and this one awesome dipping sauce, a root beer BBQ concoction.
It's great catching up with everyone here, over lunch and a beer or two. Although continually shouting down to Dewane, who is after all more than a little hard of hearing, does wear a person down after awhile. I also feel that he sometimes grins and nods but hasn't exactly heard you. But, hey, what can you do? We're all just muddling through these days, and improvising the best that we can.
Dad then shows back up to drive Erin and me up the road to our hotel. An extremely chill night will follow, for all parties involved. Come morning, Erin and I are back at the breakfast buffet, at our hotel, which is again another of these inexplicable oddities that has us feeling as though we've stepped into another dimension. It's set up in this Asian restaurant, at the front of the building, beside the immaculate but bright and eerily austere lobby, and the offerings here are much better than we ever recall experiencing from any hotel breakfast. There's a freaking kitchen manager here who takes tremendous pride in his work, keeps drifting out to inspect the buffet, nodding favorably for the most part, tweaking and restocking as needed. He's a friendly young black kid named Michael, which we know because he drifts by the table to say hello and chat with us a bit.
So this is our second morning savoring this experience, and it's interesting to note that not only does Michael take this breakfast buffet business as seriously as if it were a Michelin star restaurant, but he also shakes up the menu every morning. Another unexpected delight, fuel for another grueling day that we are staring down ahead of us. Oh, and as I originally only booked the room for two nights, unsure how long we’d be here, I just had to tack on two more - and yet they somehow charged us a few bucks less per night this time around.
Dad drives over to scoop us up, then we pop next door and get Daniel. Christina meanwhile is staying behind at their room with the dog. For this is the morning that we're heading off to the next place that our nurse, Rebecca, recommended: Island Cremations. As soon as we mentioned that this is how we were handling Mom's remains, she immediately blurted this out as where we should conduct these matters. As with virtually everything else that is happening this week, Island Cremations, just like Rebecca and that entire hospital, turns out to be uncannily perfect. We keep discussing how, although these events have thoroughly sucked, if they had to happen, then it's a good thing they happened right here.
As soon as we show up here, having driven up to Cocoa Beach per her instructions, it's immediately apparent we made the right call. This Paul guy who runs it is totally awesome, as is his son, and the assistant chick up front. Regarding Paul, he's this burly late middle-aged dude, into Harleys, deftly managing this sticky cremation topic with an expert combination of no-nonsense gruffness and kid gloves. As the four of us settle around a little conference room table with him, he and Dad hit it off right away, and are soon exchanging contact information.
Meanwhile, possibly picking up on what nerds the rest of us are for local trivia and so forth, he explains that this very street is where they filmed one segment of the opening credits for that 1970s show The Six Million Dollar Man. It's the part where Steve Austin is running up the road, although it was a lot less developed and looked totally different back then. According to him, that happened right outside here. He's also giving us a quick rundown of the restaurants and bars he would recommend in this area, were we seeking such a thing.
Now it's time to bunker down with business. He has this awesomely handy checklist of everything we need to do now that Mom is dead. Then calls up to Mocksville and talks to this friendly but somewhat harried sounding old lady in charge of filing death certificates, who says she does it all, basically every important function we can think of for that little town my parents live in. So Paul's chuckling and says this is somewhat unusual, but makes life easier for us.
He also prints up these cards, free of charge, with a little spiritual passage he has chosen for us. Accompanied by this nice picture of Mom that Erin picked out, of her sitting on the porch and smiling, at the last house they lived in, the one they built themselves and just sold this past April. Paul meanwhile advises us not to buy a cremation urn from him, because they are too expensive, that we should find one online instead.
We're pretty much exclusively discussing Mom's situation here, and as Dad seems halfway out of it, his head in a daze, us other three are paying extra close attention to everything Paul's saying. The ashes should be ready by Thursday, and we technically need all the paperwork filed properly by then in order to transport them across state lines. We don't even get into the whole Rick situation, really, what brought us to Florida, yet even so Paul just so happens to mention that they're averaging about one drug overdose death a day here, he estimates, mostly due to fentanyl.
We leave here with Dad telling Paul to stop and see him if he's ever rolling through North Carolina. Otherwise we're awaiting word from him that the ashes are ready. Up next, as we pile into the truck and return to Melbourne, is this cookout we have planned for today at Marlen's house. It was originally slated for 1pm, but now it's looking like we won't make it back until 1:30. Somehow I'm elected to break the news to Allie and company, so I call Karen's phone, figuring that he is probably driving right now.
She answers, says she understands about the time change, and will let everyone else know. Asks what they should bring, which seems to imply they plan on stopping at the store. And we also exchange a few texts after that. Yet as we pull in at Marlen's right at 1:30, nobody's here. We're wondering what the deal is when the others do finally roll in a few minutes later – they'd spent the past half hour driving around. Despite my phone call, and everyone sitting right there in the car with her, Karen never relayed the message about the time change. It's totally bizarre. They stopped here once or twice already and kept making laps around the area, but at no point did she ever reference my phone call.
Allie initially seems a little ticked off about wasting this much time, before discovering what happened. In Karen's defense she too seems understandably mighty dazed, walking around in somewhat of a fog, just like Dad is and for the exact same reason. Or at least to some extent – she does come off as though possibly highly medicated at the moment, on top of everything else. Although this too would be completely understandable.
But everything's smoothed out, and we go about firing up the grill. Christina shows up with their dog. Marlen suddenly materializes in our midst, too, from parts unknown. And in addition to Tabatha and Tonya, that crew has also brought along Rick's daughter, Essence. She's in the 9th grade and would be about 15 years old now, which is remarkable considering she wasn't supposed to make it at all. Rick's girlfriend, pregnant with twins, was all messed up on drugs at the time and the one baby (they were referring to them as Baby A and Baby B initially) was a stillborn as a result; Essence was just 1.5lbs at birth but somehow survived, although she has dealt with considerable developmental difficulties. She’s a really sweet kid, though, and her presence has always felt like nothing short of miraculous.
Near the back of the yard, Daniel and I share grillmaster responsibilities, as Tonya, Tabatha, and Christina drift out there to hang with us. Everyone else mostly sits around in lawn chairs up front, although Dad pretty much just wanders around in a daze. Erin, Mona, and Karen chat as one trio, while the other revolves around Marlen dispensing his endless scattershot tales. Dewane and Allie do seem to hit it off okay with our idiosyncratic host, even if this consists in large part of their sitting there and laughing at everything he says. Then again, Dewane was in the military himself, and Allie, well, he has the law enforcement background, which feels somewhat tangentially related. At the very least, guns are involved with both.
me, Tonya, Daniel, Tabatha
Still, as food comes off the grill and we're bringing it in waves up to the others, I do catch some of Marlen's tales in passing, and doing so highlights for me another exhausting aspect of spending time with a guy like this: not just chattering nonstop about himself and bouncing relentlessly from topic to topic, but also repeating these nuggets quite a bit. This personality type not only displays little specific interest in his audience members, they are also so anonymous to him he can't remember who he already bestowed this information upon.
Far more gripping is this episode Tonya's relating to me about this horrific car crash she suffered a few years ago. Says she was crawling up the road afterwards, because this was all she could manage, to get away from the car and seek help. Yet is still not just dealing with the physical ramifications but a little shell shocked from the incident as well.
We four cousins take some good photos together back by the grill. Christina laughs when I drop a piece of meat and then invoke the five second rule clause to save it. Already aware that Karen basically won't eat a hamburger unless it's a charcoal briquette, I thoroughly char one to oblivion and bring it to her. She says it's perfect, yet takes one bite and then feeds the rest to the dog anyway.
Once grilling activities have concluded, we all rejoin the general population. Having a seat in a lawn chair myself, I hear Karen getting on this morbid kick – as if she didn't have enough on her plate – telling Dad that she feels guilty, like our coming down here is basically what caused Mom to die. So he's talking her down from this, saying she absolutely should not feel guilty. Something about this conversational tack reminds me of what that Paul guy had mentioned earlier up at the crematorium, which I feel the need to share now.
“He said they're averaging about an overdose death a day and most of it's fentanyl,” I announce.
“Jason!” Tabatha hisses, eyes wide, and kind of nods her head sideways, towards Karen. In other words, telling me to knock it off with this subject matter, because it's a sore topic. So this obviously pertains to Rick. I haven't asked and still nobody's mentioned exactly what happened to him, but this seem a safe bet from where I'm sitting.
Someone manages to get a couple good snapshots of Marlen standing back by his own son's shrine. Before he wanders off again, disappearing as always without explanation. Therefore when talk begins to surface about a group photo, he is nowhere to be found, neither in snapping it for us and certainly not appearing in the thing. This leaves our questionable brain trust attempting to cobble together how to shoot a decent one on a timer, which produces numerous hilariously bad takes before we finally somewhat nail down how to pull this off.
And then we're going our separate ways, many of us, not to see one another again for who knows how long. We still don't have any specific plans for Mom's funeral, if there's even going to be one, and aren't entirely sure who will even make it. Yesterday at the hospital, when I attempted shaking Allie's hand to say goodbye, he balked and told me, “we're family! We don't shake hands, we hug!” And then did just that. Today, however, wordlessly laughing at the memories of that previous conversation, he and I hedge our bets by doing both.
They are all heading back to Cocoa Beach, Dewane and Mona to the hotel room they rented just up the road from us, before they return to North Carolina tomorrow themselves. As for us, Erin and I are out of here, with Daniel and Christina remaining behind, though insisting they plan on being right behind us.
I can't entirely pin our booking of the hotel room on Erin. Part of the reason I wanted to do so as well, apart from keeping her happy, is that I had a feeling it was going to turn into one big drunken mayhem festival over here at Marlen's, especially after Daniel rolled into town. And I am determined to avoid this. In my experience, though, it's not exactly a great idea to mention your motives with something like this.
On the front end, it's going to go one of three ways. Reaction #1: Dad will deny it's going to turn into a drunken mayhem festival, and endlessly plead with you to stick around. Reaction #2: He will semi-angrily tell you to take a hike, then, if you feel that way, nobody needs you around. Reaction #3: He will recognize the truth in your assessment, though all this does is make him excessively morose and seeing nothing but black clouds everywhere.
So those are all the reasons on the front end why you might avoid mentioning such. This without even getting into the real meat of the issue, which is the actual outcome. Outcome #1: You leave and certain figures bitch about how you think you're better than everyone else. Outcome #2: You stick around, and, even if somewhat attempting to take the high road and avoid the rampant craziness, your presence alone, hanging out and drinking beer with them, means that you are “just the same” as everyone else, and don't think you're not. Outcome #3: You stick around, the craziness erupts all around you, but they do recognize that you are the most level-headed person on the premises and therefore you get roped into playing referee on the craziness.
Okay, but what in fact happens? We leave, and are safely behind our inexplicably nice hotel suite doors when it does in fact turn into a drunken fucking mayhem festival over here. So yeah. Despite assurances that they were right behind us, Daniel and Christina remain here for hours more still. At least up until the moment all hell breaks loose. After a fight with her husband, my sister-in-law stomps off into the night, leaving the vehicle here. And somehow losing her cell phone and keys in the process. In her wake we have Daniel, Dad, and Marlen, stuck here with a treasure trove of alcohol between them.
