January 13th, 1989

January 13th, 1989
Orlando, Florida
Comfort Inn Hotel

Got absolutely zero sleep last night, thanks to Misty and her scavenger hunt for food that started, just as I was about to shut off the light. She found a bag of Dorito’s, crunched her way through the entire bag, then handed me the phone and said, “peetza.” I shook Donna awake (she’s her friend after all) and handed her the phone. Ah, if looks could kill.

When Donna and I got back to Miriam’s this morning (after calculating when Donna could safely drive again, after her heavy consumption of “jack and cokes” last night) I crawled straight into bed, and slept for most of the day. Pamsy left a message on the answering machine to say she had made it to New York, and was hoping to get on the flight to Orlando.

Miriam and Hank accompanied me to the airport, and it was so exciting waiting for Pamsy. I love people watching anywhere, but especially at arrivals, with the anticipation you see on people’s faces, anxiously pacing up and down. I don’t like security so much though, that’s the spot where everyone cries.

Pamsy looks great with her new shorter hairstyle, and tan from her recent Banjul trip. As is usual with us, it was an immediate gabfest, as we followed Hank to the car rental desk. Hank had already arranged the rental for us and suggested he drive us to the hotel, because I’m still new to driving, and Pamsy had already had a long day.

It didn’t take us long to get settled into our room here at the Comfort Inn, it’s actually much nicer than I’d expected. Once we’d unpacked our stuff, we walked across the street and bought a giant pizza that we devoured, sitting on the floor, here in our room.

When our bellies were full of pepperoni and mushrooms, we rolled into our beds. Pamsy said she wanted to hear, “the entire story about Gabriel. From the minute you met him, all the way to the last word.”

When I finally finished, she said, “I wish I’d met him, he sounds lovely.”
“He was, actually.”
“I wonder if you’ll ever see him again.”
I laughed. “My mum said the same thing.”
“He’s the first American guy you’ve kissed, right?”
“Yeah, he is. I didn’t even think about that.”
“And?” she asked, with a cheeky smile on her face.
“I have a feeling he won’t be the last.”

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