What if Florida was for Lovers?
Shanna Merceron
If you came to Florida, we would have gone to the beach. Not just any beach, I would have taken you to the beach with the orange sand that sticks to your skin, that doesn’t let you go, to the pier where I watched fireworks set the water alight, to the beach where everyone knows everyone except for you. No one would have known you. Because you were only mine.
If you came to Florida, we would have walked through my father’s garden. The backyard is a jungle paradise and I wanted you to see that part of my home. I could see you stooping between the branches, banana leaves brushing through your hair, the smell of citrus lingering when I later pulled your t-shirt over your head. I would tell you about the thirty types of palm trees in the yard. You would tuck a seed in your tight jeans pocket, jeans that I know you would pack for Florida, and you would bring that seed home to see if it could grow to join your own plant family in a cold place that is not paradise.
If you came to Florida, you would have met my cats. We first met because we loved cats, something so small and common but somehow it brought two people 900 miles apart together. I would lay you on my bed and bring them to you one by one until I couldn’t see you anymore, it would just be four cats covering and loving on the person I’d have chosen to give my heart to, if you came to Florida.
If you came to Florida, we would have always driven with the windows down and I would let you taste the salt in the air, make you so thirsty, and then give you only me to drink. If you came to Florida, you would have had your fill.
If you came to Florida, you would have met my best friend. The woman who holds a part of my soul within her, you would have met her and known why I try to shine so bright. Why I know you have it in you to shine bright too.
If you came to Florida, I would have taken you my university town. The place where a part of me almost died, the place where I didn’t grow as much as I wanted to, the place where I realize now why I needed to be there to be here. I would have shown you where the buffalos and gators roamed, I would have shown you the swamps and the bats, the way the sun sets in pink skies, and why I don’t think there will ever be a place quite like Florida. Why I wanted you to be here. Why I’ve never wanted anyone to see my Florida before. You’ve been to Florida. But if you came to Florida, to see me, I think you would have fallen in love.
If you came to Florida, we would have danced again. If you came to Florida, we would have gotten drunk again. If you came to Florida, I would have waded you into my ocean and whispered to you why the ocean and I are the same. If you came to Florida, we would have gotten high with my mother and you would have appreciated all her quirks because they helped create me. If you came to Florida, I would have worn the dress I got that I thought you would like. If you came to Florida, I never would have complained about you napping. If you came to Florida, I would have shown you why I was holding back, and why I wouldn’t anymore. If only you had come to Florida.
If you had come to Florida, I would’ve picked you up from the airport and given you a kiss for every freckle on your nose. I would have kissed your face until all the parts in me, drilled hollow from missing you, felt filled up. Then I would have put your suitcase in my car. I would tell you to buckle your seatbelt. I would put on the playlist of your songs, and we would drive home to my beach, to my jungle, to my friends, to my swamp, to my ocean, to me. If you only had come to Florida.
But you did not come to Florida.
Florida is still here, wilder than ever.
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Shanna Merceron is a Florida writer whose work can be found in Philadelphia Stories, Mikroksmos Journal, and Coffin Bell Journal, among others. Shanna holds an MFA in Fiction from Hollins University where she wrote stories that explored the darker aspects of humanity and pushed the boundaries of the strange.
