Attack Of The Fire Ants

It was May 2005 in Holland MI. The rain was coming down steadily which is common for that time of year. However, Mother Nature's urine was not a concern for me. It would only be a couple of days before I was basking in the sun in lovely Palm Beach, Fl.
My mother and stepfather were packing up and heading south. Their house, which had been built only two years before, was now empty. A U-haul truck sat in the driveway loaded to the brim. At the end of the drive sat a trailer with my parent's van propped up on it.
Being the considerate son that I am, I tagged along with Mom so that she would have company and when we reached our destination, she would have help unloading. It would be a long trip, especially tugging a trailer behind the U-haul. My girlfriend at the time sat bitch, I sat shotgun the entire trip(because I lacked a license), and poor old Mom drove this sputtering beast over six states.
The trip was going well. We got started early in the A.M. and were making great time considering the load. If you know my mother, then you know that she is a trooper. Give this woman her Ritalin and Diet Mountain Dew and she can conquer the world. Sure, the trip would prove to be challenging but nothing could defeat us.
We were already in Frankfort Kentucky by mid afternoon and we were ready for a break. We were not stopping to stay the night. No, we would continue to push on, but when you see a sign for the Jim Beam distillery, well, it goes without saying, you must stop. And we did. We lined up with the rest of the tourist and watched a movie about the history of this delicious bourban. Then it was time for shots. Fortunately for me, my mother and lady friend were not up for bourban at 4 in the afternoon. Coming from a long line of drunken white trash from Ireland, I figured no one would mind if I helped myself to their free samples, and no one did.
The field trip was over and it was time to hit the road. Onward we went. Dusk hit as we ascended the Appalachian Mountains into Tennessee. Rain accompanied the night and so did a truck that felt as if it were on the verge of falling apart bolt by bolt. Traveling up the mountains reminded me of the choo choo that could. I was waiting for the U-haul to start reciting the words, "I think I can. I think I can." We had pushed the old truck long enough. It was time to find a place to rest our heads.
We stopped in some town in the middle of Deliverance country. Anywhere was fine with me. We got seperate hotel rooms. Mom in one and the lady and me in the other. We had brought some weed. It was time for the much needed and overdue buzz. Babies don't sleep like we did that night.
The next morning it was up and Adam before the Sun was even considering rising in the east. We continued our push through the Appalachians and were now descending. We had finally reached Georgia but the truck was hurting. Backfiring, sputtering, and making God awful noises. You could sense the fear in the cabin. Little prayers to God were being muttered under my mother's breath. Like a shot gun blast, came the loudest noise I have ever heard a vehicle make.
We pulled over onto the shoulder of the highway. Cars, SUVs, mini-vans, and semi trucks were flying past us. It was a scene from the game Froggert. We stood there looking at the truck with a sense of defeat looming over us. Is this it? We've come so far. Why now?
Suddenly, my mother is slapping at her legs and ankles. I asked, "What is it Mom? Is something biting you?" Mom decided to step off of the shoulder to walk around the vehicle when fire ants attacked. Instantly she became weak. Trying to keep my mind intact after the misfortunes of the day, I encouraged my mother to push on. We would walk to the nearest gas station which we had passed five minutes earlier. My mother made it about twenty feet before the toxic alkaloid from the ants hit her like a ton of bricks. I was frightened that my mother was about to die on the shoulder of some fucking highway in the middle of Georgia(of all places).
"Come on Mom, I'll carry ya." I said. Like any son who loves his mother, I threw her up on my back and carried her piggy back style. The Georgia heat at 10 A.M was overbearing. It had already reached 90 degrees. Fortunately after walking this way for about 5 minutes a man pulled over to offer us a lift. I couldn't believe that we had gone that far without anyone stopping. This was post 9-11. Where were these people's sense of comradery? I 95 is one of the most traveled highways in the U.S.
The kind stranger drove backwards up the shoulder and whipped his truck around at the end of the ramp. The next thing I know is that we are in a BP gas station. My mother, who is a Christain, is yelling for Benadryl. The lady behind the counter says, "Mam, we can't go and give ya benadryl. We don't wanna give ya sumfin that might counteract the hospital's drugs." My mother replied, "Are you fucking kidding me. Abraham, find me benadryl."
An ambulance arrived before I had a chance to find any drugs for my mother. They took her away and like that my girlfriend and I were stranded in Hicksville, USA. What do we do? Should we try to find a way to the hospital? Instead, I contacted the U-haul people and gave them our location. "Yeah, give us bout twenny minutes. We be right out, awrighty." said the mechanic on the phone. Now there was the issue of not being at the BP when my Mother came back, if she even did. Well, no problem there because they both came at the same time, 5 hours later.
So my lady friend, Kylie, and I sat there in the Georgia heat. This was not my idea of basking in the sun. No, that fantasy included margaritas and my girl in a skimpy bathing suit. I began to miss the rain up north and found myself wishing that it was cold.
It was a Sunday and the religious were coming from all different directions to buy only God knows what at their local gas station. I sat on the curb watching the people when an obese black woman fell into the newspaper machines. She lay there crying for her husband as her two year old grandson stood over her with tears in his eyes. "Is this actually fucking happening?" I asked Kylie. I felt the sudden urge to laugh hysterically and found myself using the same muscles one would use to shit in order to prevent any maniacal laughter. We were in the Twilight Zone. I was convinced. I ran into the store and yelled at the old black man paying his bill. "Sir, sir. I think your wife has fallen and hurt herself."
For the second time that day, in a town of no more than 200 residents, the ambulance found its way to the BP gas station. That was when my Mother and the U-haul mechanic showed up seperately and at the exact same time. It was time to leave this madness behind. We would hop in with the mechanic and ride to the U-haul together.
As we approached the truck, we could tell that something wasn't right. While we were showing the locals at the BP how Yankees freak out over fire ants, an 18 wheeler clipped the side of the trailer(carrying the van) and the U-haul. Damage all the way down for 30 some feet. How this was not a collision of monsterous proportions still boggles my mind to this day. The semi simply just scraped the living shit out of the entire side leaving the tires flat on the trailer, a scratch down the side of my Mothers van which resembled the work of a giant keying a vehicle, and a partially dented in side of the U-haul.
We disconnected the trailer. They would come back for that later. The mechanic hooked the truck to his tow truck. I rode with him while my Mother and Kylie drove the van that sat on top of trailer. We were headed into the deep country of some rural Georgian county that reminded me of the slasher films. My imagination was in overdrive. It would only make sense that we would be tortured and murdered by the end of this journey. Some rednecks wearing my Mother's skin while chasing my girlfriend as I hang from a cattle hook. The perfect ending to a terrible day.
We were safe though. There was no torturing of the Yanks. At this point we simply waited while the mechanics worked their magic. A state police officer showed up to fill out an acident report. This may have been the first time that day that I had a panic attack. The officer walked around the van with my mother making note of the damage. That is when I realized that my marijuana was in a hand bag that was plastered up against the back window of the hatch back. The trooper stood next to a quarter ounce of my weed for what seemed like an eternity. He never had any reason to get in the vehicle.
The U-haul was fixed, the trailer recovered, and we were on our way. We drove to northern Florida and stopped for strong drink(which you can't buy in the entire state of Georgia on the lord's day). We stayed the night and started early for Palm Beach. We made it unscathed.