Like Traveling

You are at the travel agency where your grandma works a few days a week. It is close to your house and you visit her after school sometimes. You are in fifth grade. She is at her desk and gets up to greet you with a kiss on the cheek and a squeeze on both upper arms. You can feel the imprint of her hands for a few seconds after she sits back down. She is wearing a blue dress with a thin red belt. She always looks sharp. Her cap of red hair makes her look Scottish. Which she is. You say hello to Georgia, the owner who is in her office with the glass walls. Your grandma, who is young and peppy and not like your other grandma, hands you a brochure — a new offering for the agency —  Turks & Caicos. You put the brochure with its photo of blue water to your nose and inhale. You love the inky printer smell. You put it back on your grandma's desk. Your family calls each other Turkey — like, You turkey when you say something hilarious or when you don't hang up your towel, or your mom says, Hey Turk when she picks up the phone and its her sister. You love this travel agency. Just being inside is like traveling. The walls of this cozy space are covered with giant scenes from exotic places. Palm trees and white sand and sparkling water. Gondolas and water roadways. The Great Wall of China. You like to stand with your back to them, close, and say Grandma, look! I'm in Hawaii and you do a little hula dancing. And your grandma stands up, pushing her chair back with the backs of her knees and waves her arms and hips and says, like this, and you do it like she does.