Tangerine

“The house looked strange. It was completely empty now, and the door was flung wide open, like something wild had just escaped from it. Like it was the empty, two-story tomb of some runaway zombie.”

Paul is already estranged from his old house—and the memories contained therein—as he and Mom leave for Tangerine, Florida. Dad and Erik—the “something wild”—have already left for Tangerine. The tomb-like appearance of the house, coupled with the disturbed rest of the “runaway zombie,” imply that whatever memories the family made here will not rest peacefully.

“The scenery was not what I had expected at all, and I stared out the window, fascinated by it. We passed mile after mile of green fields overflowing with tomatoes and onions and watermelons.”

Paul’s very first experience of Florida reveals his affinity for the natural world and for organic growth. He is “fascinated” by the fields of crops, which will later transfer to his affinity for the Cruz family tangerine groves. It is no wonder that he views the suburban developments with skepticism, with their fake lakes (“Lake” Windsor is merely a pond) and pretentious nomenclature (in addition to Lake Windsor, there are the Manors of Coventry and the Villas at Versailles).

“Then I started thinking about a zombie, a pissed-off zombie. Dragging one foot behind him. Keeping to the right. Taking his time. Slowly, surely, stalking his way down Interstate 10.”

Again, the image of the zombie, shambling inextricably toward Paul and his family evokes an enduring yet unrecovered memory that will eventually overtake them: The horrific truth about Paul’s loss of vision. Paul is stalked by an uneasy feeling that, even though the Fisher family has left Houston behind, unfinished business haunts them.