Your mom called.
I had just gotten back from an early class on Third College campus (to be named Thurgood Marshall College in the future). My sweet freshman year roommate looked concerned with her own statement.
My roommate was from LA, just up the 5 less than 2 hours. She called her mom every day and disliked math. She was randomly put in a room with an Alabama debutante, and for the most part, she was handling it in style. She had beautiful curly hair and a huge smile. But she wasn’t smiling right then.
“Your mom called”
“OK, is everything OK?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Then why the look of concern?”
“I don’t know where she is. She told me, but I didn’t understand! I am so sorry!”
“Not a big problem for sure, but what do you think she said?”
A quick but important aside. I mentioned being a debutante. I was a debutante in every way you would think a Southern girl, raised right, would be. I normally categorize by accent. If you have a twang, the Ball of Roses was probably not on your schedule. If you had a drawl, then put your long white gloves on. And I know that is a very broad brushstroke statement – and I am not out to offend anyone, as I have a drawl, but can certainly act the redneck part with ease!
Oh, and my mom, she has a draaaaaaaawwwwwl.
“She said she was in Tishica. She said she was in Tishica, and that you would know how to find her.”
Tishica.
Tishica.
Tishi–
“Could it have been Tissue Culture?” A smile was already spreading across my face.
“Oh, that’s it!! That’s it! She said she was in Tishica Lab!!”
So, I called my mom back in Tishica.