Brandon and Daisy Attack the Carolinas 2026, Part IV: Not Shot

 

Sofie, my parents' oldest dog (13), on Daisy's foot on the back porch.

So, roughly a day and a half into the trip, Daisy said she acquired a sore throat.

This in itself is nothing really new; the allergens down there are brutal even on the best of days, and Daisy and I are both really allergy-affected. Plus, and we learned this was no joke when we arrived, we were indeed in the peak of pollen season -- pollen so thick it left an ugly yellow dust on everything, but especially noticeable on automobiles. And, Daisy is slightly allergic to dogs. It's not awful for her, and my parents' dogs have never really affected her much, but it bears bringing up because that's a thing. 

Over the course of about two days, her sickness got worse and worse. She could barely speak, she had white dots all over her throat and uvula, and she was deathly afraid she'd gotten strep. 

She hadn't, by the way -- we got her checked out at an urgent care in Southport the day before we left -- she tested clear for strep and also clear for flu, Covid, and RSV. What she did (and really, still does) have is an ear infection and a bad cold, just enough to make her miserable. And it put a damper on the entire trip for her, really. Her energy levels were lower, she slept longer, etc.

Anyway. Onward with the story.

On Sunday, my parents had floated the idea of going to the local Mexican restaurant, where (as they tend to do with all of the Mexican restaurants they frequent) they know everyone there, and they are adored customers. That's a thing with my family, actually -- has been since the 90s. Both of the big independent Mexican restaurants in Morgantown, to this day, are on a very friendly, first-name basis with my parents due to their frequent patronage, and the owners and longtime proprietors also know me -- and I haven't lived there for almost two decades now. That's just who my parents are -- they make friends with the local Mexican places and because of this, they get top-tier food and service. I can't tell you how many stories I have about my childhood and teenage years that either started at, or revolved around, one of these restaurants.

So, because of this, we were down for it. Well, I was at least -- I enjoyed the food there last year when we had my parents' birthday party there in August. Daisy was less enthused because of the cross-contamination of foods and the fact that there is very little on the menu she can eat because she's vegan. For me, at least, I can enjoy anything if it's fried hard enough or if there's enough queso involved, so for me it's a delight to get something different that I don't normally have at home. 

The meal was fine enough; I got a few a-la-carte options, and some were better than others. Daisy got some vegetarian rice and vegetables dish that she only ate about half of to be polite; she wasn't feeling it that day and mentioned to me privately that she pulled some cheese and/or meat out of her dish, which soured her on her experience there. My own food was adequate, but not amazing or anything like that. It was a decent meal, but I'm not clamoring to go back the next time we're there (spoiler alert: my parents love it, so we will definitely go back the next time we're there). 

And then we returned home for dome downtime. My mother had mentioned that she wanted us to go see live music at the American Fish Company in Southport that evening, as they knew a couple of people in the band from...somewhere. I have no idea where. I know my dad knew the drummer pretty well, from what he told us. 

Live music isn't exactly our thing -- I can count on one hand the number of times we've gone to concerts in the 14 years we've been together, and those very few events were almost always my idea (seeing KMFDM live in Omaha a couple years back is a very good example of this). However, we're in North Carolina with my parents -- my parents who, for most of their lives, live music has been an integral part. My dad was a performing musician for close to 50 years of his life, and my mother (likely because of this) has always loved seeing live music, whether in the park or in a bar or in a small concert venue/bandstand area such as at the American Fish Company in Southport.

"It's the place where the shooting was a while back," Mom said nonchalantly, as if it were just a passing event that came and went.

And this is true. In the time since our last visit (August) to this one (March) there was, indeed, a mass shooting at the American Fish Company that killed three, injured six, and brought a lot of pain and anguish to the community down there. Southport is not a big city; there's less than 4,000 people who live there, and about double that on Oak Island where my parents live. They're small ocean resort communities and this shooting greatly rattled them.

For a short time. And then apparently everything went back to normal. Because that's what America does with mass shootings -- they're so frequent that nobody lets them linger in the public consciousness that long, for there's always another one on the horizon. Oh sure, there are some of them we'll remember forever -- Columbine, Kent State, etc -- but by and large, they are sadly forgotten with the next news cycle or the next stupid political backfire.

Anyway. None of us but my mother really wanted to go see the band play. I was five minutes from falling into a deep sleep before we were reminded that it was time to go. But, because we're good sports and because we only get to see my mother once or twice a year (if that), Daisy and I got ourselves ready and then got into the back of the parents' new CR-V (I'll get to this later) to go see this band play.

They...weren't bad. 

Look at all of us, not getting shot at.

Once we were there, you wouldn't know that a shooting had occurred there barely six months ago. Aside from a simple memorial cross at the entrance (you can actually see it in this photo on the far left, if you zoom in at the edge of the dock where the pole is), there was no mention of or other memorial to the shooting victims. Life goes on, I guess. 

It was loud and we were on the water and standing to the back and to the left of the band -- no, that's not a shooting joke, it's just where we were -- and we stayed there for maybe forty minutes before I was like "well, I'm done," which seemed to be genuinely to the quiet relief of Daisy and my dad, and we left and came back home to the island. 

So now, I guess, I can say I've actually been somewhere a mass shooting happened. The entire time I was there, all I could do was think to myself this is likely like any other Sunday night here. I bet those folks who were shot thought that too, and how many of these employees who are here right now were also here the night of the shooting, and lived through it...and are just pretending to be okay? I can tell you, with a fairly high degree of certainty, that I would not be okay were something similar ever to happen anywhere I ever worked.

Now that Daisy and I work from home and all four of our parents are fully retired, the likelihood of something like that happening to any of us is greatly lowered. But it still is one of the many, many things at this point that make me disgusted to be an American these days.

What's wild is that in North Carolina, everything outside the bubble of the beach communities seems so much more inconsequential. Nobody seems to care about gas prices or the war in Iran, and it appears the people there who are Trump supporters are always going to continue to be Trump supporters. The big thing I saw that had everyone's fur up, while we were there? Overdevelopment of the island and surround communities. The residents there are up in arms that all of the peaceful land and lots around them are being bought and built upon, sometimes being built up big time -- hotels, strip malls, apartment complexes -- everything popping up everywhere. My mother says it's a concern that the island will run out of fresh water. Which, I guess, should be a concern everywhere, but is much more of one in an oceanfront community. And it is true; almost everywhere we went, we saw new construction or new houses being built on formerly vacant lots -- lots of money being spent on expansion.

Still, I think it's safe to say the island will be almost exactly the same twenty years from now than it is now. There are 8,000 people on Oak Island who are full-time residents. That balloons to 50,000 during the tourist months, and honestly, they have to have somewhere to go and things to do. Aside from some restaurants and bars, and some beachfront souvenir stores, there's almost nothing on the island to do. There's not a movie theater, there's not a dedicated music venue, there's not even a comic shop or record shop that I was able to find. There's no Walmart, no Target, not even any fast food places I can remember -- all of those things are in Southport at the closest, and if not Southport, Wilmington.

There's ten different ice cream places, though, and probably fifteen seafood-centric restaurants. 

Look, I would move there just to get away from everything else -- don't get me wrong, I think Oak Island is a gorgeous little seaside town, surrounded by beaches and being right there on the ocean. And I personally would not be bored living there, because I don't need to constantly be entertained by public venues and events -- but make no mistake, it would be a much, much slower lifestyle than it is living in the middle of a big city like Omaha, and I could absolutely live with that.

There would be times, though, where I'd want to go see a movie, or I'd want to go do something outdoors that didn't involve getting sand in my shoes, and I'd probably feel a little stifled. Would that be worth it for me, knowing that? 

Yes. A thousand times, yes. Get me the fuck out of Nebraska.

Anyway.

I don't remember much of the night after returning from the concert; I don't even remember if I showered or not. What I do know is that I fell into bed and let sleep take over, quite early -- possibly even before it was fully dark outside for the night. This is speculation, though -- when I was there, I did this a lot, and the days tended to blend together.