Florida Oranges

Driving down the humid dirt roads of central Florida all I can see are saturated greens and oranges, faded browns, and faces that look nothing like mine. The trees above me are heavy with just-ripe oranges and the weight of the fruit brings the trees closer to my truck making the road feel smaller than it already is. I feel trapped and uneasy and I'm not exactly sure why.
I step out of the F150 at a dilapidated grocery store on the outskirts of a small town called Eustis. I see faded storefronts and brown faces and all I can think is that Jim Crow was repealed in 67, but Eustis, central Florida, and the majority of America clearly never got that memo. Almost every town I have driven through over the past few months is starkly divided across racial lines whether it be a northeastern city or the rural south, but that division somehow feels more prominent here.
I open the flimsy screen door and make my way inside to the sound of tinkling bells. I browse the aisles quickly and walk up to the counter with my small haul of cranberry juice, a package of Keebler cheese and crackers, and of course a couple oranges. An African American woman around my age stands behind the register and looks at me with an exhausted kindness.
"Where are you coming in from, Ma'am?" she asks with a smile.
I reply that I've just driven down from Atlanta after spending a couple days visiting one of my granddaughters and ask if she has any kids or grandkids of her own.
"Well my late husband was the Reverend here in Egypt Town before he passed . We had three boys who were born and raised right here, but they're all long gone now" she explains with a hint of sadness.
"Where are they living now?" I inquire.
"Oh they're all over. Johnny went up to Philadelphia not long after his twentieth birthday, Sam is out in Chicago, and our littlest Bill found himself up in Milwaukee not too long ago. It seems like all of the kids 'round here went west or north or anywhere where you didn't have to pick oranges," she says with a tired laugh. "There's not much left of Egypt Town nowadays, but I guess there was never much to it to begin with."
I smile at that, not knowing what to say. I pay, say goodbye to the woman, and put my groceries on the passenger seat to eat once I'm out of this lonely half-town.