And just like that, I was adopted.
We laughed the whole ride there, doing shots every time the bus hit a pothole, hyping each other up like we had known each other since kindergarten.
When we finally made it to cemetery, the tour guide was this slim man in an all-black outfit standing in front of the big iron gates and said in his most serious tone:
“Before we start, I need y’all to walk in and out backwards. You don’t want a spirit latching on and following you home.”
One of the cousins screamed, “Oh hell nah! Take me back to my car, I don’t do that ghost mess!”
We all hollered laughing, but not a soul walked in forward. Nope. We all did a little awkward moonwalk into the cemetery like we were about to open for Micheal Jackson.
As we walked, the guide started telling us about Marie Laveau, the legendary Voodoo Queen of New Orleans.
“Marie was a healer, a priestess, a midwife, and the most respected spiritual force in the city. Even after death, people still leave her offerings. She didn’t just dabble in voodoo, she lived it.”
He pointed to a tomb covered in triple Xs, beads, coins, and little handwritten notes.
“This is where folks come to ask for favors. Knock three times, leave a gift, and say what you want. Just don’t take nothing. You take something from Marie’s tomb, and it won’t be us you gotta deal with.”
I looked around, holding my bottle like a cross.
“Chile, I ain’t touching nothing but the air.”
Then,I kid you not,a glowing green orb zipped across the path in front of us. The entire group gasped like it was a Tyler Perry plot twist.
“Did y’all see that?” one cousin yelled. “Uh uh, I know I ain’t drunk enough for that to be my imagination.”
The guide calmly turned around, sipping from his own flask and said:
“That’s a spirit. Green means good. They just watching. They vibing.”
“And what color we don’t want to see?” I asked, slowly inching toward the exit.
“Purple. That’s chaos. That’sdon’t-look-back-and-just-runenergy.”
“Yeah, I’m out,” one girl said. “If I see anything purple, I’m throwing my flask and calling Jesus.”
By the time we walked back out, we were half-drunk, halfway spooked, and fully in love with New Orleans all over again.
Before we left, the guide stopped us one last time.
“Before you go, turn around, thank the spirits for letting you visit. Be respectful.”
We all turned toward the tombs like we were at a Sunday altar call.
“Thanks y’all,” I whispered. “And please don’t follow me back to the hotel. I ain’t got enough sage for all that.”
Maison was kicked back on the bed wearing a fitted black shirt and gold chain. His legs were crossed at the ankles, eyes locked on me as I finished putting on my lashes in the mirror.
“You always take this long?” he teased.
“Don’t rush perfection,” I said, sticking my tongue out as I checked my lip liner. “Besides, I had a long day. I earned this beat.”
“Oh yeah?” He sat up a little. “What were you doing out there in my streets?”
I turned, lips curled in a grin. “Did I tell you I signed up for a BYOB cemetery tour this morning?”
His brow lifted. “Wait… bring your own bottle? To the cemetery?”
