Oh, New Orleans… With open arms, it welcomes old-timers and newcomers alike. It celebrates both joy and sorrow, pleasure and pain, virtue and vice, and it seems to understand that life is a heady mix of it all. Lived here for only two years—noteventwo—and it’s still the only place I feel I belong.
By my estimation, nearly three hundred people pack the street, trailing after the twelve-man band as they blow their horns and beat their drums. It’s one of those Southern October nights. The breeze should be cool with the changing of the seasons, but the air is still sticky. Summer is stubborn here. It hangs on with everything it has, and I’m already sweating through my shirt.
Plus…the crowd. And the noise. And the damn headache!
My vision swims, and bile spurts into the back of my throat, burning the tender skin there. When someone shoves a plastic cup of beer into my hand, I take it down in one desperate gulp. Another beer magically appears—second lines are more than parades. They’re mobile flash mob parties—and I finish that one off too.
Want to forget about life for a while. Want to forget about watching my six and checking my perimeter. Want to forget about my shitty-ass house and my shitty-ass past and my shitty-ass plan.
“Better slow down!” Luc calls above the music and noise. “I don’t wanna hafta toss you over my shoulder like a sack of taters and haul your drunk ass home!”
“It’s a second line!” I shout. And when someone hands me another beer, I pass this one off to Luc. “Loosen up!”
He laughs and shakes his head. But to my relief, he dutifully powers down the beer. Then he chucks the empty into the trash can on the corner as the parade makes a left on Royal. He’s no longer scanning the crowd, looking for threats.
Progress indeed.
The band picks up the tempo with a rendition of “Big Chief” and the crowd goes wild, jumping and dancing and hollering its approval. I wince as a railroad spike pierces my brain.
Tonight the booze isn’t doing the trick. Digging in my pocket, I pull out two pills and wait until Luc looks away before tossing them into my mouth. Washing them down with a big glug of whiskey from my flask, I happily accept another beer from a parading stranger.
Fifteen minutes later, the pills are beginning to do their job. They’ve taken the edge off my headache and replaced it with a warm buzz. I smile at Maggie when she glances back at me, her angel eyes crinkled with happiness.
“All she needs is an explanation.” Luc’s deep voice easily cuts through the chaos. “If you told her how it was for you, she’d be yours again by tomorrow.”
His words have an odd feeling growing inside me. It’s simultaneously heavy and hollow. “I care about her too much to want to make her mine again.”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “Did the firemen give you some ointment for your naked ass after this most recent pants fire?”
He has a way of cutting to the chase in the cleverest of ways. “Okay, fine. Idowant to make her mine again. I’vealwayswanted her to be mine. But give me a little credit, will you? I’m a wreck. If I still love her—”
“Which you do,” he’s quick to interject.
“Which I do,” I agree, since there’s no use denying such a cosmic truth. “Then why would I want to saddle her with what I’ve become? You know as well as I do, this head injury might not get any better. It could get worse.”
“And what? Your grand plan is to string her along until you know for sure one way or the other?”
Before I can answer, Maggie dances back to us and links her arms through ours. She’s radiant in her happiness. Like a star. Like the sun. Like fireworks on the Fourth of July.
I wish I had Luc’s way with words. But to put it simply, she sparkles. She shines. All I want is to bask in her glow.
