dispatch #3 - new orleans
we left bentonia with the sun hanging low behind us. rolled into new orleans late. the city rising out of the dark like something old you almost forgot. the next morning me and my youngest took the streetcar to city park. coffee and beignets at morning call. a ritual we keep still.
the day after we walked the quarter. the kids had never been. they were more curious than i expected. the iron balconies. the smell of fried shrimp and rain. i’d been coming here for years. it’s my second home. now it’s theirs too.
all day i hunted doreen. doreen with the angel clarinet. the one who really has it. looked for her down every rain-slicked street. in that wet heat that means to choke you. it was late afternoon when i turned onto royal and heard her. blowing like she was calling something down from another world. i didn’t speak. just stood and watched. sent the kids to drop some bills in the jar. bought a cd though i had no player. didn’t matter.
later that evening our neighbor at the rental bumped the car trying to park. a small thing. no damage. but i watched my wife scream at him in the street. and something in me went quiet. i knew it was over. whatever we were trying to fix was gone.
it’s hard when things end. hard to lose. hard to let go of what you thought you had.
but later i found out the man she’d screamed at was a priest. and i remembered —
god doesn’t give you what you want.
he gives you what you need.
