Thursday I went to New Orleans. It went really, really well. One of my favorite professors is going to write a letter of recommendation for my law school applications. I tied up a few loose ends that have been dangling since graduation. I ate a wonderful lunch at Boucherie with my grand-little, Margaret. It was sunny and 78 degrees. It was tough to leave.
I feel something let go inside me when I get to the top of the last overpass on Earhart and see the Superdome, downtown, and the connection. I have never felt as if I belonged as much anywhere else besides my Big Easy, sitting at the levee and watching the water whoosh by. I love the river, how she sweeps through town like a woman dancing to the melody of love singing in her soul. I love the lake, too, how it’s gray waves bump and splash like jazz on rainy days. I miss that water.
The slow, easy laughs of friends on the front porch, the unspeakable joy of biting into an oyster poboy slathered with both mayonnaise and butter, (yes, I know… You truly can’t speak on that until you’ve tried it though.) dressed, and doused healthily with Crystal, the woeful strains of blues seeping through the cracks in Snug Harbor’s facade… The city breathes through its food, its music, and its people.
I am proud to be one of New Orleans’s people. I am happy that when I got on the rental car shuttle, the driver said, “Well there’s a young lady who looks like she’s home. Welcome back, sweet pea.” It was nice to be welcomed. It was nice to be back, even just for the day. Nice to be home.