New Orleans is her hometown. Her life. Her energy. She loved to dance to jazz in the clubs that had just a $2 cover. The tourists didn’t know about those places nor would they have the courage to go to those. Well, some had the liquid courage.
She also shared an apartment with her Tulane friends. She loved the parties. Those were good times. She loved walking barefoot in the house parties where everyone felt safe, wild and free. The cats skulked everywhere always ready to pounce.
Everything felt feral.
She would follow the cats to the alleys behind the house. She was curious as to their path. Where did they come from and where did they go? They zig-gaged their way with apparent purpose although no set destination. In a way she wanted to be them. She longed to be them. Feral, purposeful and no endpoint.
One night she followed two tabby cats whose fur glowed in the humid darkness. She wondered how they could be so luminescent. That’s she was in that photo as well. She glowed with happiness.
Then it all ended in that alley. She lost her innocence. She lost her bleary-eyed visions of her future. She became one with destiny.
She followed the tabby cats to a spot upon which no light shone. She wasn’t fearful. She was aware and tingled.
The cats stared at her and their glow intensified.
She wasn’t fearful. She was tingled and sought meaning in their eyes.
She nodded her head and stated for all to hear “I am ready.”
She climbed up the building side making her way to the rooftop.
There she saw her great grandmother, Marie Laveau. Now she would haunt by her side lapping up the gifted bourbons. She was purposeful but with no set destination.