LIFE IN THE GREEN LANE
What does it mean to be a tourist in places that were on the wrong side of moral history? Today my family and I are deep in the American South. First we checked out Moundville, a site so ancient that a whole thriving civilization rose and declined long before the Europeans even showed up. In fact, this busy, complicated community, with its city plaza and skilled craftspeople, nobles, and commoners, was abandoned long ago. Historians are unsure how the people who lived there relate to the historic Native American tribes of the region. Wild, right? Hard to describe but very cool.
Though maybe ancient Moundsville’s not as hard to imagine as the fancy antebellum mansions we went to next, so perfectly preserved, you can imagine chilling out on the porch, maybe sitting down to dinner with the family in the dining room, or curling up with a good book in one of the off-the-hook cozy-looking bedrooms. (HELLO, featherbed!) These houses look fresh and tidy, including the original slave quarters on display for all to see. Yep, that’s right. Slave quarters. Where people owned as property were forced to live.
Which is more bizarre? Giant bumps in the ground that held sophisticated culture over five hundred years ago? Or perfectly preserved buildings from barely two hundred years ago where people owned other people as slaves? Put it another way: My great-great-great-grandparents were alive when some of these houses were built. Family members I have pictures of, who my great-grandma told me all about…they were alive for this. Makes it seem pretty recent, when you think about it. A lot’s changed in our world since then, of course. But not everything. Not enough. And today we still have to work hard and fierce to push back the injustice that wants to creep up like the kudzu that grows everywhere down here.
Is it scary to fight back? Maybe sometimes. But when well-meaning people tell us to be careful for ourselves, not to take risks to protest injustice…well, that’s when injustice grows and wraps its tickling vines around communities, cities, and the whole country. History isn’t over yet, kids. We still have to go to work, no matter what some people think.
Peace, Laurel
Oh, Moundville. It definitely lived up to the name, in that there are big mounds of earth poking up out of the ground. But honestly, I think they could get more tourists if they gave it a catchier name, like the Ancient City or the Buried Cove of Magic. We all stared at them for a few minutes, but really, how many things can you say about a mound of dirt, even if it is historical and important? I think Mom felt bad for how grumpy she’s been, because she was trying to be all upbeat and cheery, making up a story for Ladybug about a little girl who might have lived there hundreds of years ago, but Ladybug was hot and mad and said that she and Bruce needed lemonade. So we left. The NTFs stayed in the visitor center, which I have to say was probably a good idea. I can’t really imagine Miss Ruby and Miss Georgia slogging through that heat to stare at a mound of dirt, no matter how ancient.
Now we’re in Eutaw, which does indeed have lots of fancy old houses. We’re staying at one that was turned into a guesthouse, with a rainbow pride flag over a porch that’s painted and decorated nearly as bright as the flag. It’s owned by two men who seemed scary uptight at first but turned out to be chatty and friendly and excellent cooks. They have three dogs: Lulu, BooBoo, and KooKoo, and they let Ladybug take a photo of the three of them wearing their dressy rhinestone collars, with Bruce balanced in front of them. When we first arrived yesterday, the two men got us “a little bite,” which I now know means an epic amount of food. They brought out sweet tea, three different kinds of cake, and a spreadable cheese thing that was actually delicious. Ian, one of the owners, said it was his own pimento cheese spread and it was so good, it was almost illegal. He’s not wrong.
Travis tried to get me to talk to him about what I was writing in this journal, but I gave him a kind of vague non-answer and kept writing, and finally he wandered off to play checkers with Ladybug.
Yeah. I know that wasn’t the nicest thing to do. But…gah! Between his nosiness—okay, I mean friendliness—and Mimi constantly creeping up and asking if I can “share a little more about the experience,” I’m ready to become a hermit. Still, I feel kind of bad. Though by the way he’s hooting and cheering, it must be a pretty good checkers game. Travis is hard to figure out. I’m still not sure if he’s making fun of me with that giant smile. It’s weird to smile like that all the time, right? If he’s not scamming, he’s the friendliest human being I’ve ever met. Who are we kidding? He’s probably glad not to be talking to me anyway.
We booked two rooms, but since they had a late cancellation, they said we could take a third room. Ladybug and I had a room to ourselves. Never before has sharing a bed with my sister felt like a luxury. But, boy, was it. Not only was it a break from Mimi’s bullfrog noises, but we were also in a giant canopy bed that was so tall, there were stairs to get into it. New book title: The Girl Who Refused to Get Out of Bed. Because…yeah. SO GOOD! Also, I can do my morning yoga without having to stretch halfway under a bunk in one direction and halfway in the bathroom in the other. It makes half-moon pose much easier. Last time I tried it on the train, I accidentally flushed the toilet with my foot.
After breakfast—another “little bite” that included gluten-free waffles with whipped cream and homemade peach-and-rhubarb compote…I mean, seriously!—we went out to tour the old houses. Turns out “antebellum” means they’re from before the Civil War. Which means they have slaves’ quarters. Which…honestly, makes me feel gross. I know no one’s living in them now, and they’re kept for authentic history reasons, but still. Root says those who don’t know their past are condemned to repeat it, and that it’s important to keep “America’s dark atrocities”—he actually said that—in our minds so that we can be our best selves as a country.
Sometimes I don’t know what to make of Root. I mean, he’s tragically earnest about every single thing—I don’t think I’ve ever heard him use sarcasm, which is practically Laurel’s second language. But he’s always trying to convince some stranger to join an environmental cause, or rushing off to throw out garbage he sees on the train platform. He makes me think of that old poster my Nana had up in the bathroom, with a girl walking down a beach where tons of starfish were stranded up on the sand. The girl starts throwing them back into the water, and a man walks up and asks why she bothers, since there are too many for her to possibly make a difference. And the girl takes another one, throws it into the sea, and says, “I made a difference to that one!”
Root’s like that girl, I guess.
Almost time to go back to the Tuscaloosa station and get back on the train. Travis and Ladybug and Laurel seem to have some big plan for a game called Telephone Pictionary. Whatever.
UGH! What is up with him? Another note. It’s hard to tell….Is he being sarcastic about my hand being tired?? I will NOT answer him. He’s clearly a caudex. (Also, that’s so weird about the shinbones.)
Fun Fact!
Meridian, Mississippi, was established in 1860 at the junction of several rail lines, but it burned to the ground at the conclusion of the Civil War. (Again with the “burned to the ground”! That appears to have been a big thing in the Civil War.)
Fun Fact!
Laurel, Mississippi, is the birthplace of Lance Bass, member of the noted boy band ’NSYNC. (Okay, I can’t even. First of all, when Mom read this, she actually busted out with an old ’NSYNC song, which was both astonishing and embarrassing. Pop music is more Mimi’s thing, but apparently Mom was a huge fan back in the day. WHO KNEW? And second, “noted boy band”? Maybe a million years ago! The only reason I’ve heard of them is because there was Retro Night at school last year. Again I ask, who writes these things??)
Not-So-Fun Fact!
Three middle-aged women who are traveling to New Orleans to celebrate their “Divorce-iversary” joined Mom in singing. What a group of stultissimi! New book title: The Girl Whose Face Lit a Train on Fire.
I wonder what Em and Saanvi are doing right now. I don’t even rem
ember what day it is until I look at a calendar, and since we haven’t had WiFi lately, I haven’t checked email since Atlanta. One thing I can absolutely guarantee they aren’t doing? Watching entire buildings turn green with kudzu, this fast-growing vine that’s taking over the South, while listening to a bunch of ladies singing “I Want You Back.” In all honestly, I don’t know what’s scarier. But this kudzu is wild….If you stood still for a few hours in one place, it would wrap you up and smother you. Abandoned cars, telephone poles, piles of garbage, and even old houses are all overgrown. Not covered like a plant might wind around a tree at home, but covered like someone took a blanket and laid it over top. It looks like something out of a science fiction story.
We’re almost in New Orleans, which I can’t decide if I’m excited about or not. On the one hand, we get off the train for a few days, and we’re done with the Crescent! One train down, three more to go! On the other hand, all I really know about New Orleans is music and partying, and as I said before, the Goldilocks thing is really annoying. Not like I’d want to be out partying until one in the morning, but there’s something kind of lame about walking around with a six-year-old calling you Woofy Dog when everyone else is having a wild time. And YES, of course I realize there is another person here my age, but I DON’T CARE. Just because he’s on the train doesn’t mean he’s suddenly my new best friend. Though, speaking of best friends, Miss Georgia and Miss Ruby played a joke on Mary Sandra, our current train attendant. They called her over, sounding all panicked, and asked if the air-conditioning on the train was running, because they felt like it was “oppressively hot” and getting hotter. When Mary Sandra said, “Yes, darlin’s, of course it’s running!” they immediately bust out into these loud cackles, and shouted, “WELL, THEN YOU BETTER GO CATCH IT!”
Seriously.
I don’t think I’ve heard that one since kindergarten….Even Ladybug and her friends are too sophisticated for it. But it was actually pretty funny—Mary Sandra looked totally freaked out for a minute, then laughed so hard, she had to sit down and slap the back of the seat a few times. That made Miss Georgia laugh even harder, and she almost fell off her seat when the train took a curve, which had Miss Ruby sobbing, she was cackling so hard. I wish Em and Saanvi were here….Though hopefully we’d find better jokes than that. (Who am I kidding? Our jokes aren’t any funnier. For reference? We once laughed for an hour in Vi’s room because of the way her voice squeaked on the word “underwear.” So who am I to talk?)
Fun Fact!
Picayune, Mississippi, has become home to many who moved north from the Gulf Coast and New Orleans, searching for a safer place to live after Hurricane Katrina. (There is nothing particularly fun about this….I continue to wonder about whoever wrote these!)
Fun Fact!
A 6.2-mile-long trestle bridge carries the Crescent across Lake Pontchartrain, the second-largest saltwater lake in the US. (Okay, this really is a fun fact, because the tracks we’re on are narrower than the train, which means if I stare out the window, all I see is water rushing by. It looks like we’re flying over the water, and I can’t help thinking of the Harry Potter movie (none of them were as good as the books but they were still pretty good) where he’s riding his broomstick really low over the water and skims his hand on the surface. This isn’t quite that cool, but it’s close!)
Mom just sidled up to me and asked what I want to do in New Orleans. I wasn’t sure. I know we’re going to hear some music at one of the places that allows kids, and of course eat some famous food, like beignets, which are a kind of donut-ish thing, and po’boys, which are fancy sandwiches, and so on. But other than that I didn’t really know.
“Are there any famous writers from New Orleans?” I asked finally. Maybe I can at least try to get some inspiration for a story.
Mimi, who I guess was listening, jumped like she’d sat on a tack. “Are there any writers? New Orleans is known as one of the most literary cities in the country! Why, everyone from Mark Twain to Ernest Hemingway wrote here. We can take a literary walking tour of the city, if you want!”
I smiled. Finally something that fit—Goldilocks never had it so good. “Perfect. Do you think everyone needs to go? I mean—” I backpedaled, not wanting to sound mean. But the thought of trying to get into the literary spirit while Ladybug took photos of Bruce and Root wandered off to assess the bee population…
Mimi must have been thinking some of the same things, because she pushed her hair out of her eyes and nodded thoughtfully at Mom. “Maybe it can just be the three of us. A special date,” she said, and I admit it, I might have felt a little guilty, but not enough to suggest we should invite everyone else.
Fun Fact!
Note the aboveground cemetery as the train enters New Orleans. The land above the water table isn’t deep enough for there to be belowground cemeteries. (If I’m understanding this correctly, dead bodies are sitting above the ground in stone boxes, because if they were buried there, they’d be underwater? Okay, that is CREEPY.)
Not-So-Fun Fact!
The force of Hurricane Katrina literally raised the dead from their resting places, as coffins were ripped up and sent floating around the Gulf Coast. (Okay, YIKES. That’s the creepiest thing I’ve ever heard.)
We’re here. There are roughly a million people wandering around outside the hotel, singing and dancing on the sidewalks. Every bar and restaurant has open doors with air-conditioning blasting out into the steamy street, which of course has Root freaking out over energy loss. People are crammed in all the doorways, half inside and half out, laughing and shouting at people walking by. Every door has different music pouring out along with the air-conditioning; one has some guy singing about wasting away in Margaritaville, the next has tons of trumpets and saxophones and other horns, while across the street some country-western song has people stomping and cheering. Gavin looked a little too excited about that one. He started singing along, with Miss Ruby and Miss Georgia and Travis joining in on the chorus. I would say it was horribly embarrassing, except literally no one even noticed. This place is WILD.
We finally got into our guesthouse, a tiny brick building on a side street around the corner from all the action. It looks kind of dingy on the outside, and the light next to the door was out, which had Ladybug grabbing Mom’s hand and asking about monsters. But inside it’s all bright and kind of fancy, and there’s a big garden in the middle of the building that you can’t even see from the street. Mimi said it’s called a courtyard. Mom asked right away if there was some kind of street fair or event going on, and the woman behind the desk laughed, and said, “Lawd, no, darlin’! You just in N’awlins now!”
Then she walked over and planted a big kiss on Mom’s cheek.
Mimi whooped and asked where she could get herself a feather boa like the one the desk woman was wearing.
Mom looked tired.
That was no bathing suit. Wow. This place sure is nuts….Poor Root is so red, he looks like his poncho.
It looks like a totally different city than it did last night. The street cleaners are out in carts and trucks and on foot, basically hosing down the whole garbage-and-beads-and-grossness mess from the street and making it all gleam and shine in the early morning sun. It’s already hot, like hottest-day-of-summer-in-Shipton hot, but compared to yesterday it actually doesn’t feel so bad. The rest of the family and the NTFs are doing their own tour this morning—uptown to Tulane University and the zoo—so Mimi and Mom and I walked down to this famous restaurant called Café Du Monde to have beignets. Apparently this place is known for café au lait, which is really warm milk with a little bit of coffee. Sounds kind of gross, but I figured it couldn’t be worse than the black coffee on the train. I’m still traumatized by that.
The waiter is movie-star gorgeous, with slicked-back hair and a tattoo sticking up out of his shirt collar. He has an accent too…not a Southern accent but exotic, from overseas somewhere. Mom just had to snap her fingers in front of my face to get me to focus.
I guess I should put this away for now.
UGH. That went from awesome to bad really fast. I guess I should start back at the café.
Once we’d ordered, Mimi leaned in and, as expected, started asking questions.
“Say-Say, I’m so eager to hear what you think of it all! Now that we finally have some time, can you share a little of your impressions so far?”
I know what she wanted to hear. She wanted me to tell her that the trip is amazing, that I’m loving it, that it’s the best idea she’s ever had. She wanted lots of details so she can cram them all into her book.
But I couldn’t do it. “Rae? Please try to remember,” I said.
Mimi’s face kind of froze in her smile, but before she could answer, the waiter came back.
I tried not to stare, but wowza…he was pretty dazzling.
Of course things had to go wrong.
Mimi was babbling away to Mr. Handsome, Mimi-style, asking where he was from and how he liked New Orleans. He told her he’s from Ukraine, over in the United States on a student visa but hoping to stay. Then Mimi asked what he’s studying, and as they blathered, I started in on a second beignet….They’re really delicious. Suddenly I heard my name and inhaled powdered sugar, choking as it hit my windpipe.
MIMI:
Our middle daughter, Sara…sorry! I mean Rae…is a writer too!
MR. HANDSOME:
This Would Make a Good Story Someday Page 6