She showered quickly and threw on her jeans and light denim shirt. No one expected it, but Nelle wanted to make sandwiches for the trip to save time. West River to New Orleans and back again in one day was a long trip, no matter how fast Chief Boudreaux could drive.
Nelle slathered mayonnaise on six pieces of thick white bread, topping one side with generous ripe tomatoes fresh from the garden. She used up all the baloney in the package, three slices each. Here I go again. Threes. It’s a bunch of baloney! She laughed at herself as she placed the thin slivers of the round meat on the other half of bread, and wrapped them in wax paper.
A carton of chocolate Yoo-Hoo drinks that Granddad bought for her were still untouched. Her favorite drink, they would be perfect for the long trip. She grabbed three cans of Vienna sausage and the half-finished box of saltine crackers. Remembering how her grandfather would slice them long ways and finish them with a smear of mustard, Nelle took the small jar of mustard from the refrigerator.
That should get us there, she mused, packing the food in a big brown paper grocery bag. She lifted the carton of drinks from the floor to the table just in time to hear the slam of the car door. Turning instinctively toward the sound, she saw Pete entering her kitchen, smiling, his hair still damp, smelling like soap.
“Hey,” he whispered, stepping lightly in the dawning light, taking her by the waist with his strong hands, pulling her in closely. “Good morning.”
She kissed him sweetly, longing for day when they could greet each other with a kiss every morning. His touch lately was as much comfort as passion, and she needed them both.
Chief Boudreaux’s short beep on the horn interrupted the moment.
“Take the drinks,” Nelle said, pointing to the table. “I made us some lunch and snacks so we don’t have to stop too much. Let’s go,” she said smiling, as she followed Pete out the door into the soft gray twilight of the coming dawn.
Nelle slid into the back seat and Pete placed the drinks on the floor next to her. He rode shotgun up front with the chief.
“Okay?” Chief Boudreaux asked. “Ready?”
“Nelle packed us up with food,” Pete said proudly. “Let’s hit the road.”
Chief Boudreaux nodded approvingly and backed out the driveway. “Good. That’ll shave off some time. I might have to slow up a little bit when we go through that little highway stretch in Mississippi. That’s most direct way.”
“Just how far is it?” Nelle asked, thinking of the long drive she made alone to Jacksonville to see her father at the state hospital. She was glad to be a passenger for this one.
“Little over two hundred miles, ‘bout 215 or so. It’ll still be mornin’ by the time we pull in,” he answered.
Pete chuckled. “Put that siren on and we’ll fly there, Beau.”
Beau switched on the siren and the bright red light flashed. “How’s that!” he teased, racing down the deserted street at top speed.
“Mon Dieu!” Nelle shouted from the back seat. “Stop!”
He silenced the siren and slowed the car, and they set out to New Orleans, laughing.
In the early morning hours, traffic on the state highway leading from West River to New Orleans was mainly truckers transporting commodities from the paper mill and country farms to towns and cities down the long stretch of open road that connected communities through commerce. Chief Boudreaux marveled at his sense of power when the sight of his patrol car translated into immediate slower speeds and grateful nods as he sped by the fast moving rigs.
“Wish it was always that easy,” he commented as a young truck driver sporting shoulder length hair with a red bandana tied around his forehead showed him the two-fingered peace sign as the chief zoomed by him. “I usually just get the middle finger,” he said, offering a cordial wave to the young man through his rear view window.
The trucker responded with a short cheery blast on his diesel truck horn. A puff of black smoke shot upward like a small thundercloud.
“Just a kid,” the chief said. “Ain’t always friendly times for us these days. Nobody trusts nobody in a uniform seems like. That damn war,” he said, shaking his head. “I hope you don’t get called up to go, Pete. That’d be a real shame to lose you over there.”
Pete shook his head. He had nothing to say.
The Vietnam War sat like a stone on Pete’s chest and muddled his thoughts about the future. He was physically able and not enrolled in college. Like his Papaw, Pete was a farmer, and wanted to stay a farmer. The draft loomed large over plans he had for himself and Nelle. In the Selective Service draft lottery, if your number came up, you reported to the draft office. Student or medical deferments would not apply to him.
Many that were called to serve never came home. Many who came home were never the same. And to make it more troubling, the country’s sentiment had shifted and changed. In terrible transformation, the honorable uniform had mutated into a bullseye for angry, vocal demonstrators. Some officers even cautioned their discharged men about the risk of wearing a military uniform home. Enlisted soldiers had begun to question what they were fighting for and college campuses tried in vain to quell student riots.
Vietnam was nothing like World War II. The clarity of purpose and mission had sullied, and the reasons for fighting and dying were confusing at best or non-existent at worse. The war appeared on television every evening with full gruesome reality. Pictures on the nightly news of real time destruction and death, scenes of young wounded soldiers wading through jungles and rice paddies, footage of the obliteration of villages and farm land with incendiary napalm and the lethal herbicide agent orange, haunted Americans. New weapons incinerated innocent people and permanently poisoned the land. The instantly played back pictures couldn’t be justified with any commentators words.
Pete tried not to think about it too much and pushed the pressure of his situation away whenever his chest tightened with worry and doubt. It was not a subject that Nelle liked to discuss, and a possibility that she refused to entertain. Chief Boudreaux’s comment triggered his anxiety once again.
As if reaching inside Pete’s head, Nelle spoke up. “It ruins people. Forever. In one way or another. It ruined my father.”
All of West River knew about Nelle’s father and the demons he fought. Chief Boudreaux had been called to the Lyons home several times to quell disturbances and restore peace, which often meant taking away the gun and carting Terry Lyons off to jail in a drunken rage. He had always been surprised by the resiliency the Lyons girls seemed to show and respected them.
“Maybe it did, Nelle,” the chief said kindly, “but it didn’t ruin you.” Then, not wanting to dwell on the subject, he said lightly, “Now I got nature calling, too much coffee. “Let’s pull in here.”
The faded metal sign was missing letters. It read RUCK S OP 24hr OP N. Overgrown honeysuckle vines reaching to the sagging roof grew along one side of the dilapidated gray wooden gas station. But the unmistakable Pegasus flying horse logo stood out bright red on the dirty glass storefront, looking freshly painted. A woman wearing work boots, khaki pants, and a brown shirt with Pegasus emblazed on the front pocket was attending the rusty pickup truck parked by the Mobil diesel pump. She waved and smiled brightly as the chief pulled next to the other pump behind the old truck.
“Hey, ya’ll! Comment ca va! Be right with you!”
Chief Boudreaux stepped out, searching for the bathroom, which must have been obvious to her as she pointed to the vine free side of the building. “Thanks,” he said.
Nelle and Pete got out to stretch, as the woman approached the patrol car.
“Only one bathroom,” she said, without apology. “Got coffee, drinks, and a grill inside. Fill her up with regular?” she asked, looking at Pete.
Pete nodded yes and walked toward the bathroom.
“Where’s he taking you? Cop with two passengers. You done something?” she asked Nelle, as she inserted the nozzle into the gas tank and closed her hand around the trigger. She stared
into the back seat peering for clues.
Nelle laughed nervously at her nosey curiosity and thought it must look odd with Chief Boudreaux in his uniform, her and Pete in his patrol car along for a ride, to some unknown destination.
“No, no. We’re trying to find something that was lost, that’s all,” Nelle said quickly, not wanting her to think Chief Boudreaux was transporting criminals. “We’re on our way to New Orleans. Going to see a shop owner. We’re all friends from West River.”
“Ahhh. I see. New Orleans. Dangerous place if you’re not careful. Sin city. Called that for good reason. We get lots of sinners come through here. I can always tell. Hard to hide a sinner’s face,” she said, blinking innocently at Nelle.
Her comments made Nelle uncomfortable, and she tried to force a benign smile. She noticed how young the woman was now that she could see her up close. She was beautiful, with curly black hair tied back low on her neck, caramel skin with light freckles around her nose. Her hazel eyes sparkled with a ring of gold at the center. Emmeline was embroidered in black script above the winged horse Pegasus on her shirt.
She noticed Nelle eyeing it. “Emmie. I’m called Emmie for short,” she offered.
“What a pretty name Emmeline is,” Nelle commented.
“My grandmama’s. He’s a nice looking man,” she grinned, eyes twinkling.
“Which one?” asked Nelle, a pang of jealously bubbling up.
“The cop. Cajun, no? Like me. Yes?”
“Yes,” Nelle answered as Beau Boudreaux sauntered back to the car.
The two girls looked at him, both smiling broadly. The chief cocked his head puzzled.
“Beau. Meet Emmeline. I mean Emmie,” Nelle said playfully. “I’ll be right back,” she said, making her way toward the bathroom.
“Oh, oui. Beau. Hellloooo,” Emmie crooned, blatantly teasing.
Beau’s eyes widened. He blushed and looked down. “Hey,” he muttered clumsily. He was not used to not being in charge. “Hurry it up, Nelle. We need to go,” he said, looking in Nelle’s direction. He was at a loss to make conversation with the striking young woman who eyed him so boldly.
“Come inside and I’ll fry you up a nice catfish sandwich and some gator nuggets. Fresh caught,” she flirted, stepping closer to him. “You won’t find any better.”
He moved back. “Oh. Sorry. No time,” he stammered.
“Well, then, maybe on your way back. I’ll be here.” The corner of her lips curled in a subtle smile. “You watch out for yourself in New Orleans, Mr. Beau. Those girls, they bite. Will turn your head around without you know it. Red lights will lure you right in.” She closed his front door as he climbed in the patrol car and put her face close to his open window, parting her lips seductively. Placing her hand on his shoulder, he felt a zing of electricity travel down his torso.
She moved away slowly. “Good luck, Mr. Beau,” she said sweetly. Hope you find what you lost, mon ami.”
He locked his gaze on her bewitching eyes and craned his neck to answer her through the window, recalling his mother’s warnings about love potions. He believed for a second that if he didn’t drive away now, he never would.
“Thank you,” he responded weakly, happy to see Pete nearing the car. “Mon Dieu,” he whispered to himself. “Mercy.”
Pete sat down and closed his door, lowering his head to have another look at Emmie. “Wow. She’s something,” he said.
“Dangerous,” Beau answered.
Nelle came back shortly and settled into her seat. As they pulled away, she waved enthusiastically at Emmeline who stood in front of the red winged Pegasus sign and in the bright morning sun looked like she had sprouted wings. “Look at that,” Nelle said, “she’s really something.”
Beau rolled his eyes. Pete raised his eyebrows. Neither commented, until suddenly Beau jerked forward in his seat.
“Ouch! What the…” he yelped, slapping his left hand against his shirt pocket. “OUCH!” He dug his fingers inside and pulled out a sharp two-inch long canine tooth, attached to a thin leather cord. He held it up to Pete’s face. “What the hell!” he shrieked.
“Oh man!” Pete answered. “Alligator tooth! Big one!”
“How’d it get in my pocket?”
“I dunno. But I know what it means,” Pete said, awe struck. “It’s a charm. A voodoo charm, man. For good luck.”
“Mon Dieu!” Beau screeched.
The sun was high and hot after more than two hours on the road. Early morning air fresh had given in to the thick steamy humidity that stilled every living thing except the mosquitoes and countless other flying insects that splatted against the patrol car’s windshield. The trio had been mostly silent since departing Emmeline’s truck stop, lost in thoughts preciously their own. Chief Boudreaux had hung the alligator tooth over the rear view mirror and it swayed rhythmically to the undulations in the road. A good luck charm was a welcomed sign, no matter how or where it came from. When he glanced at it, it triggered a slight smile.
“Hey,” he said brightly, peering at Nelle through the rear view mirror. “What’s in that bag you brought, Nellie girl?” the chief asked, “I’m getting hungry.”
“Me, too. Pass up some of that Yoo-Hoo for us,” Pete said. “And sandwiches. Please.”
Nelle was pleased to oblige. Food was a big deal on a long trip. “Um hum. Just a sec,” as she retrieved two bottles of the chocolate drink and handed them to Pete. She hoisted the food bag onto her lap. “Keep the wax paper on the bottom or the tomatoes will drip on you,” she warned, passing over two wrapped sandwiches to Pete. “Only one each, but we’ve got sausages and crackers, too.”
“You think of everything,” Pete said, cautiously unwrapping a sandwich half way down and giving it to Beau.
“Um hummm,” Nelle hummed back in agreement. She relished the grunts of satisfaction that came from the front seat as she bit into her own fat sandwich. “You think we should have tried those gators nuggets?” she wondered, as much to herself as to them. “It’s supposed to taste like chicken. They say. Maybe on the way back,” she hinted, taking another bite of her juicy sandwich, watching the alligator tooth dangling from the mirror spin as the patrol car bounced over a big bump in the road.
Traffic had picked up with more cars than large rigs plying the highway on the way to who knows where. The small towns they passed through were more like hamlets and villages with little evidence of work opportunities except for farming and small general stores, the kind that sold everything from dry goods, to produce, milk, bread, and eggs. Families who lived beside these long avenues of uninhabited land where Spanish moss hung like tangled hair from grand oak trees were mainly self-sufficient, but not everyone could sustain the effort it took to survive. Ramshackle wooden houses bent under the weight of rapacious kudzu vines that twined and trailed down the columns that supported decrepit front porches. Showy purple wisteria and brilliant orange trumpet vines climbed on decaying walls and through gaping window holes that resembled black hollow eyes, giving an odd beauty to the dying dwellings, saluting the forces of nature that overtook the abandonment so ferociously and completely. Once hardy and bountiful front yard kitchen gardens had grown wild and unkempt with waist-high weeds and clusters of golden yellow dandelions, while tenacious vegetables and patches of melons competed valiantly, refusing even without proper cultivation to give up.
Nelle tried to imagine the people that had once called these places home, but the desertion of former residents and the ravages of neglect brought up unhappy memories. She drifted back to one of the last conversation she had with her grandfather as they sat on his porch steps eating a can of Vienna sausages on crackers. He told her that it wasn’t the end that is so bad. He said it was the middle part of living that is so hard, and she wondered if she was in her middle time nowadays. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the seat. Deep rest overtook her quickly and soon she was comforted by the sound of her mother’s lullaby.
A shrill siren roused her from v
ivid dreams and sound sleep. Nelle’s eyes flew open and her body shuddered at the piercing noise. For a few seconds, Nelle had no idea where she was. When the back heads of Pete and Beau focused her vision, she remembered and sat upright. “What’s wrong. Where are we?” she asked, still a bit foggy.
“Hey, sleepy head. You were really out back there,” Pete said as the New Orleans police car whizzed by them, siren blaring, lights flashing. “We’re here.”
“Welcome to New Orleans, the city that never sleeps,” Chief Boudreaux said. “Good introduction. Got you awake.”
Nelle looked out the window, astonished at the change in scenery. Cars, horse drawn carriages, pedestrians, shops, café’s, cobblestone streets, musicians blaring soulful horns and strumming the blues on guitars occupied street corners. Brightly painted brick houses adorned with elaborate wrought iron balconies collided in an otherworldly mélange of colorful and loud activity. She had never seen anything so different, so alive, so jumbled up, so pulsing with people and bustle. Her mouth fell open as she gazed at the ever-changing buzzing streetscape, trying to take in the incomparable place where she had just landed. She caught the eye of a heavily made up and scantily dressed women sitting on the edge of a chair in a glass storefront window. The woman smiled and tossed her pink-feathered boa at her in a gesture of enticing welcome.
Chief Boudreaux grinned at her through the rear view mirror. “Laissez le bon temps rouler,” he said teasingly.
“What’s that mean?” she asked, flabbergasted by the woman’s shamelss hospitality.
“It means: let the good times roll! We. Are. Here!” He hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand, teeming with joy.
Pete just chuckled and shook his head. “Man. I never knew you were such a fan. I thought you were just a good ole bayou boy.”
The Road to Home Page 10