My eyes burn and the lines of the road blur. There it is: Exit 42 Airport Road in Hammond, Louisiana. A thousand miles and two days on the road tell me I am barreling toward middle age. I can barely feel my right butt cheek.
On my left, a few new fast food joints have joined the Popeye's. And then there's the truck wash and the little St. James AME. On my right, I zip by Ronnie's Cajun Boudin & Cracklins with its forever empty parking lot, the Batesville Casket Company, and whatever compound lies behind that ramshackle wooden fence painted with all sorts of mystic geometric patterns. No one here knows what goes on back there.
I whip through the roundabout onto another two-lane road. About a quarter of a mile later, I enter the refuge of Nicholas Circle, where a neighbor's Virgin Mary statuette greets all who enter. Approaching the house, I do a wide turn, careful to avoid the drainage ditches that flank each end of the driveway. My '99 Honda Civic lets out an exhausted sigh as I put it in park. I rub my hands up my face and take a deep breath.
"Here we go," I sigh to myself.
The front light switches on as I hobble to the door. Mom swings the door open and behind her, dad. He firmly grips the walker and his pajamas hang from his skeletal frame.
"Well, there she is! What took you so long?! Gimme a huuuuug!" he greets me.
I bump the closing storm door with my hip and drag my suitcase in. Mom stands to the right of dad, spotting him carefully. She is perspiring, probably from one of the remarkable cleaning frenzies she undertakes anytime there’s a guest. There's something else. She can't make eye contact with me. The exhaustion of the past month shows on her face. I reach for her and linger in her warm softness. Her sweat, or maybe it’s our tears, dampen my cheek.
I set my bags down behind the love seat on which the dogs' snores blend in a soft murmur. I stare at dad for a moment, unsure of how to get around the aluminium barricade of his walker. A heaviness hits me in my chest. God dammit, he has withered.
"Dad..." I sob. I grab his shoulder and try to meet his eyes. Tears well and a sob traps in my throat.
"It's okay." He consoles me.
"Is it? Really?" I chuckle and wipe my tears with the back of my hand. Laughter and tears mixed together. That's how it's always been in our house, two sides of the same coin called life.
"It will be. I am glad you're here, chere. Get in here. Yo' mama picked up a shrimp po-boy from Ryan's. Dressed. All the po-boys a girl can eat this week!" He playfully overemphasizes that French-Cajun term of endearment as usual, telling us he belongs here, but not really.
Dad gingerly turns with a crunch and drag of his walker. He shuffles to his chair, where he sets his slippered feet on that god-awful denim upholstered footstool that almost got mom and him a divorce. His legs, always thin, are now toothpicks. He struggles to wrap himself in Nana’s blue and white wool blanket.
"Here, what are ya, helpless? Let me get that." I offer.
I tuck the warm blanket around his legs. I wonder why, in the middle of this god-awful heat, anyone needs to be bundled in anything so scratchy or warm.
"There ya go, mister."
I reach down and give him a hug. The man who used to scoop me up in his arms can barely sit up. Where has he gone?
I start to tear up again and he clutches my hand. “Go eat. Your mom's got the po-boy wrapped up in the microwave for you."
"Okay, dad. You need anything? Water refill?" I notice the ice cubes melting in the large glass tumbler that was once reserved for his giant gin and tonics.
"Gimme the clicker & the TV Guide."
"Gotcha, daddy-o."
I turn toward the kitchen where mom is shuffling about, collecting a paper towel, unwrapping the layers of a paper-wrapped sandwich, and then nibbling on an escaped shrimp.
"Mom, I need a hug," I say.
“Yeah, me too,” her voice cracks.
I am home.
Hello, dear reader. The above is a slightly fictionalized description of my return to southeast Louisiana in 2007. The idea for this came from my first get-together with Salvation South’s Writers’ Circle facilitated by Meredith McCarroll.
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I could close my eyes and picture every bit of this! Even though I’ve only been in that house once and on that road a couple times, it was as if I was right there all over again. 💕 gosh how I miss your dad! He was one of a kind. Now to go wipe away my tears even though I’m somehow smiling. 💔❤️💔❤️