Endymion
rolling two-thousand thirteen
Father
and daughter alone together in a house
An
hour and a half drive away in the traffic
Packing
rations in a green ice chest with no drain
Peanut
butter and jelly for her, ham for him
A
golden delicious apple remembering not to take a bite
Until
we are on the route, in the revelry
Notebooks
to write in her back booster-seat
Eight
and a half and Professor Longhair is calling
Soundtrack
on the iPod is beckoning to Ulysses
Rolling
South
The
traffic is piled on the interstate exit, we make the convoluted
Right
hand to go left and u-turn on Carrolton to go south to go north
Make
the light and the bodies are stacked with tables and ladders in the neutral
ground
The
drinks and roasted pigs, fried chickens and remains walk, crawl, honk
Smiles
and mischief, love and beaded pictures of families
Move
past the intersection of Orleans and North Carrolton
The
turning corner past to find a parking slot
Rolling
through neighborhoods sides, left and right are stacked
No
slits, but the breathing holes of driveways, trash cans mark,
‘I
own this place here and I am waiting for a family friend
Dare
not be a dick and roll this can and take this or break the courtesy code’
That
keeps several thousand a block happily obliged
Daughter
and I head down a two-way in Mid City off Bayou St. John
Cars
crammed and I pull over in front a driveway as I see another want-to-be parker
In
the lane like a jousting opponent, I surrender to the narrow pass,
Only
another rushes behind me and the
Constipation
ensues for ten minutes of them inching and clogging
Two
behind each and my daughter’s impressions of New Orleans are forming
Yet
patience holds, after being the last to exit we loop back cross the bayou
And
see a single opening like heaven, we walk out lugging ice chest/kid stool
March
back to that corner blocks away, past the only-over 21 street-bar patios
The
Perlis and Polo shirts, the cleavage marketing campaigns, the moms and dads
And
moms and dads to be
I
hold her hand at the street corners and tell her to do exactly what I say
Just
in case we have to move quickly, because there is a lot going on
She
is happy and shielded and more aware and growing past garden district parades
I
find a spot in the first block of the turn in front of a dad dressed like Superman
He
is holding fort, his wife is dressed like Wonder Woman, their kid the Flash
Brother
is Batman and wife is Cat Woman, son is Robin; I see family.
We
stop and plant our ice chest and sit waiting for the parade in three hours
We
make peace and assure the Justice League that it is only us, a dynamic duo
Superman
says, “I think it’s all right if you stay; It shouldn’t be a problem.”
We
pull out our cups from the Daddy-daughter Mardi Gras-themed dance at her school
Put
in some crackers and munch staring at the roving costumes and men pushing carts
of
Stuffed
animals and plastic swords other men will be hurling from floats in mere hours
for free
She
bites into her apple.
The
super-hero family is more welcoming making conversation,
Admiring
my Storyville ‘WWBD’ t shirt and my daughter’s ‘They all asked for Drew’
Batman
is from Houston back from Katrina, this is Wonder Woman’s first Mardi Gras
Daughter
and I read some chapter’s from C.S. Lewis’ “The Magician’s Nephew”
Book
six in the Narnia series; we finished it the next evening
Before
I had to bring her back to her mothers, they have a ski trip planned with her
new husband
The
night comes down and the parade lights come on, St. Aug is marching
Beads,
doubloons, cups and a stuffed-animal seahorse come our way
I
put her extra-throws in my utility belt-latched grocery-bag pouch
I
stand her on the ice chest for some, others I mount her on my shoulders
We
wander through the crowd. She gets a whirling
light-up toy.
And
a smile I can see in the darkness gleaming.
Last
float is six floats hitched together like an amusement park of Pontchartrain
Beach
Trying
to make the corner at Carrolton and Orleans
I
ask her if she is ready to go, I pick up the ice chest and lead her
Towards
getting trapped by police barricades, we turn back to where we were
And
venture in front of the stalled float, we weave through the layers of humans
As
Journey’s ‘Don’t stop Believin’’ is blaring from the double-decker sound system
Sorority
sisters are swoonin’ and singing along on both sides of the street
We
keep pace, daddy is toting the beads and remaining rations
The
walk is beating the crows a bit, just her and I, no keeping score
Past
Bayou St. John an old derelict is mumbling on a park bench
We
pass about eight feet, he staggers up; I notice and quicken our pace
Crossing
the bridge towards the traffic light I look over into my daughter’s eyes
I
can see she senses it too; the man coming without her having to say a word
We
make the light, he doesn’t.
In
the safety of the other side, we jest he was pacing like a zombie
The
uneasy feeling I could no longer hide to her eight-year old self
I
tell her maybe he was afraid and just wanted somebody safe to walk with
He
saw a girl and her dad and didn’t feel threatened; you never know
We
get back in the car, I hand her a remaining peanut butter and jelly
She
bites into the rest of the apple.
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