Leg 7 - Magic Brought Me Here

I had another time miscalculation.  I was planning on getting to my camping place yesterday by 4:00.  I thought I had it all mapped out, felt confident about the time and stops.  I pulled up to the address of my camping site in Lake Charles, and it didn’t look right.  I didn’t see the house in the picture, and the neighborhood certainly didn’t look like I expected.  I checked the address again, and I WAS IN THE WRONG TOWN.  The town my site was in was another 1 ½ hours away!  Shit!  And the host had been texting me, and it seemed to be important that I get there around 4:00.  She said she had an event happening that night.

My campsite was in Lafayette, not Lake Charles. 

I finally arrived in Lafayette around 6:20.  As I was driving to the address, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.  The area looked a little rundown, the street was in bad condition, the houses were small and in disrepair.  I kept hoping, as I got closer, that there would be a marked change when I turned the next corner.

There wasn’t.  I pulled into the driveway of the address and almost cried.  I didn’t see the house, I didn’t see any sign of a camping area, and I was getting that slightly unsafe feeling in my gut.  It was a long driveway with small houses on both sides.  I got to the end, looked to my right, and there it was!  The tree of life in all her magnificence.  She was huge!  With long limbs stretching out 30 feet all around, she stood probably 80 feet tall and was 100 feet wide.  Her limbs were covered with a type of dripping fern, and she was luscious and green and full of life.

There was a woman working in a small garden in the back corner of the yard.  She came toward me as I was slowly driving toward the tree.  I was still puzzled about where I would be staying.  The woman said hello, and I told her I was looking for La Maison Creole, and she smiled and said, “You have found what you are looking for”.  She told me to park in the parking space closest to the tree, and to come on in.

I parked and got out to follow the woman into the back door of the house.  There were many people in the house, and it was kind of chaotic.  The woman said there was a show tonight, and they were getting ready for it.

She eventually found the host, Erika, and introduced us.  Erika was dressed in a beautiful sequined floor length fitted gown and had a sparkly necklace and earrings and had a short, dark curly wig on.  She smiled and warmly welcomed me.  She asked if I had found a place to park and invited me to the show that she was putting on.  She said it started in 30 minutes and was a show about 1940’s music and they were serving red beans and rice afterwards.  I said I wasn’t sure I had something to wear that was appropriate, but I would love to!

I went back to the van and remembered that I had packed one long dress – it would be perfect.  I dressed and went back in.

The show was an unexpected treat!  It was a story of a woman talking to her dead grandmother, reminiscing about the stories that her grandmother used to tell her when she was a child.  In this woman’s story, her grandmother was friends with Lena Horne, Billie Holliday, Ella Fitzgerald, and Sarah Vaughn.  There were four black women sitting in front with the MC.  They were all dressed up in 1940s-style nightclub dresses (hence my host’s dress).  The MC would tell part of her story, then one by one, the women would get up and sing one of the famous singers’ songs. 

When the first woman opened her mouth and sang the opening line, my heart soared.  It was the big, bold, soulful notes that you would hear from Billie.  And each of the four had the same beauty of voice.  And when they hit those big, belty parts of each song…it was a delight of sound and beauty!  I was enthralled!  The MC woman could sing very well, also.  The show lasted an hour, and I was on the edge of my seat the whole time.

The crowd was so interesting – I felt welcomed and comfortable.  They were all friendly and talking with each other before the show, and seemed to love the show, as did I.  The crowd was mostly black, so it was interesting for me to feel like a minority.  I liked it.  And I felt comfortable.  Many of the people before the show said hello and were warm and welcoming.

After the show they served red beans and rice and cornbread, and I thought it was wonderful.  Then I went outside and sat and gazed up at the tree of life for about an hour.

The whole night was magic.

I got two precious gifts from the show:  one was from a song called Black and Blue, by Louis Armstrong.  He talks about being black and blue and having no joy and wanting no company and having no friends.  Now I understand why I don’t want to be around people.  I feel beat up because of John’s death.  I am black and blue and still trying to heal.    It is going to take more time.

The other gift I got from the show was another song they sang about a woman who sees her boyfriend (who has gone away) in every moment of every day.  I left the house and Benicia because John was everywhere, and it was keeping me at the bottom of a dark well of sadness.  But he is here with me, as well.  In every moment of every day.  It isn’t all sad.  I talk to him and share my experiences with him, and I smile because I talk to him a lot.  But it isn’t all sad. 

Both of those songs tell me that I am not alone.  These feelings that I have are shared by others who have experienced tragedy and hurt and sadness.  I’m not sure why that makes me feel better, but it does.

And then I slept under the tree of life.  I felt safe and protected and watched over.  In the morning, I came out and was drinking my coffee under the tree.  I was calling it “She”, but suddenly I felt John.  In that massive, solid tree, I felt him and his strength.  He is here with me.

I don’t feel safe anymore.  In many of my stops to spend the night, I am afraid.  I am afraid of serial killers and scorpions and zombies.  That tells me that I'm not necessarily just being cautious, but I am afraid.  I mean – zombies?!  Really, Reba?!  John was my protector.  Now that he is gone, I feel vulnerable and constantly afraid.  I recognize that these feelings are part of my grief.  I wonder if they will ever go away.