I miss David. Again. (Still?)
I have done a fair job of distracting myself recently, mostly, but it all settles back onto my shoulders once I'm home and sitting still. There are no more distant cousins to visit, no more Japanese plums to eat, no more bands to see, planes to board, or calls to make for the moment. No more money to spend. I flirted with Paul (who came to sit and speak with me but politely ignored any further advances), which helped for about a day, then I slid again. I stared starry-eyed around Lafayette and the surrounding towns, and that helped some. I spoke to Larry, and he usually makes me laugh, and that helped too. But now I'm home, and there are dishes and clothes to wash, and I have work tomorrow, and I miss snuggling into David's warm arms and feeling him breathe against me.
Written Friday, at Martin's house:
Well I'm standing on a corner in Lafayette, state of Louisiana,
wondering what a city girl can do
to get a little conversation,
maybe drink a little red wine,
catch a little bit of those cajun boys dancing to zydeco.
I've been marinating in the deep Southern air of Lafayette, and watching cajun boys dance to zydeco, and wishing I knew how. I've been imagining myself living here (Martin has vague plans to jack up his house and build a liquor store beneath it, which I have volunteered to run), and wondering whether I would love it. I wish I had more time here, time to wander and swim and see the countryside instead of just the inner city. Martin's house, I hear, used to be big before the city decided to build a parking lot over it. Now it's three rooms and a small garden of old country air hidden away by a faded blue fence from the bass-blasting cars, busy streets, and smashed beer cans and cigarette butts of downtown Lafayette. The liquor store idea has arisen because some developers are trying to buy Martin's property and a few other properties nearby so they can build what will essentially amount to a slum. They're offering a pittance, and Martin doesn't plan to sell. He's talked like he might be willing to buy another property in the area instead, but everyone is asking, in his opinion, too much money. (I know nothing about property value in this town or any other.) Anyway, I'm not sure whether the liquor store thing is an idea he's been kicking around or whether it really somehow arose from this developer issue, but that's the context in which it came up. And I haven't ever exactly dreamed of selling liquor (or anything else) from behind bulletproof glass, but it might not be such a bad gig, at least for a while, someday. And I'd have this nice little apartment probably rent free, and a little garden, right here walking distance from all these restaurants and clubs and museums and parks in the city where my ancestors lived and loved and worked. My family helped build this town, you know? I have roots here. There's a statue of one of my forebears in front of the old courthouse. And there are huge beautiful old trees all over, dripping with spanish moss, and there are street signs and names in French, and the storm drains have signs on them that say "no dumping. drains to bayou." I know that these things are exciting to the romantic side of me, and that none of them would be exciting anymore if I lived here for real, but that's ok. Did I mention that Martin's actual house, the one where he really lives these days, is on the water? It's about 40 minutes away I think. I could canoe forever.