Is There Anybody Out There???

Tempest Chronicles Day 67

The closeness of the air feels like every single oxygen molecule has joined hands and are now doing a sort of “Arms Across New Orleans” telethon to raise money for the breeze to return. The multi colored socks on the pirouetting crack head in the park glisten against his perspiring calfs and Ed isn’t sure if he approves.

The base of the other side of the rainbow has a rather overwhelming scent of Mennen’s Skin Bracer after shave and the original scent brown can Right Guard deodorant so I’m pretty certain the ghost of my father is nearby. I mean his birthday is only 12 days away so he is probably expecting a present, but he was difficult enough to buy for when he was alive, what do you get a ghost that spends an inordinate amount of time watching The Western Channel on his big screen TV?

Since there is absolutely NO breeze, the only sound we can make out is the high pitched buzz of mosquitoes followed by my rather annoyed peal of “GET OUT!!!” as I swipe my ear. Still getting used to the large overshadowing brim of Amicus, I knock him sideways atop my head to Ed’s embarrassment.

“You never finished your bullshit yarn from yesterday.” he sneers in my direction as we climb the 4 steps up to the front door to the house at the walk’s conclusion.

“Getting there.” I say heading for another cup.

When I left off, I had been wrestling with the idea of whether or not to tell the public of Tatiana’s text (great band name). The inner argument for and against lasted a good 30 seconds before I sent a group text to the employees and then separate ones to several of my friends.

The response was unanimous that Tatiana was a crazy uninformed bipolar bitch who didn’t know anything about New Orleans and a general inquiry as to when we would be open so people could get their Mardi Gras Pasta before we were a culinary memory.

The evening shift started out pretty muted, since it was August, the door opening didn’t bring on a stampede of hungry patrons, employees acknowledged, but it hadn’t really sunk in. Standing at the door, directing those not in the sphere of being regular customers, was clunky and disjointed, I wanted to tell them to enjoy their meal because who knew when it would be available again but decided that the interaction was too much.

I was greatly relieved when some regulars joined us a few tables later and I could open up. To my muted surprise they just shrugged and said “How awful.”

“So much for a public outpouring.” I thought.

The night went on, I told a few folks of our impending departure and as it got later, more regulars started getting the word, people started to call me over to their tables.

“Is it true?”

“Will ya’ll go somewhere else? I know some vacant places, you’d probably want to stay in the Quarter. You know Kappa just retired and her spot is sitting there, perfect neighborhood walking spot, little out of the Quarter.” said a realtor who mostly orders a caesar salad and a calzone.

“We haven’t even thought about something to that effect. Right now it’s still processing.” I wasn’t sure if I was touched or irritated at the ability to move on.

“Let me know, you’ve got my number.” he said.

“I’ve got just about everyone’s number” I thought. I have called so many folks for a table and so many have kept me in their contacts I’m kinda the equivalent of a switchboard operator from the telephone company in the 40’s.

When the last table left, as I drug the enormous wooden folding door across the uneven concrete I started to feel almost breathless at the enormity of the yoke being set upon our collective shoulders. Looking at the hundreds of pictures on the wall of the various bastardized Mona Lisas. The tables, the mismatched chairs, the coolers, the dinosaur big box of an oven, where was it going? Where were we going? Maybe it’s a sign?

“Speaking of signs…..” I said to no one in particular.

I made my announcement against the plate glass window in the front.

WE’VE BEEN GIVEN 60 DAYS TO VACATE FROM THE NEW OWNER, BETTER COME GET YOUR LASAGNA BEFORE WE BECOME A MIRAGE.

I posted not knowing if anybody, or even I, would be interested enough to care what came next.

About halfway home on my evening walk, I ran into a couple of regular customers returning home from the bar. Being over 6 feet tall, they both towered over me in a kind of circling stance as I let them know what had happened that day.

“I’m gonna go home and do something.” said Ian nodding determinedly.

“Yeah, I’ve got a bottle of cab with my name on it in the cooler myself.” I said, tossing my now empty go cup into the lidless trash can. “See you within 60 days.” I smirked continuing into the sweltering dark.

To Be Continued………but maybe not tomorrow……..

Vitals: 82 degrees with a absolutely NO sign of a draft and 79% humidity makes it feel like you thought you were going on Who Wants to be a Millionaire but instead you ended up in the West Nile Virus episode of Fear Factor.

64 Days down……

118 days to go…..