It was around 8:00AM when I woke up for the day on Monday, May 28. I was scrunched up in the back seat of my rental car in a Piggly Wiggly parking lot about twenty miles outside of New Orleans. To say I hadn't slept sufficiently would be an understatement, but I needed to make my way downtown before heading back to Nashville by noon. I changed clothes in the cramped back seat, glancing around to make sure there were no leering delivery drivers lurking, then drove across the parking lot to the drug store so I could buy film and some water.
The store wasn't open yet. A few early birds hovered and paced as they waited for employees to unlock the doors. I waited in the car. I was in no rush to be seen by the public. Adjusting the rearview mirror, I took a look at myself, hoping if I stared long enough my image would be replaced with one which was less bleary and more vibrant. I applied some lip color before getting out of the car. My walk to the store entrance was slow and shaky, the result of dehydration from way too much alcohol.
Inside, I found what I needed and approached the cashier, a rubenesque girl of about twenty-eight with long, permed hair and a closed expression. I thought I recognized that look; she didn't want to be there, didn't want to put on a happy face for me. I'd been there, of course. At that moment, in fact, I felt precisely the same way. I heard voices in the back of my mind of past customers from too many service industry jobs.....Smile, it's not that bad! I would not say or demand any such false enthusiasm from her and hoped nobody else would, either. At that moment I felt pretty low, but grateful to be on my side of the counter.
I drove back to New Orleans and found myself on a bridge which rose high over the Mississippi River. Two nights ago I'd driven over the river at dusk, excited to finally see it but not able to really get a look. Now, sunlight glittered off the water and I caught glimpses of riverboats. Impulsively I pulled into the breakdown lane and turned on the hazard lights.
Morning traffic flew by at 80 miles an hour, each vehicle making a shoop sound as it passed. I crawled out the passenger side window with my camera, shaking with the realization that I was not in a safe place. But the need to capture the river on film overrode any sense of logic. I didn't know when I'd be back, so the risk was worth it. Still, a voice in my head warned me to make it quick.
I leaned over the concrete rail and snapped photos of the river and skyline, ever conscious of the speeding cars on the bridge, the shoop....shoop.....shoop as they barrelled by, the way the bridge swayed and the feeling of danger that gripped me as I took the pictures. When I crawled back in through the passenger window I was shaking hard. In retrospect, my fear may have been exaggerated by my hangover. It was unfamiliar to me to be so afraid. Normally when friends express worry about me, I feel unnerved. This was the first time I knew I was in a dangerous place. Settling into the drivers' seat, I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to stop shivering before going on my way.
As I was putting my seat belt on, I noticed an insect crawling on my jewelry case. It was about an inch in length with antennae longer than its body. It looked black, but as though it were caked with dried mud. It crawled calmly across the case with no apparent sense of danger.
I'd never seen a bug like this and to this day don't know what kind it was. Its presence calmed me though, giving me another focus as I took several more pictures. When I was done, I lifted the case to the window, telling the insect it needed to go. In response, it crawled back toward me as though perfectly content to stay in the car. I admit I was tempted to keep it, at least for part of the drive. But in the end I decided it belonged here, that it was a riverbug.
I shook the case out the window and it finally, reluctantly, flew away. I called out a thank you, looking curiously after it. Then I turned off my hazards, pulled into the traffic lane, and continued on my way.
