I moved to New Orleans for the first time in August 1992; I evacuated a week later because of Hurricane Andrew. Unfazed I completed my freshman year but knew long before I became a resident that New Orleans, even before having lived here a full year, was my home. I mean, I had spent many holidays and summers here; my grandparents lived on each shore, and we have relatives all over. But I was raised in Texas which in and of itself really isn’t so bad, but when you feel you know where you belong, where just being you is effortless but moreso embraced even celebrated? That’s your home. New Orleans knew me long before I did.
After my freshman year I landed what at the time, and I quote, was ‘working class cool, one of the most coveted service industry positions in the city.’ I became a counterserver at PJ’s on Maple St. This was 1993. Green aprons weren’t even on the radar. PJ’s was really the only game in town. Locally roasted beans, delivered fresh iced coffee daily, gathering some of the city’s finest pastry vendors under one roof, so on and so forth. It was awesome! And ideal for a scrappy sophomore such as myself. And it was here that I met Rene. Not to be confused with Renee.
Renee was ‘the bookstore girl’ from campus I had taken a drawing class with and yes, had a mild crush on; not why I took the drawing class but it didn’t hurt either. I had no idea of course that Renee and I would marry a few years later, start a family, the whole nine. Especially since we never even dated in college. And Rene was the office administrator at PJ’s that greeted me when I went in to interview for the PJ’s position. Rene and I had a kinship for caffeine that grew into friendship. Months into my blooming coffee career Rene asked me to sit in on small group of tea tasters. I of course accepted and loved it. There were five of us altogether, only one of which I’ve since lost track of. The others, well, we don’t sit around and drink tea together anymore, but I do see each of them periodically. Josh is studying to be an RN in Seattle, Walter works for the DoD just north of St Louis, and Rene lives on four acres in Tangipahoa.
Before Katrina Rene’s house was greatly damaged by a fire, and she was living in an apartment not too far away sorting through another of life’s bumps. The storm hit, mandatory evacuation (and subsequent relocation), and Rene’s fire damaged home does not flood. So now Rene can’t go home for, pick your favorite reason. Her job (which she did return to) was placed on hiatus, her apartment (I think) evicted all non immediate returnees, and remember the fire damaged (but dry) home?
In the aftermath of what became by all accounts a fronteirtown, if you were back in New Orleans, and the likelihood was you weren’t, you sought out the familiar as often as you were able. Days upon weeks upon months spent cleaning, wrangling vendors, gathering food, really just fighting to figuratively stand again. All you wanted to do was hug your long lost friends and neighbors. Tell them how much you love them. What they mean to you. Some times it was as little as going to their house or work and finding them. Rare, but it happened. Mostly, it was chance meetings. Too many meetings never took place.
Some time in ‘06 I found Rene back at her old post at the diner where she worked at the time of the storm. We hugged, we kissed, we held. Rene was always like a mother to me. She never had a son. She does have three daughters, the oldest of which is a couple of years younger than me. We recounted our post K tales and generally reconnected. I had become a realtor since last we had seen one another, and she asked me to list her still unrepaired fire damaged home. I, of course, did, and it sold a few months after listing it. Upon the sale Rene exhaled and began planning her future.
I never go to Tangipahoa. I rarely even leave Orleans Parish. If I can’t walk or bike there, it’s seldom on my to do list. Rene had always talked about buying some land and moving just outside of the city, living the rest of her life in the country, as it were. She and her boyfriend Gary, they’d been together for years, asked me assist them in their search. So I did. One day I loaded up my daughters, and we went land/house hunting with ‘Ms Rene.’ She and Gary on his Harley, us in our little Honda, zipping around the old farm roads of Tangipahoa Parish. It was fun. The girls got out of the city and even got up close and personal with a lonely and overly friendly old horse – and that was the one. The ‘horse house’ Rene and Gary purchased earlier this year, sans horse mind you.
One Saturday a few weeks ago my wife Renee had a prior obligation at my oldest’s school that included my oldest daughter; my youngest and I made our way back to Tangipahoa. Rene and Gary were wed in an outdoor ceremony on their land, their four acres. Standing there witnessing the event (I actually did sign as witness on the certificate), I paused. Little does one ever realize the paths we are on, the relationships we forge and where they take us. Given the chance I’m sure Josh and Walter would’ve found themselves in Tangipahoa along with us. I am hopeful however that we may all one day gather together again for tea on Maple St.
