Bourbon Street Bitter

I am here now, standing in the lobby under the chandelier.   The antique love seat is beckoning to me, yet painfully prevalent is the dichotomy.  I stand here thinking of you and the wonderment that we two may experience and still, I am here...alone.  I must not forget the reason that I am present there steps away from the jazz echoing through the hallows of the lobby, yet the same reason I am there sits microscopicly small in the palm of my hand as I hear the dixie drawl wafting through the spacious but suddenly small space in which I stand.

A memory not yet created plays out before my eyes.

A couple, oblivious to all that surrounds them, stands at the marble counter, hand in hand, as the desk attendant hands him the room key.  A look, then a smile, transfers one to the other as they step away and walk, slowly around the corner.  I follow them.  The elevator, decorated with brass, mirrors, and marble, stops at the second floor and she jumps, startled, as the elevator doors slide open behind them.  They step out and again, I follow.  

The visions stops abruptly as a young woman with a thick french accent says "hello miss!  Enjoy your stay at the Astor Crowne Plaza."  I sigh heavily as I thank her and walk a few steps to my room.

As the key card clicks and the door unlocks, the memory begins again, as if I had pressed play on a video recorder.  This time I see only you.  Your face rough with stubble is a welcome feeling under my fingertips.  Your eyes warm and welcoming disappear quickly as my eyes close and we kiss.  Soft, tender, desperate kisses between whispers of "I love you" and "I've missed you so"...

The ringing phone jogs me back into a cold reality.  I shake my head for clarity as I answer the thin black device that is  smaller than the palm of my hand.  My boss.  A warm and welcome voice wishing me to have fun in New Orleans and to be safe.  "Meet lots of people" he says.  I say "I will..." and an obligatory "thank you" before I hang up the phone.  It is so unlike me to be so out of sorts.  Every confidence I thought I had was gone.  I am in a strange place, alone, feeling suddenly self conscious and disoriented.  I have an obligation to fulfill by being there, so I whisper to no one "I'll be back soon, please wait for me".

I enter a room filled with people dressed in suits with impeccable appearances, and here stand I, in a pair of running pants and a sweater.  My feet are swollen to such extent the only shoes I can wear are my Adidas.  Feeling defeated, I decide appearance is less important than the reason I came, and I try to forget that I am severely under dressed for the occassion.  Being self-conscious, although a usual beginning thought, rarely ever motivates my behavior.  Until now.

I interact, joke, and introduce myself to many people, all the while wishing you here by my side.  You have a way of making me forget that I don't fit in.  I've decided to go for a walk.  Bourbon Street is quite a sight at night.  Jazz bands play, brazen and passionate, on the street corners.  I long for you to share it with me.  I smile and sway to the music while walking.  I even dance with my eyes closed at the thought of you by my side.   This is the perfect place for that.  The people here are colorful and dance themselves.  Watching them, I forget the bitter reality that you are not here, on Bourbon Street, with me.

Close your eyes.  See the bronze statues in front of the courtyard?  Look up and see the cast iron balcony.  Can you hear the jazz band playing Basin Street Blues by the Mills Brothers?  Play the song...listen and imagine us here together.  If I think of you here in this place thinking of me, the bitterness of the reality here on Bourbon Street is not so real.  

Listen to the music...and imagine yourself here...with me.   Bourbon Street is a bitter place to be without you.







 

 

 

Reviews

[Pax Analog]

The juxtaposition of jubilant New Orleans (pre-Katrina anyway; I suspect the spirit is bouncing back, and the Saints don't hurt) w/the empty aborted feeling of being without the comforting loved one is poignant.

I have vivid memories of New Orleans as well, a contrast of the city's famous virtues and a stormy brief dramatic romance circa '97-'98, so the setting has extra resonance for me.

It is a universal emotion, loneliness in a strange city. If we are riding some personal or transpersonal high, then alone can be intriguing, rich w/possibilities. Even a brooding moodiness. . .But missing someone can be oh so painful in that situation.

Nice touch, adding the player w/the sounds of Bourbon Street.

One wants to hold the narrator's hand, but even bitter emotions express the range of the soul. . .

[Richard McLin]

Great piece. Very fascinating and one that is impossible to stop reading once you've started it, you can't take your eyes off of it. Thank you for sending the request, loved it.

-Richard

[Dave "Doc" Rogers]

Nice piece with the interplay of the music works nicely, a mood creator. I've been to Bourbon Street. I've seen Preservation Hall and listened to the old men play. I like the mood of the multimedia used to tell this story. I think you could run with this a bit more. Play with it some more. Sultry spring nights in Nah'Orlahns, hot jazz, cool drinks, paddlefans, people strolling below, views across aged iron fenced balconies ... hmm ... the French Quarter.

Thanks!!
Cheers,
Doc.

[W.k.kortas]

Mindful of the good Mr. Simm's Confounded Letters; it is odd, and yet paradoxically fitting, that a place like Bourbon Street, which is designed to help you escape your past and present, is just the type of place which brings it flooding back. Solid piece of writing.

[An owl on the moon]

This was such a marvelous, moving piece filled with an imagery so vivid and emotions so rich. Feelings of yesterday, gripping on to today... And the music.. such a brilliant flow here... what a melody that moved through the words and brought the scene alive. Remarkable write!

[Phill Oz O'fee]

Your fascinating short, poignantly reflects and highlights both the mental and physical torments of a lost relationship. It's also interesting to note, there is no explanation to the loss; love sickness, relationship break down or even death of a partner. The reader's imagination is stimulated � sign of a good write. Thanks for the share!

Phill (ozofee)

[R J Askew]

Exquisite vulnerability, loneliness and yearning. The setting is romantic and full of life in many ways, emphasisig the feeling of wistfulness. Yet you are also acutely alive among the sadness, self-aware and hopeful for something better. The fact you can't wear the right clothes, in part because of your sore feet, seems to symbolise an emotional soreness also. Something is not right. You are in one reality but yearn for another. I think countells millions of people will understand that feeling perfectly for all kinds of reasons. I know that I often have that feeling of 'I have an obligation to fulfil by being there'. Everything in my being craves to be something other than what I am, wasting my life in a London office working, half-heartedly, at a job that is of no consequence. Again how many millions feel that same sterile obligation?

[Ken Simm.]

To be apart is the worst. To be apart in such a setting. To want to show beloved everything that you experience and experience it with them tears at the heart. It will tear at the heart of the person so far away that this is intended for. A beautiful, beautiful write.