Fallen (28 page)

I was
shocked
when I got home
and found
Felix in the kitchen. It was Friday, a very good day to make cash on tourists coming in for the
weekend.
He was puttering
across the tile floor
with his typical white apron emblazoned with the words, “When a
ll else fails…everyone is gagging…and the stove is on fire…I read the recipe.”
Those words couldn’t be
truer
, but today, surprisingly, the kitchen actually smelled delicious.

“What are you cooking?” I asked, dropping my backpack on the table.
I
immediately
noticed the ceramic white holder that
was absolutely taboo for Felix.
“Yo
u’re using butter? Good for you.
”

He gave me a wide
-toothed
grin.
“Lard
too
.”

“No!
”
Bringing
my hands up to my hips
, I
demanded,
“
What’s gotten
into
you?”

He cocked his head back regally. “I am making everyone a good old
-
fashioned southern meal!”

“Really?” I was intrigued.

“
I am, o
f course
,
only using organic ingredients.”

“Of course,” I said
,
grinning
back
. “What’s the meal?”

“Blackened catfish, sautéed greens, black
-
eyed peas, and cornbread muffins!”

“Sounds great!
” It really did,
so much so
my mouth began watering. “
Can I help? It’s Friday so homework can wait.”

“No, it cannot,” he insisted.

It always amazed me at how dedicated my roommates were to my education.

“Don’t worry, Felix. I can do it at The Square over the weekend.” It was hard to
resist
laughing
at his
adamancy.

To my relief, t
hat seemed to placate
him.
It
surprised me when he started untying his apron.

“What are you doing? I thought we were cooking.”

“There’s one last ingredient I
have to pick
up…and I need your help to get there. Will you drive?”

“For this
delicious
meal? Anywhere.”

“Excellent!” He immediately went to work
finishing what he could
while I made sure to turn off the stove,
the
oven, and the broiler. When Felix cooked, no single appliance went unused and every cooking utensil, pot
,
and pan in the house ended up stacked in the sink. Since
it appeared he was only mid
way through the meal preparation, the dishes were
only barely breaching the
sink
rim
,
but I mentally prepared myself for more.

“S
o where are we going?” I asked, arranging the dishes in the sink for easier washing later.

He peered over his shoulder with a mischievous grin. “Well…I had to leave the car for Rufus – knowing his arteries are clogged with animal fat I figured I
sh
ouldn’t push the subject – but I still need to pick up alligator for my
appetizer.” He made a
tantalizing
sound and announced
,
“Cajun Alligator Sausage
.
”

“Alligator?
” I was appalled and didn’t mind showing it.

“Darling, you’ll love it,” he said enticingly.
“I need
a mode of transport to and from and that, dear Mags,
is where
you
come in
.”

Brushing
the last of the flour from the counter
into
the sink
,
I smiled at him even though he had his back to me
. I was getting used to him calling me by my nickname. In fact, it was almost endearing
now
, s
omething I wouldn’t have bet my life on
a
few
weeks
ago.

“Come, come.
” He clapped the rest of the flour from his hands noisily. “
We
mustn’t
keep our fishermen waiting.” He
grabbed my hand and dragged
me with him
out the back door
.

“Fishermen? Felix, where exactly are you taking me?”

“Oh, you’ll see…
,
”
he replied mischievously.

A few minutes later
the shed
was
unlocked and my
bike
was
ready to go
.
I handed him a spare
helmet I happened to pick up
recently for just this
type of
situation
and h
e frowned
. “
Blue?
This color does not go with my outfit.”

“Felix,” I groaned. “No one will know
it’s
you.”

“I will,” he grumbled
, slipping
it over his head
anyways.

Once on, I didn’t bother to stifle my laugh
ter
.

“What? I look ridiculous, don’t I? I knew it.”

Wi
th his orange hair spiking out from underneath
the helmet’s edges
,
he almost looked like a cartoon character.
“
It’s
fine. It’s not
high
fashion
.
It
’s
safety equipment, meant to keep you alive so you can look good another day.”

“Fine, fine. Let’s get on with it.” His voice was muddled through the helmet
,
but I could still hear the dissatisfaction in his tone.

I ignored it. Helmets were one area I did not budge on.

He
refused
to
give me a final destination
saying it was too many turns. H
e was right. He chose instead to direct
me with taps to my shoulder when he wanted me to turn right or left
, and there
were
a lot of taps
.
He led me to the
freeway heading out of town,
where
he tightened his hold on me
as
I increased the speed.

“Relax! Enjoy the ride!” I
yelled
back to him.

He
screamed
something
in response
but the wind
carried his voice away.
I
was able to
catch something about his stomach being left behind.

We drove for a good
two
hour
s
,
exiting
close to
Lafa
yette
.
From there, h
e took me on a
road
with more potholes than smooth
pavement
– which was
not easy
to maneuver
on a motorcycl
e.
The
route
was chaotic too. We took so many turns
that
I was surprised Felix remembered them all. Eventually, we
ended up on
a dirt road running along a wide, muddy river. Gr
een trees ran along the side of us
obstructing
anything
set fa
rther
than fifty feet
,
except for
two
colossal
alligators resting in the
shallow
marshes. It looked like we were going to
meet
a dead end in the middle of nowhere
and I
was getting ready to stop
and
insist
we turn around when a shanty
appeared
up ahead. Felix began tapping my right shoulder
feverishly
,
so I figured we’d finally reached our destination.

I parked my bike next to a
decaying
pickup truck
-
which
looked like it’d been cured in swamp water for
at least
a decade before being hauled up
-
and an equally rusted bicycle with one flat tire,
although
it was
standing
upright as if it had been ridden
here.

The shanty sat
at
the
very
edge of
the
swamp
.
It
had been
painte
d red
at one time,
but the
humidity
had
taken its
toll
until it became
a mixture of rotting grey wood and maroon paint peels. The trees here were covered in moss and
so dense
you couldn’t see farther than twenty feet
into
the water.
A porch
wrapped
around the shanty, sagging so much on the right side it dipped
into
a large
muddy puddle stretching
up
from th
e swamp.