Mosaic (15 page)

My finals were all either written reports or progress reports for projects we’d complete next semester. The last Saturday of “Dead Week,” I grabbed the Avid digital recorder I’d checked out of the journalism library and took off before the sun was fully risen.

I headed out toward St. Charles Avenue and the street car lines. For three dollars, I could ride all the way, round-trip, to the French Quarter, and I wanted to get some early-morning shots of Algiers before it got too crowded. I’d grab my coffee at Café du Monde before the tourists flooded the place.

Black, wrought-iron benches lined the top of the levee, where tourists could sit and watch the riverboats go by or the barges. Or the crazy locals. As the day wore on, more and more people would venture out and the whole atmosphere would change, but right now, it was quiet, anticipatory.

December was cool, but not cold. I wore jeans and a light sweater, and all of the businesses were decked out for Christmas. Wreaths hung on the lamp posts, and every shop window either had an alligator in a Santa hat, or Santa in a pirogue, or some other type of “Christmas on the Bayou” scene.

The holiday mood was catching, or maybe it was just residual spending almost a week with Julian, knowing I’d see him again in less than ten days, knowing I’d done very well my first semester of college in spite of it all—whatever it was, any dark feelings I had were far behind. I was light and happy.

With my back to the Mississippi River, I had a full view of Jackson Square, with St. Louis Cathedral towering over it all. The sun was still rising, and the partly cloudy sky was a mixture of yellow, blue, and orange. A stand of tall banana trees clustered in the center, creating a nice layered effect with the statue of Andrew Jackson on horseback front and center.

The small video recorder I had with me was top of the line, and I was sure the footage would be gorgeous. Still, nothing compared to seeing it live. Hearing the noise of the river traffic, seeing the street vendors shuffling out, laughing and calling to each other in their unique accents. They’d spend the day sketching, telling fortunes, twisting balloons into animal shapes, or selling works of art, hung on the wrought-iron fence that lined the flagstone sidewalk along Decatur Street.

The voodoo practitioners were my favorite, with their chicken feet and assorted
gris-gris
. Horse-drawn carriages brought the smell of livestock to the scene, but it was mixed up with the scent of sugary beignets, coffee, seafood, and humans.

With Mardi Gras just around the corner, the occasional brass quartet or trio would come down and play for tips, filling the air with the distinctive, jovial sound of “Joe Avery’s Blues.” Depending on the group, they’d mix in a little “When The Saints Go Marching In,” and it would turn into a regular New Orleans street party.

If I kept walking toward Bourbon Street, I’d get shots of the black children who clustered around cardboard boxes, tap-dancing for tips. If the crowd got big enough, they’d do fast-tapping tricks, choreography, and even the occasional back flip. I loved filming them, and of course, I filled their coffers with my lunch money. At least I could grab a Lucky Dog for a dollar, and my ride home was already paid.

Walking around the Quarter by myself with my camera was instantly one of my favorite experiences of living in this ancient city. A huge part of why I loved journalism was the documentary component of the field.

I considered heading up to Elysian Fields, since I’d finished
A Streetcar Named Desire
, but I probably needed Brad with me for that adventure. Even though the city was mysterious, or perhaps
because
it was, certain parts were best explored in groups.

We had a little time before the break, so after
Streetcar
, our professor had made us read and analyze “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” It was a T.S. Eliot poem I had always enjoyed, and I’d read it many times, over and over trying to catch everything.

I loved the fog rubbing its back like cats against the windowpanes, the arms downed with light-brown hair, and the almost stand-up-comedian humor of this funny little man, obsessed with going bald, writing a love song.

Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized on a table.

It made me laugh how he killed every beatific image with an ugly reality.

There were parts I didn’t totally get, but I still loved the rhythm and the rhyme, like the
Women who come and go, Talking of Michelangelo.

That’s how my birthday tiptoed in—on little cat feet. Okay, that’s not Eliot; that’s Sandburg, but that’s how it felt. My birthday is in that twilight period between Thanksgiving and Christmas, when nobody is paying attention. When I can sneak it past. Besides my parents, only a few people never miss it.

I came home that afternoon, my head full of Bourbon Street and tap-dancing kids and Eliot, and when I opened the door, I froze. Everything in the room with the capacity to hold something was filled with yellow chrysanthemums, bright daisies, and red roses. Whipping out my phone, I saw the missed calls from Gabi and my parents, but I quickly typed a text to Julian.

How did you do this?
My hands were clasped over my mouth, and I was floored.

What’s this? I have no idea what you mean.

Julian! You put flowers all in my room!

Don’t know what you’re talking about. It must be one of your other boyfriends.

You know exactly what I’m talking about. Ur my only BF. Why did you do this?

Because I want you to smile today, Sunshine. I love you.

I remembered last year, the note in my locker from him with the single yellow flower. So much had changed in one year. For starters, he could afford to buy me a lot more than one flower, and while I missed the old days, I was happy he was right about this year so far. The distance sucked, but our love was stronger than distance.

I love you, too. So much.

Yes, fall semester had started out badly. I’d had shocks and unexpected encounters, and I’d spent most of the first half heartbroken and wishing I was anywhere but here—well, not
anywhere
, one place in particular. Still, regardless of how it began, nothing could steal this moment from me.

The end was better than the beginning, and I was happy I’d come to the Crescent City and learned to love it and to be independent. I’d stopped fighting my choices, and I was starting to appreciate the path I was on and what the future might bring. And Julian and I had found a way to hold on to our love in spite of it all.

I was certain things could only get better.

Hi, ho! Jules cutting in again!

I have to go on record right here—my dad was pretty cool. Mom’s not so bad herself, but I know her, and her love of books, her funny, nerdy self. It works. She’s cute and guys dig it. Brandon sure did. Dad clearly did.

So are you with me here? I’m not seeing how they could possibly break up. How in the world did they have all this, have me, and separate for so long? This silly blog had better tell me. If it cuts off, I’m going to be pissed.

But first I need a sandwich. Grab yourself one… meet you back here for the rest.

Anna’s Private Blog: Spring Semester

You
really
didn’t think I was going to spend Christmas break writing in my blog, did you? Good, because it went by way too fast, between visiting family, getting together with friends who were also in town for the break, and cramming in as much time with Julian as I could, I was off the writing game.

Julian’s break was consumed with working for his dad, and I could tell, even though he wouldn’t commit to anything, he loved it. He’d even visited his mother a few times during the break, and I was thrilled and relieved… Lucy was a big part of that—she insisted the five of them spend Christmas morning together.

Jack was only in Fairview briefly, and I hadn’t even seen him. My promise to Lucy lurked in the background of my mind, but I’d only committed to do what I could. I had no intention of going out of my way or doing anything to make Julian uncomfortable.

Mr. Kyser was happier than I’d ever known possible, and the more time Julian spent with him, the more excited he got about a future at Kyser-Brennan. We’d gone out with Rachel and Brad a few times, and Brad took it as a sign from heaven that Julian was Mr. Kyser’s son. It was like God himself ordained his plans, and all he could talk about was how great it would be when they were working together, rebooting their fathers’ vision, taking over the business world and becoming billionaires in the process. I didn’t point out that both of them were already pretty well set as far as money went.

Julian did note the biggest obstacle to Brad’s dream: Will hadn’t even come home for the holiday, and as far as I knew, the eldest Kyser sibling wasn’t on speaking terms with their father.

Brad dismissed it with a wave, and they were back to plotting the future. Unfortunately,
my
future came much too quickly, and we were saying goodbye before I was ready.

I’d rounded a small corner on life in south Louisiana before the break, but three weeks of sleeping in Julian’s arms, being together as often as we wanted, and catching up on our shortages made me feel like I’d gone all the way back to August.

Heading back to college and being separated again felt like the cruelest torture I could imagine. I struggled with wanting to quit and stay with him (or transfer to Savannah), but there was no way anybody… including me if I thought about it long enough… would let that happen.

“We’ll Skype more,” Julian said as he held my face before we parted. “Sexy Skyping.”

My chest was tight with desperation. “How can I do something like that with Rachel in the house? She’ll hear everything.”

“When she’s with Brad, silly.” He tweaked my nose before kissing it again. We were probably in the running for the World Record on number of times you could kiss a person before saying goodbye. “Hang in there for just a few weeks. Mardi Gras is early this year, and we’ll all be back together for that long weekend.”

“February feels very far away.”

“I know.” He exhaled and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, pulling me tight against his chest. I only held him, breathing in his clean, beachy scent, listening to his heartbeat against my ear, and trying not to ugly-cry.

When we’d finally parted, I drove all the way back to New Orleans with a boulder in my stomach and intermittent tears on my cheeks. I’d left my heart and all my insides behind me. Even worse, they were being driven almost 700 miles in the opposite direction.

Back at school, Dr. Arati was very encouraging about my prospects for landing JYA. I intentionally hadn’t thought about it over the break, figuring I’d cross that bridge if it appeared. Now here I was, and if last semester were any indication, it would be May before I knew it.

Even more bad news? Summer Daigle was now in my photojournalism course, of all things. She’d been in another section the previous semester, and apparently some scheduling conflict had landed her slap in my class.

We eyed each other warily when she entered the first day, and I’d done everything to avoid her. The only good thing was we weren’t in the same group, but New Orleans wasn’t the biggest city in the U.S., and most of the photo-worthy sites were in the same location. I knew it was only a matter of time before I’d have to speak to her.

“Can you believe it?” I wailed that night, watching Julian laugh through my laptop screen. “I jinxed it just like you said!”

“But come on. You said you’d managed to deal with her last year. Weren’t you almost friends?”

I hadn’t told him about Summer’s strange plot our last semester of high school, how she’d been spying on me for Will, trying to figure out my connection with their father. She’d said it was because I’d tried to steal Jack from her. As if. Ugh!

“For like five minutes.” My voice was seething. “Then she went back to being the most annoying person on the planet.”

Julian looked up and smiled, and even though he was miles away and only on a computer, his blue eyes made me forget everything bad. “You’ll do fine, Sunshine.”

I reached out to run my finger down his cheek on the screen. “I miss you so much. I think I hate Skype. It’s awful to see you like this and not be able to touch you.”

His lips twisted, and he rested his head on his hand. “You’re right. It’s hard with you sitting over there in that little nightshirt. And I love the bun.”

I hadn’t expected his call tonight, and he’d caught me getting ready for bed. Still, there was no way I was too vain to take his call on a moment’s notice. “We should start planning these calls so I can at least look cute.”

“Are you kidding me? I love how you look. It’s how you look when you first wake up in the morning.”

“Right before you leave me.”

Apple computer needed some special award because I actually saw his eyes sparkle. “We should come clean. Tell your parents everything and let the chips fall where they may.”