A boy's perspective before Katrina

Pass Christian the summer before Katrina, a 15 year old boy’s perspective from his diary as I imagine being back there.

In a Trance...

Who knows how long I’ve been away. God I fell into this trance and when it woke up I was in a different time and place and on the gallery with my grandmother. Everyone had left because of the hurricane and she was sitting it out trying to figure out whether she should go back to New Orleans. Where was everybody going? They had taken off in one swoop. Shouldn’t we leave, test the highway, get out before it was too late.

The chimes rang the hour and I jumped up suddenly and looked out. It was pitched black and stormy and yes there was now and then the sound of thunder. Should I stay here with grandma when everyone had gone? A strange radio song was playing from another room and I wanted my Dad. Though he was mean and selfish in dark situations he could always decide real quick what to do.

Oh god. If a hurricane came I didn’t want to be stuck here in this big house on the Gulf coast. The sound of a song kept ringing in my ears some strange music they put on between announcements of hurricane updates and.

“Do you want to dance and hold my hand? That was the song that was playing. Oh baby do you want to dance under the moonlight.

Grandma I found myself saying. I’m leaving here. I feel bad about it. Think I’ll do something drastic like hitch hike to town.  Surely someone else racing down beach drive would pick me up.

Surely. “But before I go I want you to know that I do care for you. I’m just scared that the house will blow down and.

She turned a deaf ear to me and handed me the phone. It was Dad he had left for true but he wanted to come back to Serenity and pick me up and if Grandma wanted to stay in the big house and watch the big storm he couldn’t let me die there with her.

“Don’t you want somebody to love played on the radio. I dropped deep inside. Yes I wanted to come get me but at what price.

Could I take a crash course in stocks and bonds so I could realize how to talk to talk to him. “Don’t you want somebody to love.”?

I went and crashed off the radio.

Yes there were the two eye lights coming up the drive. Dad was coming back to get me. We would drive to Florida and pick up his yacht.

But what of Grandma. Could I just leave her here in the big house? Seems like I was always trying to please someone pivoting between Grandma and Dad. Now another phone call. The lines were all strangely connecting as the moon dropped and the Gulf rose and soon there would be too much water on Beach Drive and we couldn’t get out. And grandma popped on the radio, only to hear another dreary song, “And when I told her I didn’t love her anymore, she cried.”

Had this artist written songs out of terrible circumstance? “ And when I told her another girl had caught my eye, she cried.” Ah there was Mama, calling me know from Paris. Did it take a near death experience to get her to call home?

“Ah I’m fine Mom. Just here on the gallery with grandma. No the storm seems to be passing. Yes Katrina is her name. Russian sounding Grandma says. She doesn’t know why they can’t find more American names.

I’m glad you’re fine, Mom.

Oh God it was hot on that gallery overlooking the Gulf. “Got to go now Ma.”  Once again I was alone with Grandma, and unlike Mama and Dad, Grandma rarely talked. She only like interaction with adults and with children she liked to tell stories. But with the heat and the crickets and the birds crying, I knew a storm was coming and I didn’t want to see my young life sacrificed inside a story of a former time.

The dogs began to squawk from the pen near the house, a kind of rueful whelp as if they were scaring off spirits or calling for emergency dog help.

I contemplated whether I wanted to sit on the gallery and watch the water rise and slowly creep higher and higher over the land or go inside and pull down the shade.

Problem was newscasters’ exaggerated disaster to get more followers and it didn’t look bad.  Still a radio blast broke through predicting a tidal wave of 100 feet someone had spotted in the Gulf and feared was on its way to us.

Dad had driven over to the cottage. Was he looking for me? And the boat house and now was below waving up. “Come on down. I order you to come with me.”

He yanked at the door and grandma’s emergency alarm began to scream. She went inside to turn it off. I waved down at Dad. Go on. Someone has to stay with Grandma and we don’t think it will be bad

Why should I go with him? He had stolen and sold off the property. If it didn’t go down with the hurricane, it would be plowed under for oil rigs and/or condominiums. Dad would do his best to squeak out what money he could from his unlawful ownership of Granma’s land.

My throat was dry the wind was rising and echoing through the trees. The branches shook. Ma was gone. Dad was gone. Could the worse thing actually be death? Since we couldn’t escape death why not go in an avalanche of violence and not breathing. A big wash of a wave would probably knock me out.

In 24 hours maybe I would be dead and all this fear and catapulting about what to do wouldn’t matter.

I called down to Dad and told him to go. Anna was in his car and she was shaking in her shoes. She jumped out and screamed please come with us and my uncle inside Dad’s van began to race the engine. They were all so scared.

 I screamed I love you. Please go.

Grandma didn’t believe Katrina was coming. She turned up the news and got static and a sound like the zoom of a space ship and then quiet. I sat back on the porch counting the sounds of cars rushing by in front and then timing the silence between them.

Oh god were we making the right decision. Should I not rush down to Uncle, Dad, and Anna. 

More quiet. Was it just her arrogance or her stupidity that had grandma convinced Katrina wouldn’t harm us.

Dad left.

We were in a big house of solid brick, a villa with 12-inch walls, 3 stories high, rectangular solid like a box of cement. What it would take for that to be leveled was nothing short of an avalanche and earthquake something god awful enormous like a tsunami or unheard of act of natural violence.

The house took on a should like quiet, When big houses go empty they are like mausoleums. Three’s a hollowness to them a big stretch of emptiness, and silence.

Mama called again from Paris. Dad phoned from the highway. The radio faded into a raw beeping sound.

Then the electric went off and everything inside went black. Grandma fiddled with the radio, but its battery too had died.

She said we should go to sleep and when we woke up in the morning Katrina would have passed. More cars out front and now the water appeared to be sneaking over the lawn. Just an inch or so. Should backup and go away by morning. Lots of houses on water were on stilts so used were they to the water drifting in and drifting out.

So if this was the last night of my life, I need to talk straight with grandma.

I told her that I was sorry for any rudeness I cause her and asked her to let me take the Cadillac and drive her through the escape route back to the highway. But she wouldn’t hear of it.

She began reading her Emily Post of all things. Strange book about how to act in all circumstances but it didn’t have a chapter on hurricanes.

My throat was dry and I fumbled inside and got some water from the fridge. Grandma screamed out that I shouldn’t let the cold air out.  Felt really weird doing all these stupid daily things while the avalanche of the hurricane was clearly on the rise.

Dad kept calling, Mom kept calling. We would answer the phone but we couldn’t hear their voices and Grandma’s cell phone was low on battery.

Please Grandma please lets go get the Cadillac and escape while we can. My throat was hot, my head heavy, and it occurred to me maybe I didn’t want to go. God yes let the old woman die. I had to live. I would drive alone back to town in that car.