by S.P. Nysa
small portion from a work of fiction I am working on and hope to finish soon
|Aris and Jonathan sat together against the cast iron gates that surrounded the park; watching and commenting as the tourist passed. There were so many different types of people roaming the streets. There were the ones that were obviously in a whole new realm, freshly purchased tshirts baseball caps showing their new found patriotism to New Orleans and proudly sporting fanny packs. There were the ones mostly natives that shuffled around the city in the daytime waiting for the sunset and the darkness to hide their inability to function among the living, or non-alcoholics. There were the loud obnoxious frat boys and sorority girls that wore Mardi Gras beads everywhere and carried the smell of Bourbon St. on their breath, but they only appeared clearly after midday.
Jonathans and Aris shared a love for the a particular type of tourist that walked slowly through the city watching, as a true bystander to the cities great power. Those were the ones that noticed the true beauty of the city as the locals did. Adorning cameras hanging around their necks but rarely remember to pick them up for the beauty they saw in the city around them was nothing that could be captured by the fastest shutter. There were the same ones that would stop and truly enjoy the original rawness and passion the artists displayed along the streets in various mediums. Her mothers art was one of those mediums that couldn’t be appreciated by the backpacking, fanny pack wearing tourist, only by the ones that had fallen in love with some aspect of the city and was determined to stay there or bring it back home with them.
The city was haunting that way. She never let you forget her, no matter what your purpose for being there. She attached to your mind, your heart and your soul and left her imprint; leaving you longing for another hour, day, week, or summer to spend with her. And after you’ve left for home and thought you have forgotten her, a smell, a musical note, a sunset, a warm musky rain, a painting, or a simple memory will conjure her up for you and threaten to haunt you till your return. That’s how the city works. The great deity, New Orleans; loved by many, missed by more, and the ones who search for her elsewhere are left broken, lost and disappointed.