Tue., Sept. 27, 4:18 p.m., 341 Octavia
With the storm approaching in late August, Arthur Cole decided at the last minute that staying in New Orleans would probably be a bad idea, so he had hightailed it his uncle’s house, a man known as Big Al, in Baton Rouge, along with four other people he didn’t know previously. Whenever Big Al would take off to work, he left the five of them to sit around the living room and watch CNN, Fox News, MSNBC, or whomever was broadcasting the most depressing news that day. Their city was demolished, under water, its remaining inhabitants descending into mass stupidity. The other four people were Tom and Sally from Lakeview and Grant and Mindy from Arabi. Both couples were middle aged, with their three or four children between them scattered around the country at various colleges, all having left New Orleans, thankfully, just a week or so before the storm. Both couples were relatively sure after only a day or two that their houses had been completely inundated. Art was pretty sure his house was dry, but with reports of tornados during the storm and mass looting in its wake, nothing could be taken for granted.
Worst of all, anybody with a 504 area code cell phone was holding a useless piece of electronics, that is until the text messages started working a few days later. Tom, Sally, Grant and Mindy wanted desperately to get in touch with their kids to let them know they had escaped all right, but they couldn’t call out on their cell phones, and even calls from Big Al’s landline were useless, because the kids all had 504 phones. Thankfully, the modern science of email saved the day. But once they had contacted their kids, there was nothing else for Tom, Sally, Grant, Mindy and the mildly interested observer, Arthur Cole, could really do, except watch the news and shop for some new replacement clothes. Pretty much everybody had brought the equivalent of an overnight bag, thoroughly expecting to be home at the most two days after the storm made landfall. The flooding of the city made the prospect of returning rather difficult.
The heavy drinking kind of snuck up on everybody. It would start with somebody offering to go up to the store to pick up some margarita ingredients to “lift everyone’s spirits,” and eventually devolved to the whole group travelling daily to the store to buy just about anything and everything they could possibly find to make every concoction imaginable.
After a few days, a rule started. There would be no drinking before noon because, well, that was just too depressing. So the mornings would begin early enough, as nobody could really sleep with the uncertainty; the middle aged folks were usually up by seven and Art could only manage to keep himself in bed until eight or eight-thirty at the latest. Sally turned out to be a tremendous chef who kept everybody full and happy, particularly at breakfast. The hunger curves of everybody in the house waned so precipitously during the day that everybody pretty much fended for themselves food-wise after the morning meal. After breakfast, the clock watching began. It was an unwritten rule that if somebody was sitting in the living room watching CNN at 12:02 p.m. and didn’t realize noon had come and gone, it was incumbent upon the person who had noticed the passage of the magic hour to make the unencumbered person a drink.
Sure, it was possible to go outside, travel around Baton Rouge a bit, but only if you had packed for the day, as Baton Rouge had doubled its population overnight, making its already bad traffic situation something akin to spectators lining up for entrance to the Super Bowl. During the day, Baton Rouge had become a parking lot, so if you wanted to go anywhere, you would literally pack a cooler with food and beverages and not plan on being home until after sunset. Thankfully, the grocery and liquor store were just down the street, so no major intersections needed to be crossed. But a simple thing, like a trip to the movie theater just two miles away, could take as long as three hours, or in movie hours, it would take a movie and a half to get there. So, for the most part, the refugees at Big Al’s empty nest stayed put.
Sometime around the third week of their captivity, with the possibility that Hurricane Rita might also make landfall in New Orleans, things began to get a little more harried. Although Rita did make a turn west and eventually hit the Lake Charles area, the damage was done; nerves weren’t frayed, they were incinerated. Grant was the first to lose it. When the possibility of Rita hitting New Orleans was first announced, it was right after breakfast, and Grant went straight for the liquor cabinet.
“What about the noon rule?” a concerned Mindy asked her husband.
“It’s noon somewhere.”
Today, now that he has a home with a land line, Arthur thinks it would be the right thing to do to call Uncle Al and thank him for his hospitality, without which, he might have spent the last month or so holed up in a gymnasium somewhere, a prospect too terrifying to even consider. At Christmastime, Big Al will have an especially nice gift from his nephew under the tree.
Sat., Mar. 30, 1981, 1:02 p.m., Audubon Zoo, Lizard Exhibit
(eyes wide open): I like the way it licks itself.
(eyes normal size): Well, it’s supposed to do that. It’s a lizard.
(eyes wide open): Yeah, but daddy…
(eyes normal size): Yes?
(eyes wide open): It’s not supposed to be able to do that.
(eyes normal size): Do what?
(eyes wide open): Do that.
(eyes normal size): I’m not seeing what you’re seeing.
(eyes wide open): You have to use your per-priphferal vision.
(eyes normal size): Peripheral.
(eyes wide open): Yeah, that.
(eyes normal size): Okay, so what are you seeing?
(eyes wide open): It’s like a cartoon, you know, with one of those balloons.
(eyes normal size): Balloons?
(eyes wide open): Yeah. To tell you what they are saying.
(eyes normal size): I see. Like a sentence.
(eyes wide open): Or a thought, but yeah, daddy, like a sentence.
(eyes normal size): Like a sentence?
(eyes wide open): Yeah, daddy. It’s a like a comic book.
(eyes normal size): I didn’t think you like comic books.
(eyes wide open): Well I don’t, duh. But I know what they look like.
(eyes normal size): And…
(eyes wide open): And there’s one right there, one the side of that lizard.
(eyes normal size): I don’t see it.
(eyes wide open): Well it’s there. You’re probably too old.
(eyes normal size): Yes, you’re probably right, Sunshine.
(eyes wide open): Not that you’re old or anything, daddy.
(eyes normal size): That’s very sweet of you.
(eyes wide open): Well, I’m six, so I can say things like that.
(eyes normal size): Yes, you are.
(eyes wide open): But you’re probably too old to see what it says.
(eyes normal size): Well, I’m all ears.
(eyes wide open): What?
(eyes normal size): That means I’m listening to what you have to say.
(eyes wide open): Oh.
(eyes normal size): So?
(eyes wide open): Well…
(eyes normal size): Yes?
(eyes wide open): The sign on the side of the lizard, in the balloon…
(eyes normal size): Yes?
(eyes wide open): You’re going to think I’m a little girl.
(eyes normal size): Well, you are a little girl.
(eyes wide open): I am a little girl, but I’m not seeing little girl stuff, is all.
(eyes normal size): What do you mean?
(eyes wide open): I mean, I’m not making this up.
(eyes normal size): Of course you’re not.
(eyes wide open): Stop paternizing me.
(eyes normal size): Patronizing.
(eyes wide open): Right, patronizing.
(eyes normal size): Sorry.
(eyes wide open): It’s okay, because you’d have to be …patronizing me if you don’t see it, because, of course, you’re too old to see it. Not to say that you’re old or anything, daddy. Just, well I can see it, I guess because I’m a kid and all.
(eyes normal size): Well, you’ve piqued my curiosity. What is it that’s in this comic book balloon on the side of this lizard?
(eyes wide open, leaning in for a closer look): It’s kind of hard to read. All the letters are small and kind of smushed up together.
(eyes normal size):
(eyes wide open): It says Alexander Haig is not the President.
(eyes normal size, chuckling): Well, that’s right, Sunshine. He’s the Secretary of State. I didn’t know they had you studying politics at your age.
(eyes wide open): We don’t study politics, daddy.
(eyes normal size): You don’t?
(eyes wide open): Nope. But we’ve been working on subtraction and I’m starting to get the hang of it.
(eyes normal size): Oh. Well, does it say anything else?
(eyes wide open, leaning in again): It says… okay, here’s the whole message. I can see it now. It says President Reagan will get shot, and Alexander Haig is not the President.
(eyes squinting): That’s not a funny thing to joke about, Sunshine.
(eyes wide open): I’m just reading what’s on the lizard.
(eyes normal size): Well then I think we’ve seen enough of mister lizard here. Come along, Sunshine.
(eyes drooping): Wait, there’s another balloon.
(eyes aggravated): Sunshine…
(eyes wide open): Constitutionally, gentlemen, you have the president, the vice president and the secretary of state, in that order, and should the president decide he wants to transfer the helm to the vice president, he will do so. As of now, I am in control here, in the White House, pending the return of the vice president and in close touch with him. If something came up, I would check with him, of course.
(eyes normal size, blinking): What?
(eyes wide open): What?
(eyes squinting): What did you just say?
(eyes rolling): I said we can leave the lizard if you really want.
(eyes squinting, blinking faster): Who, what, Sunshine?
(eyes rolling): Come on, daddy, let’s go.
