Page 4 of Always There Bayou
“It’s nothing,” she shrugs. “Nobody has the right to tell you how you should or shouldn’t dress. They also don’t have the right to judge you because they assume you like girls. Fuck them.”
“I do,” I admit. It was the first time I was saying that out loud, but it felt good. She looked at me, but didn’t say anything. “I think I always have. I mean, I like guys too, but girls more. Is that weird?”
“No,” she replies, picking at the thread on her pants. “At least I don’t believe so…especially because I like girls too.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, but only girls,” she admits, hesitantly. She took a deep breath before looking at me. “Honestly, I really like…”
Her voice trailed off almost as if she were scared to finish her sentence. I waited patiently, but when she didn’t continue, I didn’t push it. She groaned in frustration, but when I asked if she was okay, she only nodded and said she was sleepy. So, I cuddled in the bed beside her and we took a nap together like we often did.
Although this time, there was a weird feeling that crept up on me.
It wasn’t a bad feeling, but I could tell that something had shifted between us.
Denny Houston - August 25th - 14 years old.
We’d only been in school for less than a month, and it was closed again because of the storm.
Everyone was acting all frantic, and I wasn’t sure what to think, but I was definitely a bit nervous. Especially after we went to the stores and all the shelves were bare. My Parrain and Nanny came to stay with us, and so did Cory and her family, since our house had a bit more room for everyone. Our families had been close for years now, so us staying with each other was nothing new.
We had plenty of room for more family members to stay, but a lot of them didn’t think it was gonna get too bad. I was most worried about Lavender. She stayed with her uncle and mom, and they weren’t evacuating. I was terrified, thinking that I’d never see her again.
I watched the news like a hawk and was anxious the whole night and the days following. Cory tried her best to keep my mind off things, and I was grateful. She was literally the best friend I could’ve ever asked for, and I knew that I liked her more than just as a friend.
But I wasn’t about to mess up our friendship, especially when she might not even feel the same about me.
Crushes were the least of my problems.
Denny Houston - October 7th - 14 years old.
I was devastated.
All I could do was cry in my aunt’s arms after she broke the news. It’s been over a month now since Hurricane Katrina and all the devastation, and we finally got confirmation that, sadly, Lavender and her family didn’t make it.
I cried for hours, because it wasn’t fair!
My aunt and uncle wouldn’t tell me the exact details, but I did know that my cousin, her family, and the few others who stayed behind in their apartment building were among many of the forgotten and overlooked citizens. They were left to fend for themselves for days and even weeks after the storm and the flood.
It was hot. There was no food. Not water.
I can’t stop crying.
“Come here. I got you,” Cory said later that night as she pulled me into her arms.
We didn’t say anything as she held me while I fell apart. She just stroked my hair as I drifted off to sleep. When I woke up a few hours later, she was nowhere to be seen, and I started to panic. I may have screamed, who knows. What Idoknow is that she appeared a few seconds later with a plate of food and a drink. I didn’t have an appetite, but I knew that she wasn’t gonna let me be until I ate.
So, I ate the bowl of gumbo that my aunt had made, and it warmed my heart in the best way. The whole time, Cory sat beside me quietly. She didn’t force me to talk or tell me to get over it. She didn’t judge me when a few tears slipped here and there. She just sat there, present and waiting, and it made me feel so comforted.
When I finally finished my food, she took the dishes down to the sink, returning a few minutes later with a few index cards in herhand. She retrieved a small box from my desk and a few pens before sitting back down beside me.
“You don’t have to talk, but you do have to write,” she says, handing me a pen and a few index cards. I smile at her, nodding as I begin to write down all the things that scared me at the moment.
Back when we were in seventh grade, I came up with the idea that we should create a place to store all our negative thoughts, fears, and anxieties. This was after I told her about how I lost my mom, and she finally opened up about hers. It was something that my therapist suggested, and I thought I’d share it with her. The purpose of this was for us to breathe easier and minimize stress and worry. I believed that it worked, but I knew that she only did it to humor me. So, seeing her do this with me without complaining for the first time meant a lot to me.
“Now, we fold them up and add them to the box,” she says, mimicking what I’d said plenty of times before. I chuckle, doing as I’m told. “Great! How do you feel? Better?”
“So much better,” I admit.
