We stopped. I saw a single cast iron entrance gate placed within a sculpted archway carved into the bushes.
Jackie yelled “Hey!”, through the shrubbery.
A scruffy, paranoid looking guy with wide wild eyes materialized from the shadows behind us. In a direct, I’m serious and mean business kind of voice he asked, “What the fuck do you two want?”
The dude appeared to be in his late forties to early fifties. He looked like a cross between Timothy Leary and Hunter S. Thompson. His hair was medium length, sandy gray and was styled as if he just got up from a nap. His face was all stubble from a week of not shaving.
The wary man was wearing a black T-shirt, cut off jeans and K-mart Blue Light Special flip flops. He looked like someone to avoid and gave me the creeps. I also noticed that he had what looked like a shotgun hidden in the bush next to him within arm’s reach. That also bothered me.
Jackie calmly replied, “I’m here to see your old lady.”
He recognized her and seemed marginally tolerant about her being there but was obviously suspicious of me. Jackie reassured him and interjected, “He’s OK. “
After looking me over and staring me down for a tense minute or two, he smiled, stepped aside and said in a much more cordial tone, “Go on inside. Looks like you caught yourself a smart one there Jay Girl. If he tried to bullshit small talk me, like your Ex, instead of keeping his trap shut and being respectful I would have shot his kneecaps off!”
I thought the guy was nuts and wondered what the hell I was getting myself into here. He disappeared back into the bushes as we passed under the pergola. Jackie told me, “Just ignore him. He does that shit to almost everyone when he first meets them.
I’ve only seen him actually shoot someone once. Two dumb kids were being initiated into The Gangster Disciples or some another local gang. Henry caught them casing the house and let off a few pistol rounds at them. He hit one of them in leg. The other one just crapped his pants and ran away.
Cindy and I took pity on him. He was scared and crying.
Cindy distracted Henry, who wanted to finish the future thug off, while I bandaged him up enough so that he could walk home and go to a doctor. The wound was probably more painful than bloody.”
We closed the gate behind us. As we strolled towards the porch Jackie advised me, “Stay on the pavement. They don’t like people wandering on their lawn.
My ‘friend’ Cindy lives here. She owes me a few dollars. I’m also thinking I might be able to score some weed from her too.”
As soon as she opened the screen door and we were inside the house Jackie yelled, “Hi Cindy!”
I was immediately overwhelmed by the strong odor of fresh marijuana.
A very large, at least six foot five and over three hundred pounds, intimidating, barefoot guy with polished ebony skin, carrying a grey duct tapped woofle-ball bat casually walked into the entry room though a nearby doorway. I noticed that he was wearing a green John Deere cap, red gym shorts and a tight fitting navy blue half shirt.
He had a long gold chain with BMW hood drooped around his neck and a smoldering a corn cob pipe clinched between his lips. He welcomed us by offering a toke of whatever he was smoking after saying, “Hi”
His voice did not match his demeanor. It seemed high and effeminate for such a large scary looking male. I declined, but Jackie gladly accepted and inhaled deeply.
A voice, which I assumed was Cindy, echoed from the neighboring room, “Hi Jackie come on in and sit down for a while.”
The space looked like a normal living room except that it contained an extra card and banquet table. Each had a scale and was covered with assorted bags filled colorful pills, dried pot and white power which I assume was cocaine. The person whom I believe is Jackie’s friend Cindy was separating, weighing and re-bagging the substances.
The oversized man led us into the sitting area; left then came back with a few beers. He quietly offered each of us one.
We both accepted. It was a piss warm Budweiser but better than nothing considering it was free.
He then turned on a nineteen inch color TV and changed the channel to MTV. After staring at the screen a couple seconds he placed the remote control on a nearby end table then sat down in a newer looking tan overstuffed chair with his loose change filled bat resting between his legs. Othello’s understudy casually sipped his beer and took occasional tokes from his pipe.
We quietly watched a rerun of Remote Control while Jackie and Cindy chatted behind us. I paid more attention to what the two women talked about than the game show.
Jackie introduced me, “How’ve you been Cindy? This is TJ. I met him at the hostel a little while ago.
Cindy was about five foot three and easily under one hundred and thirty pounds. I don’t think she was much older than thirty. Her hair was jet black and her skin was olive in complexion. She could have been Mexican, Spanish, Italian or Portuguese for all I knew.
It turns out she was Jewish. Her parents were Israeli.
I quickly figured that out when I saw the gold Star of David hanging around her neck and some pictures of her with her family on the wall at the Tel Aviv Stock Exchange (I got the impression her father might have worked there) , Kikar Malchei Yisrael and Tel Aviv University (Cindy and/or a family member may have attended school there for a while).
Jackie confirmed my assumptions later on during one of our many conversations.
The room had plaster walls and a tin ceiling all painted white. There floor had grey wall to wall carpeting that had cigarette burns and various stains scatters throughout it. There were family pictures hanging on some walls and a couple paintings of fruit on tables on others. There was a couch, TV a couple of chairs, several small tables and a Radio Shack component stereo system.
Cindy was wearing a coffee colored, low cut, loose fitting, ankle length sun dress with a plain white t-shirt underneath and a pair of well worn drab blue sneakers with white anklet socks. She had forest green eyes and wore stylish gold framed glasses with one and a half inch diameter slightly tinted lenses.
While packaging her wares Cindy spoke up and apologized directly to me, “Don’t mind Henry's unusual greeting style TJ. It has more to do the neighborhood's ambiance and his stint as a ‘government contractor’ stationed in Central America ten years ago than you.
I wouldn’t take it too personally. He’s always on edge and hasn't slept more than an hour and a half at night for as long as I’ve known him. We’ve been living together for over eight years now and I can count on my hand the number of times he slept a full night.”
I thought to myself that there was a lot more to Henry than he or his girlfriend were revealing. I also thought that he was more likely strung out on something like amphetamines than sleep deprived but knew better than to say anything. Instead I said, “It’s OK. I get it to some degree. An old housemate of mine had a similar demeanor. He used to grow pot in our basement and sold it for a living. Not out of the house though.
I was more unnerved by the shotgun in the bushes than Henry's leeriness.”
Cindy then looked up at us and revealed, “As Jackie already knows. We or more accurately the entire household were ripped off real bad a few years ago.
Henry was so freaked by the experience that it caused him to have flashbacks from his tours in Vietnam when he was a Marine.
Rather than waste time chasing after half-assed solutions, Henry decided to take matters into his own hands.
First he stopped renting rooms out to people like Jay Girl’s ex.
Since cops don’t patrol this neighborhood often and what we are doing here isn’t exactly legal Henry believed that having the yard patrolled by armed people, with an invested interest in the household, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, would eliminate most problems.
He replaced transient or unreliable tenants with more committed ones like Dwain,
the Zambian Warrior sitting on the chair over there and another chick, who’s even more crazy than Henry, who likes to hide in unusual places and pretend she’s a ninja assassin or special forces sniper, depending on her mood.”
Cindy also noted that they used shit covered punji sticks and buried a few nasty bear traps in the yard to help detract unwanted visitors.
She then asserted, “We have not had any problems since changing our business model. Even local gangbangers respect us now and tell everyone to leave us alone if they want to leave the property alive and with all their body parts.”
Jackie then started getting to the point on why she came to visit Cindy. She asked, “Do you remember the money you offered to pay me for the good mushroom source I set up for you?
I’m broke and really need some money now. Is there any chance you could pay me for that?”
Cindy replied, “No.
Henry said to not to give you a bloody cent because your ex still owed him for three months’ rent when you guys lived here.
Also it turns out that the person you recommended was actually under surveillance and being investigated by the Louisiana State Police for a whole laundry list of shit. Henry can smell that stuff a mile away.”
A look of surprise came across Jackie’s face and her jaw dropped. She said, “I’m so sorry! I had no idea.”
Cindy assured, “It wasn't your fault. The Feds busted the guy soon after you told us about him. One of Henry's old ATF buddies tipped him off long before any of us could get into trouble.”
Jackie started scratching herself more than usual. It was easy to see that she was getting pretty anxious as she continued to plead her cause further with Cindy.
Jackie hastily updated Cindy on what she'd been up to since they last saw each other. Cindy listened attentively but was obviously indifferent.
Jackie asked again for money, “I REALLY need some cash Cindy. I need to eat and a safe place to sleep. I thought we were friends.”
Jackie’s begging didn’t change Cindy’s mind. After about twenty more minutes of listening to Jackie’s sob stories it looked like Cindy was starting to get fed up with Jackie.
It then dawned on me that that Cindy and Henry were only acting polite as a courtesy and to not draw any unwanted attention that might come from Jackie’s haphazard visit.
Jackie continued to nag Cindy about needing money. Cindy simply ignored her and focused on her work instead.
Cindy eventually became fed up with Jackie’s whining. She responded in a cold serpentine voice, “Jackie I’m done listening to your bullshit. I think it’s time for you to fucken go.
If you don’t leave NOW I will personally rip her Goddamn arms off!”
Dwain and I silently looked at each other and shrugged at hearing the remark.
It had nothing to do with either of us but was a queue to both Dwain and I to escort Jackie out; separating the two women and preventing any problems from occurring.
Thankfully Jackie got the hint and told me it was time to go.
It was obvious that she was embarrassed and nervous from the troubled look on her face, color of her skin and how much more she was scratching herself.
I said good bye to Cindy and Dwain, thanking him for the beer. We were escorted out of the house and off the property.
While leaving we passed Henry in the yard. I was worried that something nasty might go down and I didn’t want any part of it. Whatever was going on involved Henry, Cindy and Jackie, not me (or Dwain).
I awkwardly said, “See you later Henry. It was nice meeting you.”
Henry replied with a devilish grin, “Yes, if you go to Panama on a regular basis!”
I got the impression then (from his response) that they weren’t the least bit worried about me but if Jackie ever showed up again there might be trouble.
Jackie was several feet ahead of me and heard the exchange between Henry and me. She asked me, “What did he say to you?”
I said, “We just said goodbye.”
She did not believe me and tried pressing me more by giving me a dirty look that she hoped would make me feel guilty, but dropped the issue quickly because she was probably thinking about our next stop.
While we were walking back towards the hostel I asked Jackie, “Is Henry for real?”
She answered, “Yes; from all I know about him, but since I’m no expert and Henry is not very talkative there’s probably a lot no one knows other than maybe Cindy.”
I didn’t tell Jackie my thoughts about Henry, despite her occasional prying, until a couple days later. It turns out that she sort of knew anyway.
She told me that Henry did covert ‘contract’ work for the CIA in Central America. I asked, “How do you know?”
Jackie confessed, “I snooped through some of his stuff. I was looking for some cigarettes and a lighter one day and was poking through his office desk.
There were papers and letters in a drawer. They were all official and business looking, not what I would have expected. Nothing gory or incriminating; which is probably why they were not locked up or hidden.”
That was the piece I needed to complete the puzzle in my head of Henry. I figure he probably still works with the CIA as a consultant from time to time. I read once somewhere that people never totally leave that organization once they are indoctrinated.
Wandering Around
The night had just begun for us. It was a little before 9PM.
On the way back to the hostel Jackie decided to change course. We walked to the Trolley Stop on St. Charles instead of the pension house.
She told me, “I have stuff to do downtown. Wanna come with me?“
I said, “Sure. Why not? I’ve got nothing else to do.”
Jackie then pulled a pass out of her purse as a trolley approached. I started digging for change in my pants pocket. “The fare’s on Cindy. Don’t worry about paying.”
I quickly surmised that Jackie swiped a pass from the house when no one was paying attention.
The French Quarter appeared to be a completely different place at night. It had a very eerie and grim feeling or mood about it.
Drunks, freaks and show callers littered the streets.
Darkness dispelled the whitewashed illusions of daytime Bourbon Street. The area felt more real or authentic versus a movie set filled with actors trying to entertain an audience.
A more subdued sort of music lingered in the background. Its source originated from somewhere within the shadows and alcoves. The nocturnal melodies mingled modestly amongst all the other sounds reverberating throughout the purlieu.
Jackie obviously knew her way around this area well. She told me, “I’ll give you a grand tour after we have a beer and get something I’ve been craving to eat for months.”
Jackie led me directly to a small restaurant that I would have easily missed if she had not stopped. The eatery was very crowded and filled with customers whom I assumed were regulars, not tourists. There were a lot of older men speaking Greek to each other. Jackie quickly found a vacant table.
The place was well lit and had a large ceiling fan that was not turned on. The air inside was sweltering and stagnant from all the people. It smelled like marinated rotisserie meat, body odor and stale beer.
After sitting down by an open window Jackie called an order out to a nearby waiter, “The lo ena some French fries, a bowl of tzatziki and a pitcher of Athenian zythus paraka lo.”
The waiter grinned as he listened to the order and seemed impressed Jackie actually knew some Greek. She completed the order before I could say anything. I figured I’d just drink the beer if I didn’t like the food she ordered.
Jackie then interrupted and asked the group at the station next to us, “Excuse me, do you smoke? Yes? Could I have a cigarette?
One of the patrons gave her one; she thanked them and began to smoke it.
The breeze coming in from outside was refreshing compared to the stifled air a few feet from us.
The server returned with our order quickly. While wolfing down her portion she complained, “The itching is over my damn body.”
The comment then caused her to start scratching herself all over vigorously again.
She continued eating and rubbing, “It’s not a normal rash. It moves randomly all over the place and there’s no red bumps or hives. That’s why I think I’m just allergic to the soap or something in those lines.”
I just let her ramble and did not respond. I had a few fries and tried the dip after Jackie kept insisting I try it. She was right it was not that bad and tasted good with the beer. I was not that hungry though so I let her eat most of the food.
After the food and beer were gone Jackie said. “I need to go to a bar around the corner to see if this guy named Frenchy is there. He let me live in one of his furnished studio apartments above the place for a while, until he found someone who wanted to sign a lease. I accidently left a suitcase with some of my stuff in it there. He said that he’d store it for me until I came back for it.”
Swiftly weaving our way through the nearby dark alleys and side streets we eventually came upon and open air hole in the wall dive bar filled with all kinds of characters, young and old, seedy and straight looking. She told me to order a beer and wait for her. She assured me that she would be gone only for a little while. Jackie then walked to the back of the bar and up a set of stairs.
While waiting I listened to a weird house band called the Isotopes. The group consisted of two electric guitar players, a drummer and a bassist. They all were dressed all in black t-shirts and slacks with white high top sneakers and wore large plastic red cups on their heads like a hat.
I think they were mimicking the New Wave 80’s group Devo. It was hard to tell though.
They mainly played instrumental stuff, mainly surfer type music by The Ventures and Duane Eddy but peppered their set with old jazz standards such as “In The Mood” as well as something by Chet Atkins. They even had three shapely and scantily clad go-go dancers who mimicked scenes from the TV Show Laugh-In for some of the numbers to entice the audience.
The band would play songs while the girls danced to flashing random lights then suddenly stop. A spot light would then shine on one of the dancers who would then act like a dingbat, crack a cheesy joke about sex or ask a band member a stupid question. The show worked well and everything sounded good to me.
I overhead someone next to me talking about the band and how it’s leader, the bassist was rumored to be undead and that the band has been around in one form or another since the Jazz Age back in the 1920’s or maybe even longer thus explaining their large, unique selection of music.
The tale states that he was an overly ambitious and very talented musician who allegedly pissed off a voodoo queen when she caught him sleeping around on her with a well known courtesan (who just happened to be her sister). She then hexed him out of revenge.
His curse is to spend eternity attempting to keep a good band together while remaining semi-anonymous. Neither is easy because performers will always grow older, get married, have kids and move on leaving him behind to keep putting things back together. Fame is also problematic because people would get suspicious if they knew the truth and noticed that he never aged. The man was compelled to move every few years or so to where he’s unknown so that he can safely start over again.
Presumably this was the most recent incarnation of the band. To evolve with the times the leader replaced a brass section with the dancers. While living in Montreal Quebec he modeled the group after Spike Jones and the City Slickers. They did psychedelic music when based in Eugene Oregon.
I noticed it was taking Jackie a bit longer than a little while and wondered what was going on. Just as I finished my 2nd beer about thirty minutes later, she abruptly appeared from another dark doorway on the left side of the bar. She angrily barked at me, “We’re going now.”
She looked very pissed off.
Following right behind her was a short, round, middle aged guy with thin hair who sounded like he was shouting at her in French and shaking his fist.
As we walked away I asked, “What happened? What’s up with Danny DeVito?”
She said, “The little fucker threw my suitcase out! That’s what’s up! He lied to me because I would not sleep with him in exchange for rent!”
It turns out that he was Frenchy was both the bar’s owner and her old landlord.
Jackie snapped, “When I went upstairs to ask for my suitcase back he told me that he was not in the business of storing ex-tenants' shit. He only claimed to be my friend hoping it would lead to more. FUCKING ASSHOLE!!! There were clothes and a hundred dollars in the luggage.
I think he took the money and gave the clothes away. I should tell the prick’s wife but figure it would be a waste of time because she’s probably well aware of his bullshit and does not want to be reminded.
What woman in her right mind would want to sleep with that sick smelly bastard anyways? His idea of showering is to pour a gallon of windshield wiper fluid over his body?”
Jackie then pulled out the last cigarette from a crumpled pack she had buried in her purse and lit it.
I asked her, “What do you want to do now?”
She tersely told me, “To see a couple of people she hoped were still her friends.’”
Tadgh
Jackie gradually settled down and regained her composure while we walked and she smoked her last rationed cigarette. I silently followed her as she guided me through the rowdy groups of bar hopping college kids and sleazy out of town businessmen looking for after-hour thrills at one of the many peep or transvestite shows. We eventually came upon a kitschy looking tourist trap voodoo shop.
I think it was around 10:30PM. A ‘We Are Closed’ sign hung on the door but that did not seem to bother Jackie in the least bit as she proceeded to push it open.
A bell rang on the door as we walked in. A medium sized grey parrot perched by the door squawked in response then said something in French.
There was a man behind a cash register who looked like he was counting the store earnings for the day. Jackie turned her head to him and said “Hey Kevin. I know you’re closed. I’m just here to say hi to Amber”,
Kevin was a be-speckled husky man who stood just under six feet tall. He had a calm, friendly demeanor about him and appeared to be in his early to mid forties. His frizzy long brown and greying hair went down to the middle of his back.
The man was wearing clothes made entirely black leather and hides, looking more like a biker or trapper than a shopkeeper. He was also wearing a silver Ankh around his neck and several large rings with inscribed Celtic markings.
As he continued to count the money, Kevin replied in a monotone voice, without looking up from his work, “Hi Jackie. No problem. How have you been? It’s been a while. I thought you moved to Florida? Amber’s upstairs if you want to talk to her.”
Jackie answered, “Oh I’m OK. My plans changed though and I needed to come back for a while.”
She then grabbed my arm and led me past a workbench of some sort, to the back of the store, then up a stairway that went to the second floor of the shop.
At first glance the downstairs area looked more like a jewelry store than an occult five and dime. Yes, there were the obligatory made in China mummified monkey paws, dehydrated alligator heads and cheesy Marti Gras masks but those things were displayed on one relatively small area towards the front of the showroom. The rest of the shop was filled with locked cases of what looked like handmade jewelry that I assumed Kevin and other local artisan’s made.
When we reached the top of the stairs Jackie yelled, “Hi Amber. I’m going to use your bathroom. I really need to take a wizz. Thanks.”
Jackie then went through a doorway to our right. L
eaving me alone in a dimly lit room with a woman dressed in a light green dress. The shopkeeper was on the far end of the room and appeared to be labeling containers and re-stocking shelves.
Amber was short and full figured. She had auburn hair rolled up into a bun secured to the back of her head with fancy looking bejeweled pins.
Her eyes were brown and her skin was pale white with freckles on each of her cheeks. She wore no shoes or earrings but had a thin loose leather strap around her neck with a small burlap talisman attached that swung around when she moved.
With her back to us, calmly responded, “No problem Jackie,”
A moment or two later something nearby appeared to spook her. Amber paused to listen or consider what she felt, then abruptly turned around and glared at me.
The look she gave me was simultaneously shock, astonishment and vague recognition. She then paused another second or two to regain her composure, smiled and called me, “Tadhg.”
I was puzzled and politely said, “I’m sorry. I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else. My name is TJ and I don’t remember ever meeting you before.”
Amber smiled, then strolled over to me, grabbed my hand, held it firmly, and drew me closer. While looking deep into my eyes she drew a deep breath through her nose to smell my scent.
Her actions caused a big chill to go through my entire body. My knees weakened a bit and I became slightly lightheaded. I felt like she was touching my soul or connecting with my aura in some way I could not explain with words.
I was very confused and not sure how to interpret her behavior but after a few seconds I could sense that she meant no harm. It was just her unique way of greeting some people.
Amber then hugged me as if she had not seen me for several decades and kissed me hard on my left cheek. She looked very happy and teary eyed. It felt like she considered me a sibling, cousin or childhood friend. She smelled like spearmint. I was very confused.
She backed away, assessed me again and laughed. She seemed even more sure about whom I was than before and asserted, “Oh you are Tadhg alright! You just don’t remember because it was a long time ago and another life. You probably don’t realize, let alone understand, it right now but you are a very old and wise spirit.
The last time I saw you was about three thousand years ago in what is now known as Ireland. We lived together in the same clan. You were a renowned falconer and my big brother. You disappeared one day during a hunting trip with several other clansmen. All of you were never seen again. They assumed you were all killed by a pack of wolves. I didn’t believe them and thought you were all captured and enslaved by Fomoiri. “
I politely listened but was not really sure about what she way saying to me.
Amber sighed then continued, “I looked up to and depended on you after our father died. Without you around to care for me I was considered both a burden and affliction to the clan. It was rumored that I was touched and attracted unwanted fairy folk. Clan elders quickly married me off to a Ordovices chief from across the sea as a gesture of peace and to be rid of my unsettling strangeness.
I mourned your loss for my entire life.”
This was a lot to take all at once. I was glad she at least was being nice to me. Even if she really was crazy I wouldn’t want to risk upsetting her by challenging or questioning her sanity. I also though who am I to judge. As far as I know she could be right so I just let things be and changed the subject.
The upper floor was more reflective of the store’s true nature. The room was filled with numerous lit candles and oil lamps for night time illumination. The lighting made it difficult to tell if the walls and ceiling were painted flat white or a slightly off shade.
The floor was made of planks and stained a medium shade of oak. Its surface was well worn; full of scuff marks, dents and scratches from the boxes and furniture moved across it over the years.
A funky smell of lavender, sweaty socks, witch-hazel and clove cigarette smoke permeated the room. A stained glass Wicca Pentacle hung in a half circle window pane behind me. There was a druid symbol (three parallel lines with dots above them surrounded by a circle) painted on a wall between two oak shelves of jars, potion bottles and plastic bags filled with herb mixtures. It felt a little eerie there at first but in the end was more fascinating than fearful to me, especially after being greeted by Amber.
Containers of spices, powers and potions lined two entire walls of the room. Another wall contained books on witchcraft, Pow-wow magic and other occult subjects. The left wall was covered with mystical objects like voodoo dolls, amulets and Egyptian statuettes.
To keep things from becoming more awkward than they already were I asked Amber, “How did you come about opening this business?”
She explained, “Despite first impressions the store was mainly a herbal shop or apocathary associated with our professional practices. Both Kevin and I are certified nutritionists. Kevin also has a doctorate in Chiropractic and I’m a trained acupuncturist.
Kevin though enjoys creating artisan jewelry and running the downstairs more than treating patients lately; His artwork actually earns us more money and is less stressful for him. I though like working more with people and helping them with their ailments.
My husband was given the building by his parents when they retired with the understanding he’d keep it in the family and not sell it for a profit. Kevin’s grandparents did the same for his father. Family history says that the property was initially purchased sometime during the early eighteen hundred’s by Parisian relatives as an investment and mainly used by their friends and family when conducting business in New Orleans.
Possession of the land eventually ended up in the hands of an aged great uncle who happened to be a priest that frequently moved. He was appointed to various administrator and teaching positions at Catholic schools located all over the world. When he moved away to Australia or Indonesia and ceased corresponding with the attorney who managed his family assets in America it was assumed that he died of old age. The lawyer’s firm tracked down the first living American relative they could find and discreetly transferred ownership.”
Amber then asked, “What about you? What have you been up to? Do you have a job or girlfriend? Are you going to school? Where do you live now?”
She listened intently as I told her, “I live in Rochester, New York. I’m currently working and a computer technician and that I just finished earning an associate’s degree and am now working on a bachelor’s degree at another college. My life is pretty boring between working and going to school. I don’t have a lot of free time”
I was careful to not be too specific with details because I did not really know her and was not sure if I should be that open or not about myself just in case she was a nut.
She sensed that I was being reserved. My brief and censored self-assessment amused her, as if she expected me to be that way and it was a ‘trait’ of the Tadgh person she was mentioning. She was polite though and did not call me out. But the look on her face called my bluff.
After I finished regurgitating the cliff notes version of my uninteresting life Amber noted that our time together today was limited and that she had some important questions for me, ”How is your mother’s health? She had a mastectomy a while ago and I was wondering if the chemotherapy worked? I also want to know if you’ve talked to Hanorah lately?”
Her probing really creeped me out. I was dumbstruck and wondered how the Hell she knew my mother was a breast cancer survivor and that I had recently made amends with my High School sweetheart after breaking up and not talking for several years. I didn’t know how to answer but that did not seem to faze her. She knew
Amber then took my right hand, looked at my palm and told me, “Your relationships with women will be complicated but don’t worry too much because they’re all necessary. All the conflict they may cause you and others will serve a much higher purpose tha
t you won’t appreciate for many years still.”
She then looked at my left hand said, “You will be a great, loyal father, friend, husband and soul mate to a number of people. Don’t listen to the negative voices that will try to get you to doubt yourself or stray from your life path. It will all come together fine in the end. The crazy making associated with your family curse will gradually go away when you are in your early fifties and the second half of your life will be very stable and prosperous.”
Jackie came back from using the bathroom at that moment and interrupted the conversation. She was scratching her right side and asked, “Amber do you have any advice or a concoction that could help me with this annoying itching I’ve been dealing with?”
Amber stared at her blankly for a few seconds, touched Jackie’s forehead with her right hand and placed her other hand over her heart. She then replied matter-of-factly, “Sorry, There’s nothing I can help you with. The itching is caused by a hexed ring you stole.”
The answer obviously frustrated Jackie. She immediately retorted, “The chick owed me money. I needed to do something. It’s too small for me to wear on any of my fingers. The pawnshop didn’t want any more turquoise bands. I might be able to trade it for some food stamps or a couple packs of Marlboros at the bus station.”
Resolved that her condition wouldn’t be easily fixed Jackie asked Amber, “Well then can I at least bum a cigarette from you?”
Amber gave her one from a pack she had in a nearby drawer.
Jackie quickly changed the subject again as she lit the cigarette and vigorously scratched her stomach underneath her shirt. She asked Amber, “Is the all night bookstore around the corner still there?”
Amber answered, “Yes.”
Jackie said, “See you later Amber. Thanks for the smoke. Come on TJ lets go to a bookstore that’s open twenty four hours a day. I want to look for something there. I forgot the title but I’ll know it when I see the cover.”
Amber walked up to me and proclaimed “I’m not letting you go off this time without a prober kiss and hug good bye!”
She then embraced me and planted a melancholy kiss on my cheek. I reciprocated out of compassion. The hug felt comforting and strangely familiar.
As I walked down the stairs Amber shouted, “Stay away from Buddhists; especially old Tibetan Lamas! They will recognize you and try to drag you back into their celestial crazy making!”
Kevin was in the back of the shop doing something. He looked up waved goodbye to us and we went back out onto the street.
Bookstore
The book shop was about a block’s walk from Amber and Kevin’s store. Its entrance was on a side street and there were no window as far as I could tell. I assumed that the building was a warehouse that someone converted at some point into lofts, offices and/or retail space. I was excited and was generating a quick list in my head of all the hardcover versions of Somerset Maugham books I was missing and wondered if I’d find any undiscovered literary gems.
Once inside my enthusiasm diminished considerably. The business was not the bibliophilic wet dream I envisioned it would be.
There was lots of dust and cobwebs and almost no decent lighting. The shelves that filled the place were made of cheap sheet metal and press board. Books and magazines in every kind of condition were sloppily stacked everywhere in no particular order. At least a quarter of the floor space was dedicated to pornography.
I was no longer very excited. The ‘used bookstore’ in picture that I had in my head was probably tainted from reading too many stories and watching cliché-ic movies over the years.
I was expecting something more magical and mysterious in an older city not a local library book sale crossbred with an adult book shop. I just assumed they were all interesting and filled with caches of literary masterpieces not gently used copies of Swank Magazine and infinite piles of Thomas B. Constain novels.
Jackie rushed in immediately, darted down one of the aisles and started browsing through that section of the store. I entered more slowly and looked around.
It felt weird to be hanging in a bookstore at 11:15 at night. I noticed that we were the only people in the store besides the cashier.
He was a creepy looking dude with long greasy dirty blond hair and a seventies porn star mustache. The faded yellow t-shirt he was wearing was too small for his girth and splattered with coffee stains. My gut told me the man was the epitome of the kind of person mothers warn their children to stay away from. He openly leered at Jackie and I as if he’d drop his pants and guiltlessly fuck either of us up the ass if given the opportunity.
I could see a small drop of drool forming on the left corner of his mouth. It glistened as light reflected upon it from the bright reading lamp he had set up on the counter next to him. I could also see a big buggar barely hanging from the tip of his nose.
He eventually lost interest, looked back down at whatever he was reading before we came in and blindly removed the nugget off his nostril and placed it in his mouth when he thought no one was looking.
The place smelled like raw sewage and mildew. I had to be careful then walking to not trip on any of the piles of disintegrating periodicals dumped on the floor. I looked at titles and poked through random heaps. Nothing looked interesting or made an impression on me enough to pick it up and look closer. Most of the titles were familiar and the ages of the books were more hand-me-down than old.
I soon found Jackie lying on the ground engrossed in an old copy of Life magazine. She was admiring an issue with photos from what looked like the Korean War.
I told her, “This place really sucks Jackie. It’s a crap hole. I don’t see anything very interesting. It’s disappointing. The fantasy I had in my head and the reality of being in this place is humbling. I’m thinking we should head back to the hostel soon. It’s getting late”
Jackie retorted, “You’re crazy! You just haven’t looked around hard enough.”
She then attempted to prove to me that I was wrong by dragged me over to a far corner of the place where she went to a table and proceeded to finger through a large mound of yellowed papers. Within a minute or two she found something and pulled it out for me to see. Jackie said, “Look here. This was signed by Abraham Lincoln! It’s got to be worth something!”
I read it and noticed that it was a copy of Gettysburg Address and laughed. She apparently didn’t know that the paper she handed me was just a replica. I replied, “Jackie, it’s just a copy. The few authentic versions of this speech were secured and stored in hermetically sealed containers at the Library of Congress or famous museums somewhere.”
I then thumbed carefully though the same pile of papers further down and, pulled out three more copies of the document, then showed them to her.
Jackie was astounded for a few seconds but was still insistent on the genuineness of the place. She obstinately went over to another aisle and pulled off a worn book with a broken binding and opened it up to show me a copyright date. The date was nineteen eleven.
I told her, “Yes, the book is relatively old but I own a couple books that predate that one by one hundred years easily. Also the author does not look familiar. To be honest Jackie I’m really more interested in finding diaries and handwritten memoirs or records from the first quarter of the nineteenth century than mass produced books. The four or five books I saw in this place with dates before eighteen fifty are in awful condition. My mother has lots of books in her attic that were a lot older than the ones in this dive and they are in a lot better condition.”
Jackie was quiet for a minute then reluctantly asked, “So you want to leave now?”
I said, “Yes. I’m starting to get tired of standing and walking around. I’ve been on my feet all day.”
Final Stop of the Evening
We found a trolley waiting at a nearby stop then road it back towards the hostel (
using Jackie’s filched pass). It was around midnight and I was tired.
Upon arrival at the boardinghouse Jackie suddenly remembered something and asked, Could you please drive me to one last place? It’s not far and I promise I won’t be that long. I really want to say hi to another friend that I haven’t seen in a while who might be able to help me.”
I reluctantly agreed, “OK. I’ll drive you there. Please don’t take too long. I’ve been up since before five in the morning and would like to get to bed sometime tonight. Tomorrow will probably be just as busy as today.”
Jackie assured me, “It won’t be more than an hour or so,” as she vigorously scratched her legs.
The address was about seven or eight minutes away, but on the other side of St. Charles. The neighborhood appeared more troublesome than the one Cindy and Henry’s house was located in.
Jackie said, “Stop here. Park the car in front of that group of brick row houses where we can see the car from inside.”
I noticed that there was a sign that said ‘No Parking’ and asked, “Will I get a ticket or the car towed if I park here?”
She assured me,” Just ignore the sign. The cops and traffic enforcement people never come to this neighborhood during the day so why would they show up at night.”
It was dark and most of the streetlights were either missing or in pieces on the ground so it was hard to tell what the area really looked like. All windows were shut and blocked with plywood or heavy curtains. It was impossible to see inside any of the residences or if anyone was home.
I smelled rotting garbage and saw what looked like a dead or stuffed cat hanging upside down from a broomstick over a lit candle. The deceased feline had a red bandana around its neck and a big cigar stuck in its mouth. The unusual display was on a ledge outside an upstairs window across the street.
A shotgun was discharged a few blocks over. Jackie pointed out, “We shouldn’t linger and need to get inside soon.”
I pointed and inquired, “What is going on with that dead cat across the street?”
She said, “Oh, it probably had something to do with voodoo. I think a lot of Haitians live in that building.”
Jackie pressed the buzzer by the door. A female voice answered through a speaker and asked, “Who the fuck is it?!! We just got home from work and don’t feel like dealing with any neighborhood bullshit! If you know what’s good for you go the fuck away! NOW!”
Jackie then identified herself, “Tamika. It’s me, Jackie. I just came by to say hi for a little while.”
The person responded over the speaker with a laugh then told Jackie to come inside. The door buzzed then automatically unlocked. We went inside.
We were greeted by a younger Black couple. A droopy eyed toddler dressed in Barney the Purple Dinosaur print pajamas was in the woman’s arms. Jackie introduced them, “TJ, these are my friends Tamika, Jonathan and Jonny Jr. Guys this is TJ. We’ve been hanging out together for a few hours tonight.”
Jonathan had a short sleeve white shirt on with a University of New Orleans name tag hanging from the pocket and a pair of black slacks. Tamika was dressed in blue scrubs with LSU Health System embroidered on the right side of her top. Both were lanky but not especially tall and had short cropped hair.
Tamika excused herself, “It’s getting late. I need to get the baby to bed upstairs.” Jackie followed her, leaving Jonathan and I alone in the living room.
He told me to sit and got us each a beer from the kitchen. I sat on overstuffed tan suede couch covered with juice stains and had a slight smell of maple brown sugar instant oatmeal.. I cringed at the thought of sticking my hand between or underneath the cushions.
I noticed that there was plywood covering the entire picture window overlooking the street and that the curtains were drawn to hide the modification. I thought to myself, “It must suck to not be able to open a window. “
The living room was set up like most for a young family with kids. None of the furniture matched. There was a wooden rocking chair, a maroon recliner with torn or significantly worn upholstery in several spots, a glass topped coffee table with chipped corners and a warped poorly assembled entertainment center covering an entire wall.
The entertainment center contained a twenty one inch color TV with a cable TV box sitting on top of it, a VCR and a component stereo system. One shelf was full of Sesame Street and Walt Disney videos. Another had bootleg tapes of several Police and Sting concerts and a few adult oriented movies like Footloose, The Graduate, Blade Runner and Angel Heart. There were music cassette tapes from every genre stacked on all the shelves. The ones I noticed were Boston’s Boston, Lyle Lovett and His Large Band, Dr. John’s Gumbo and something by Mozart.
They also had one shelf dedicated to books. I think the books people read are often a good indication of their personalities. Dry, logical and structured people like scientific books, business books are favored by people who are driven by money and competition, while literary books are cherished by the abstract.
On this shelf I saw four books on culture and race, Bureaucracy by James Q. Wilson, The Signifying Monkey by Henry Louis Gates, several text books on radiology, a Betty Crocker Cookbook, Margaret Attwood’s A Handmaid’s Tale , Anne Tyler’s Morgan’s Passing, a King James edition of The Bible, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and The 158 Pound Marriage by John Irving. I stopped reading book titles from a distance when Jonathan came back to the room with our beers after stopping at a thermostat on the wall and flipping the air conditioning on.
He seemed like a very friendly and open person for just meeting me. We spent the next ninety minutes drinking beers and talking while the girls put the baby to bed and caught up with each other upstairs.
Jonathan grinned at me and frankly asked, “What’s a Northerner like you doing in New Orleans with a whack job like Jackie? I’m surprised that you didn’t turn around and run back home after being alone around her more than five minutes.”
I smiled and replied, “How did he know I was from up North?”
He told me, “I saw the license plate on your car when I pulled up. Your accent when talking gives you away too.”
I said, “I met Jackie by accident at the hostel I’m staying at.”
He commented, “It figures she’d find a sympathetic sucker there. Don’t take me wrong. Jackie’s a good friend of ours but she’s obviously got issues. You need to be leery when spending time around her. She has a tendency to grow on you. Just remember to not to feel obligated to rescue her or fix all her problem. That’s her responsibility to own up to and no one else’s.”
I assured him, “That was exactly what I was trying to undo. She’s got this crazy idea in her head about hitchhiking to California to chase some fifty four year old college professor she claims to be in love with. It sounds like he left town in a hurry to avoid her but I don’t think she sees it that way.”
Jonathan added, “I personally knew the incompetent dipshit. He was very personable and well-liked by most of his students. What they didn’t realize is that he also had a longstanding reputation with Administration and faculty for taking advantage of younger co-eds and boozing that was difficult to substantiate until recently. No one ever wanted to say anything bad about him on record.
Jackie and her group of friends were ‘the straw that broke the camel’s back’ in regard to his long list of unofficial indiscretions at the University of New Orleans.
Times change and the cost of his bullshit outweighed his value as a popular teacher.
The Board of Directors no longer wanted to assume his liability. Several costly sexual misconduct lawsuits related to his unusual treatment of female students were settled out of court to keep things quite in the media.
He was a smart guy and knew just how far to push the envelope to not get in any legal trou
ble or lose his job. Nothing he was accused of or caught doing was criminal just inappropriate.
His most recent probation period was just about to end. He had put him on notice that one more infraction would get him terminated. The boss men soon discovered that he was hanging out with Jackie and several other people from his classes. They gave him a choice to quit or get fired.
He quickly found a new job in Hawaii and skipped town before anything serious could happen.”
I pointed out, “I didn’t know that Jackie attended college.”
Jonathan responded, “She tried auditing a few classes but was not very successful. She was smart enough but got distracted easy and had lots of issues in her life that always seemed to get in the way of her studies.”
I sighed and said, “She needs to get her butt back in school, not run off to Hawaii.”
He quickly retorted, “Good luck on getting that stubborn woman to change her mind once she’s made it up!”
After making the remark Jonathan proceeded to ask me about myself. I gave him a quick rundown of my life at that moment.
He seemed impressed and commented, “If I could do it all over again I would have not gotten married so quickly. Marriage complicated things for me at times; like when I was working forty hours plus a week and carrying a full time course load at school.
Women, especially wives, usually want to spend time doing stuff with their men outside the bedroom. For several years I was not that much fun considering all I did was work, attend classes, study and sleep. I’m surprised Tamika put up with me for so long. I would not have blamed her one bit for leaving me and I’m thankful that she didn’t.”
I then reciprocated and inquired, “Well I know your married, have a kid and went to college. Did you grow up in New Orleans?”
Jonathan told me that he was twenty six. He’s lived in New Orleans his entire life, other than the few summers he spent in Chicago during the late nineteen sixties-early nineteen seventies, with his mother and father while they helped organize meetings and protests.
He elaborated by saying his parents were originally from Chicago and active members of the Black Panthers during its beginning stages.
Fred Hampton was his father’s cousin.
Jonathan’s grandparents were overprotective and cautious when it came to rebelling against establishment. Their idea of taking action was to move north to Chicago when they first got married to start a new life for themselves instead of subjecting themselves to or fighting against rural Alabama’s longstanding tradition of discrimination.
In their eyes the Black Panther Organization was just another form of discrimination.
As he recalled the past Jonathan smiled and said that his Grandpappy would always say, “Why da Hells can’ts you damn kids jus learn to gets along wid ever’y one and stop stirrin da pot. Find yooz a good woman, marries her, have babies and gets you’r selves an honest job to supports dem. You’d be too busy den to worry and bitch about equal rights and ever’y one willd bees happy!”
His grandparents insisted on keeping Jonathan and his cousins away from all the crazy making and questionable activities associated with the Black Panther organization as its purpose evolved from ideology into action.
Instead of attending rallies and protests with his parents Jonathan went fishing with his grandfather. He also learned about gardening and helped his grandmother grow vegetables in a rooftop plot and flowerboxes that hung outside the window of their flat.
His Granny used to preach, “Learn’ins to plant and makes good food iz far mo pract’cal and peastful way toos promotes indepen’dince and equalities den yellin blacks power, shakin yurz fist ats a bunch of cameraz and shootins peoplz!”
His mother and father eventually dropped out of the organization as they got older. Grandpappy’s words of wisdom began to make more sense when family life and job responsibilities started taking priority over the group’s radical beliefs. The disillusionment and fear caused by Fred’s murder did not help matters either considering they had a small child and another on the way.
Jonathan’s mother was a HS dropout and his father barely graduated from HS. Both had to work to help support their families as soon as they were old enough. They vowed to not do the same with their kids and were major advocates of education.
Both Jonathan and his little sister graduated from HS with honors and went on to attend college despite growing up in a tough neighborhood. He earned a BA and MA in Sociology and another MA in History.
Tamika and he met at college at a dorm party. They got married within a year of getting together and had Jonny Jr. a few years later, after he finished grad school.
Jonathan now works full time at the University of New Orleans as an administrative assistant for the grants office and teaches two adjunct introduction to Sociology classes a week. Tamika is an x-ray technician.
The topic of our conversation gradually shifted to how many of our peers have a lousy work ethic. It was difficult for either us to relate to the average college student.
Both Jonathan and I worked full time and earned a formal college education simultaneously. While most of our class mates were sleeping in late and getting drunk we were working crazy hours, trying to get last chapters in reading assignments completed and papers written.
Being married made it even harder for Jonathan because once Tamika graduated with her AS degree she has no desire to continue her studies any longer while he was still finishing up the last few classes of his BA and thinking about graduate school.
He called Tamika as ‘his saint’. He stated, “She is my savior. No one else would have had the patience and faith in me that she and waited so long for me to get where I needed to be.”
We were both proud and relieved at how at this point in our lives we didn’t have the added stress of a having to pay back college loans.
I noted that, “Working full time also saved me a lot of money and the extra experience put me several years ahead in my career paths than most people our age”.
Jonathan then snickered, “Don’t you get a good laugh at how naive some recent graduates are regarding what they believe their starting salaries will be? Their grandiose dreams of being offered fifty thousand dollar a year by fortune five hundred companies are quickly squelched by the fact that Burger King may not want to pay more than minimum wage for their skills and knowledge! I get real pissed off at administration and other teachers for nurturing that academic fantasy. My students don’t always take kindly to hearing about reality even though it’s the truth. Heck my employer the freaking ‘University’ does not pay those wages to anyone I know, even though they act like they do. The bean counters who control the purse strings are obviously not on the same page as the Spin-doctors”
We then changed the subject of our discussion over to the concept of race.
Jonathan said, “I’m working on an idea in my head for a formal paper or essay about race for publication. I think that the angry rhetoric that grew from the Black civil rights movement of the nineteen fifties and sixties has become obsolete. Young people don’t get it anymore nor do they want to hear it because it does not work the same way anymore. Materialism is more of a motivator than opportunity. What’s your opinion on race? Does what I’m saying make sense””
I replied, “I work with an older guy whose family moved to Rochester from Georgia in the nineteen fifties. He brought up the same subject every once in a while.
I wonder if the interest has something to do with Northern and Southern culture in the United States. How both regions wrestle or have been wrestling with the concept of race and discrimination for the last two hundred years. Things though got more complicated with time because the demographics associated with the context of race expanded and included more than just African Americans.
It can’t be easily presented in black and white (or black versus white) terms anymore. There is also
a significant Hispanics and Asian population in the US now who consider themselves neither black nor white but they are certainly affected by perceptions of race.
I agree with you and am beginning to think the problem of race is a battle our parents and grandparents championed. Over time though, those causes have lost a lot of meaning with the younger generation. We tend to be more open-minded about skin color, acknowledging differences but not using it against someone, and not look at race as an issue the same way as our predecessors who fought for equality. It’s the same with feminism.
As with any war the survivors long for their ideological glory days and try to resurrect the past with every opportunity instead of letting go, moving on and accepting that the world has changed.
The younger people I know see the physical and cultural differences but generally speaking embrace the idea of equality and diversity so people are measured by their strengths and weaknesses as individuals not stereotyped by their race.
Interracial marriage is one example. When I was a little kid my parents and grandparents had a heart attack when someone mentioned the idea. Today if I see an interracial couple I think of them as a couple who are choosing to have a relationship not an abomination to society.”
Jonathan replied, “I like your point of view and wished more people in the Deep South shared the same sentiments. You and I will be long dead though before that ever happens.”
It was easily after 2AM before the girls came back downstairs twittering.
Jackie interrupted Jonathan’s and my conversation declaring, “I’m tired and ready to get back to the hostel TJ. If I don’t get eight hours of sleep at night I always wake up sick the next day.”
I agreed, “It’s probably a good idea that we get going then. Is it OK if I used the bathroom before leaving?”
Tamika pointed to a door by the front entryway where there was a small half bathroom with just enough room for a sink and toilet. She showed me where the light switch was and I quickly used the facilities.
There was nothing special about the room. It was clean and white.
Jackie hugged the couple goodbye and I shook their hands.
While driving back to the hostel she told me a little more about herself and her past. During our exchange Jackie pulled out a partially filled tube of over the counter topical hydrocortisone cream. I assumed that Tamika gave it her.
She talked and cautiously spread the medicine on her arms and pulled her pant legs up to her knees to rub some on her shins. Jackie commented, “This stuff helps some but not that much. It’s better than nothing. Tamika said I should go see a doctor to get a prescription. I don’t like doctors. I don’t trust them. They act like they know it all even when they don’t. “
She then mumbled. “I miss my little boy. I wonder how he was doing. I think him and little Jonny would make great playmates.”
I asked Jackie, “So how did you meet Jonathan and Tamika?”
Jackie said, “I actually met Tamika in Houston when she was almost sixteen. We hit it off quickly. We were both underage runaways. By necessity we became roommates. Tamika though did not intend to live on the fringes for long. She’s smart and always has a plan to better herself.
After a living together for a year or so Tamika earned her GED and started applying to colleges. She was accepted by the University of New Orleans with a full scholarship that covered both tuition as well as room and board because of her economic circumstances. She moved to New Orleans at that time to pursue her dreams leaving me behind in Huston to fend for myself.
I’m actually from Sparta, Ohio but started running away from home at fourteen because I hated my mother’s boyfriend. When he left or Mom kicked him out I came home for a while, but Mom soon found another jerk to help pay the bills so I left again.
A few weeks later when I went to see if things had changed, my mother was gone. I couldn’t find her. The apartment was rented out to someone else. I asked around but no one knew where she was. I wasn’t particularly bothered by the loss.
I think she left town on one of her drunken binges. She probably won a couple thousand dollars with a scratch off lottery ticket and thought she hit the big time.
I was alone and needed to do something. I first hitchhiked to Memphis Tennessee but after a couple of months of living in Church sponsored homeless shelters and runaway teen homes I grew tired of the religious bullshit and decided to go someplace else. I hopped onto the first empty freight train car I could find. It took me to Houston, Texas, where I started my new life.
After getting established in New Orleans Tamika eventually convinced me to move here about a year later. She then persuaded me to enroll in a program at the college that helped students get their GED and think about attending college.”
When we got back to the hostel we decided to meet again in the morning at 10 AM on the porch of the place.
Jackie said, “I want to give you a tour of the City during the daylight. There are lots of other places to see besides the French Quarter.”
I replied, “That sounds good to me. Goodnight. See you in the morning.”
As she walked away she turned around and asked, “Is it OK if I keep your Jacket for the night?”
I knew she needed it more than I did and said, “Yes, no problem. I don’t need it.”
She smiled a thank you and walked away.
I then sat on the porch for a half hour with some of the other guests sitting there. I was tired but needed to wind down some for a few minutes before going to bed.
I briefly spoke again with the punker chick I met earlier and a guy just out of the Army who said he was from Tennessee. It was hard to tell how tall he was and how much he weighed because he was still wearing his camouflage fatigues and it was dark out. His head appeared freshly shaved. The dude was half drunk and claimed to have traveled all of Europe in four days.
The girl left after a few minutes. It was obvious that she thought he was flakey and full of shit.
I tried to talk to him for a few more minutes but decided sleep sounded better than prolonging a conversation that was going nowhere.
It was hard to get a word in with the person. He was only interested in bragging about the rudimentary elements of picking American girls in the train stations of Europe.
I don’t think he had all of his marbles if he truly believed that he saw all of Europe in the time span he claimed. Maybe he took a hard blow to the head during basic training that distorted his perception of time. He even boasted about having time for a boat cruise between some Greek Islands.
I easily fell asleep that night. I was smart enough to bring earplugs with me on the trip. Living with lots of housemates who were active at all hours of the day made them a necessity at times.
Hostels are usually very noisy places at night. There are many snorers and drunks that stomp around loudly after partying it up in nearby bars. After inserting them I heard no noise after climbing onto the top bunk and putting them in place.