Remember the Future (11 page)

9

So taken with the view of the city he had never been to before, Grant didn’t realize that they had slowed to a stop until after he heard Maddy’s voice and the edge there.

He had been lost in thought, knowing that he had to end this soon and wondering how he would do it.  At this rate, he would have a hard time getting back to Houston, and the longer he drew this out, the trickier it would be trying to get away.  He could already feel her growing attached to him, and it made him jumpy.  He didn’t want to lead her on.  Did he do or say something that may have given her the wrong impression?

All these thoughts disappeared as the alarm appeared in her voice, and the streetcar came to a complete stop in the middle of Canal Street.

“Why are we stopping?” Maddy called out to the driver, rising and slipping into the seat behind him.  Grant joined her.

The driver tapped a gauge on his dashboard, and an incoherent voice barked something inaudible over his radio.  “Power's out,” he answered in a nonplussed voice.

A look passed between Maddy and Grant.

The noise level slowly increased throughout the car as word traveled that none of them would be reaching their destinations at the time they originally thought.  But almost immediately, the sound dimmed as all the locals accepted their fate with grim resignation.

Such is life
, their attitude seemed to say without words.

This only drove Maddy to greater agitation.  She could barely maintain contact with her seat.  “We’ve got to do something,” she muttered to herself under her breath, her eyes darting around at the streets flanking them.

Grant cleared his throat and got the driver’s attention.  “Does this happen often?”

“These lines are old,” the old man replied, drawing the radio’s transmitter into his gnarled work-worn hand. “Odds are it'll be back on in another ten or fifteen minutes.

Maddy popped from her seat and scanned the frozen landscape around the stationary vehicle.  “We don't have that kind of time.”

The driver cast a nervous look at Maddy and spoke into the mike.  “Just to let you know, the power’s temporarily out,” he announced. “Any ya’ll want to step off at this point, feel free.”

Giving the driver a parting nod, Grant rose and followed Maddy to the door.  The locals sat back watching indifferently from their seats and fanning themselves with whatever they had on hand.  The driver nodded genially back at Grant.

“Just be mindful to observe the crosswalks now.  I don’t want any pedestrian accidents on my watch,” the driver continued in a relaxed pace. Flashing a look of warning at Maddy, the driver pulled on the lever beside him and opened the door.

Squeezing through before the door had even fully opened, Maddy stepped down onto the streetcar rail path in the center of Canal Street, gasped and dropped to one knee just outside.

Grant leaped off and bowed down beside her.  “You okay?”

Maddy could dimly hear his voice, but when she looked up she saw a huge cypress tree spread out before her in the center of the busy French Quarter street.

Shaking her head only seemed to set the hook even deeper, bringing the image deeper into focus.  The rushing cars and busy city noises folded under her consciousness as if a thick blanket had been thrown over her.  She closed her eyes to clear her mind, but when she peered up again, a bayou lay beyond the clear image of a cypress tree.

Two gunshots rang out.

So realistic was the sound that she actually gave a sharp startled scream and threw up her hands to instinctively protect her face.

She could feel strong arms around her now, and she knew somewhere out in the real world Grant was trying to get through to her.  His concern, from the urgency of his grip, felt genuine.

She opened her eyes, her intention to tell him she was physically okay.

A dark featureless figure loomed above her now.  The silhouette of a massive handgun pointed directly down at her from the hand of the broad-shouldered figure above.

Then as if she had emerged from the surface of a lake, reality rushed in like a bright light and filled the vacuum.

Traffic noise returned to her ears. Canal Street came into clear focus before her eyes.

The sound of Grant’s voice came through above the sound of the cars around her.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” she managed, turning to make eye contact with him.

He looked at her with such concern that she could have kissed him.

Surprisingly enough, the streetcar driver stood next to him.  The concerned look on his face slid from Maddy to Grant.  “You okay, young lady?  You need me to call for assistance?”

“No sir, I’m fine.  Thank you for your concern,” Maddy responded, taking Grant’s hand.

The driver gave Grant one more look, then without another word retreated back into the streetcar.

“I have it now,” Maddy said, attempting ever-so-slowly to rise to her feet.

Grant grasped her elbow and supported her as she stood.  “What are you talking about?”

“The expiration date,” she replied, looking up at him with red glassy eyes.  “I knew the moment I touched Canal.”

“The expiration for what?” he asked in confusion.

“For me,” she told him, starting in the direction of the nearest crosswalk then stopping with a brisk shake of her head.

“You?” he said with alarm.  “Are we back to this again?”

Maddy fixed Grant with a steady glare.  “You still don’t believe me?  After everything you’ve seen today?”

Grant sighed heavily, then pointed at a bench a few yards away, helping her toward it.  “How much time do you think you have?”

“Only until sunrise tomorrow,” she informed him, dropping roughly onto the bench.  She was feeling suddenly weak.  Where had that come from?  It was like the emotional charge of the moment had taken a physical toll on her.

“How can you know this? What if you're wrong?” he asked, sitting down next to her.

“If I stay on this path, I won't live to see another morning,” Maddy told him, taking a deep breath and looking around in expectation of something threatening.  “Something’s changed.  Something changed the arc of our direction somehow.”

Grant lowered his head, unconsciously glancing away from her back toward the direction they had come from—back toward the interstate.

Maddy studied him.  “You’re going to leave me?” she inquired in a soft, scared-child voice.

He had never heard that degree of vulnerability in her voice.  She seemed really shaken.  Knowing all that, he could still not bring himself to look at her.

“I’ve got to get back.  I can’t just…” he started to say.  “I have to get home.”

“I can’t believe you’re going to leave me,” she whispered to herself in a quiet awed voice that rang loudly in the quiet space between them.  “After everything.”

In the distance, he thought he could hear the locked brakes of a car and the squeal of tires sliding to a sudden crash.

At the sound, his body involuntarily shuddered.

No, not again.

He straightened and craned his neck in the direction he thought he had heard the crash.  It was suddenly very important that he see some evidence of an accident.  Maybe if he could just hear the sound of an ambulance, he would know for sure that he wasn’t just hearing things.

Don’t let her drive away,
a voice within demanded
.

When he came back into himself and looked around, the bench next to him was empty.  He shot to his feet and looked over his shoulder.

Maddy stood on the raised esplanade, moving slowly into the busy intersection against the light.  Cars honked and brakes squealed.

Cursing under his breath, Grant bolted after her, grabbing her arm at the last second before she started across.  “What?  So your own death isn’t coming soon enough that you’re trying to shorten your life even more?” he grunted, moving toward the closest crosswalk.

Maddy stared at him in surprise, grabbing his arm tighter in hers and giving it a brief but intense squeeze.  “Thank you,” she said simply.

“Where to?” he asked in confusion, stabbing at the crosswalk button.

She shook her head.  “No, you have to lead.  On my own, this day will end badly.  I need you to steer me in the right direction.”

Grant traded a look with her, then slowly nodded his understanding with a dark smile on his face.  “Why not me?  After all, I haven’t a damned clue where we are right now,” he murmured, tugging her gently across the street when the light changed.

“S’kay,” she reassured following him closely.  “You couldn’t possibly do any worse than me.”

10

Passing Grant and Maddy, a swarm of shirtless children rushed up the sidewalk through an older residential section past ramshackle housing and broken down vehicles.

Beside him, Maddy stiffened as if bracing for trouble, and Grant flashed a look over at her.  “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied in a low nervous voice.  “I’m just not all that sure of the character of the area.”

Grant frowned at the cryptic response.  “Actually, it reminds me a little of my neighborhood,” he said passing a shirtless man, sitting out on his porch drinking a forty-ounce bottle of an amber liquid. He gave them a bleary-eyed look of accusation as they strode past.  “Many of these folks are just as much victims of circumstance as you are.  Some will never be the same as before the hurricane.”

Katrina.

Like 9-11 had been to the entire nation, Katrina had been to New Orleans.  To the locals, modern history for them would forever be divided into life before and after Katrina had come to town.

There were still places in the neighborhood that looked as if the storm had hit just yesterday.  Rotting corpses of homes.  Overgrown fields of weeds where children used to play.

Maddy spotted a sticker of the Virgin Mary on the back of a “dually,” a dual-wheel utility truck and felt her shoulders relax slightly.  “We’re among good folks here,” she commented confidently.

Grant gave a nod of agreement as they passed an elderly woman rocking a small child out on the front porch that looked to be six months old.  She gave them an uncertain smile and a nod of greeting.

Nodding back, Grant asked Maddy, “Any clue where we are?”

“Somewhere between Faubourg Tremé and the Seventh Ward,” she answered. “Neither of which are known for safety.  In fact, the guidebook I read warned against going there.”

A blast that might have be a car backfiring or a gunshot drew Maddy immediately to Grant’s side like a magnet.

Grant threw an uncertain look over his shoulder.  “Just the same, you might have warned me.”

“I didn’t want to influence your decision,” she explained.

Grant growled.  “I’ve been heading roughly north by northeast, trying to parallel the general direction of the interstate.”

Maddy nodded.

“What’s our ultimate destination here?”

Maddy stared at Grant with wide-eyes.  “Not sure I can answer that,” she stated quickly.

“We’re going to the Quarter, right?”

She gave him a blank look then lowered her eyes.  “I trust you, Grant.”

“You can’t do this,” Grant growled, coming to a sudden stop and turning to confront her.  “How can you put your trust in me like this?  I mean, you don’t even know me for God’s sake!”

“I think I do, Grant.”

“You really don’t.”

“You don’t know how big a step this is for me,” she responded, giving him a gentle nod and looking into his eyes.  “I never trust anyone.  I’m evolving.”

“So you’re going to start with me,” he huffed derisively, taking a right turn at the next street.  “You’re putting your life in the hands of a total stranger.  One with a very, very questionable track record.”

“You’re just a vehicle,” she responded.  “I trust something bigger than both of us is in control right now.”

Grant snorted and gave her a look of disbelief.  “You’re kidding me, right?”

“Okay,” Maddy said, effectively bypassing the entire issue altogether.  “Tell me how it is that you owe this mobster all this money.”

Grant marched along quietly.  “I’ve got a better idea,” he said with an ironic chuckle.  “Since you have all the answers, why don’t you tell
me
?”

Maddy gave him a shake of her head.  “I can’t.  And I think you know why.”

Grant shrugged.

“You haven’t decided yet,” she explained.  “If you are going to eventually tell me, I would already know.”

Grant shook his head.  “I’m not sure I’m following.

Maddy stopped and turned to look at something across the street from them.  Without a word of explanation, she started directly toward it.

“Um, what happened to me making…” Grant began.  Throwing up his hands, he trotted after her, joining her moments later as she stared riveted at the sight before them, a garish purple, gold, and green painted residential house with two front windows of stained glass.  The front yard was a junkyard of derelict fountains, birdbaths, baptismal fonts, and angels of every shape and size.  “Good God Almighty,” he muttered.

Maddy swayed gently.  Grant rushed forward and steadied her with an arm around the waist.  “Whoa! Serious vibes coming off this place.”

“Contact high?”  He scrutinized the travesty of construction, glancing between the house and Maddy.  “Nice paint job.  Very colorful.”

“Purple, gold and green,” she replied.  “Justice-Power-Faith.”

Maddy stepped up a path overgrown with rose-laden bushes.

Grant followed Maddy onto an iron trellis-lined porch beneath a hand-painted sign reading “Sadie's Salvage and Insight.”  The porch was packed with an overflow of more antiques, including an enormous bird cage, painted an audaciously gold color, which took up nearly half the space of the porch.

As Grant peered at the colorful parrot within, the bird seemed to study him in return.

“Hi there,” Grant greeted it.

“The doctor will see you now,” the parrot said, cocking its head at Grant.

Grant smirked at Maddy.  “Okay, that’s pretty cool.”

“Doc Ross willed that bird to Sadie when he passed on,” a gravelly voice explained.

Glancing around the clutter of the porch, Grant found a shriveled black man in mirrored sunglasses, sitting in his rocking chair like one other artifact among many.  Though he appeared to be looking directly at them, something about the man’s demeanor told him that he was blind.

“Used to keep him in the waiting room until the pest raised such a commotion with the customers that he had to put him in the back,” he continued.  “Go on through to the back yard and have yourself a looksee.”

“Yeah, Maddy, maybe we ought to keep…”

But she had already started inside.  Taking a look back onto the empty street, Grant sighed heavily and resigned himself to follow her.

More antiques and curios packed the central room of the house from wall to wall.  Sterling silver crucifixes, loudly-painted picture frames, and hand-crafted German clocks covered the walls.

As Maddy threaded her way through the tightly-packed room, Grant stopped at the fireplace mantel to contemplate a slice of fresh pound cake sitting in a plate before a picture of a black Jesus.  Lit candles, jars of strange organic matter, and what appeared to him to be a tea saucer of dried blood surrounded it.

As Grant took it all in, he heard a gasp from behind.  Turning, he watched as Maddy rushed outside onto the back porch.  He quickly followed, cursing under his breath.

The dim sound of Louis Armstrong’s trumpet drifted out of the distance, as he gazed upon a backyard filled with angels--every shape, size and material, from ivory to wood.  He watched as Maddy slowly descended the wooden steps of the porch, covering her gaping mouth.  He followed Maddy as she walked at a dreamlike pace into the rows and rows of multi-colored rose bushes thriving among a scruffy lawn in need of some weeding.

Feeling vaguely uneasy again, Grant scanned the expansive yard, his eyes stopping on a ramshackle double-wide trailer house set beneath a shady oak.  Covered in jewelry and dreadlocks, a massive black woman sat on what looked to Grant like a displaced cafe booth and table.

The tiny but curvaceous Hispanic girl sitting at the table handed the woman a box of American Spirit cigarettes.  In response, the woman gestured to a large ornate chest resting in the grass beside the table filled nearly to the top with figurines and religious symbols along with more mundane objects such as beer “koozies,” foam-floating key chains, and New Orleans Saints ball caps.

“Thanks for the visit, Treena,” the woman said. “Grab you a trinket.

“Got a love charm, Sadie?” the girl asked, bending over to sift through the chest.

“Damn, girl. You’re dangerous enough as it is, even without a charm,” the woman replied with a hearty chuckle, giving her a playful slap on the bottom.

Treena straightened up with a scowl at Sadie.

“What, you want those boys to be totally defenseless?  Here.”  Sadie grabbed a small wooden spoon from the box and thrust it into the girl’s hands.  “Cook better, and the right one will find
you
. Now go on!”

Treena curled her lip into a pout and shuffled off past Maddy and Grant back toward the house.

Rising with an effort of one familiar with wrestling with gravity, the large black woman started over to Maddy, where she ran her fingertips across the tiny mirrored glass pieces embedded in a green and silver cherub birdbath.

“You’re feelin’ somethin’ first-hand which you only recognized at a distance before.”

Maddy turned to Sadie as Grant evaluated her suspiciously at a distance.

“You have a squadron of spiritual guides, my child,” Sadie continued. “Why have you turned your back on them?”

“Angels were…” Maddy began, then bit her lip as her eyes went out of focus.  “I’m very conflicted on that subject.”

“They held a very special place in your past.  In your youth,” the woman continued with a troubled smile.  “You have bad memories of those times and bad associations with all that from that period of your life.”

Maddy stared at her with interest.

“We're all ev’ry one of us in our own way angels,” the woman said.

Grant appeared at Maddy’s side.

“And demons,” she concluded with a glance at Grant.

“You must be the Sadie from the sign out front,” he stated in a business-like tone.

“I am,” she replied, giving him the once over before returning her attention to Maddy.  Taking her around the shoulders, Sadie led her to a seat at her table.

Frozen in place, Grant could only watch as Maddy took a seat.  Left with a lingering feeling of paranoia, Grant scanned the borders of the backyard until he was satisfied that there was no back entrance into the residence.  With a single troubled look at Maddy, he finally wandered back through the house, leaned just inside the front doorway, and scanned the road out front.

“Who you watchin’ for, if you don't mind my asking?” the old man asked from his rocking chair.

Grant stiffened suddenly and looked over at the blind man with suspicion.  “We might have had some folks following us earlier.  Paranoid I guess.”

“Folks from your past or hers?” the other man asked.

“My past,” Grant responded.  “Um, her future.”

The old man lifted his head in interest.  “The name’s Horace.  What do they call you?”

“Grant.”

“Grant, in exchange for your story, I might be obliged to offer you one of them beers on the bottom shelf of the icebox in there,” Horace said. “I haven't heard a good one in weeks.”