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the cobblestone sidewalks had become warped by the
roots of old oak trees, but to me this made it even
more quaint and special. These streets were quieter,
fewer and fewer street revelers in evidence.
"St. Charles Avenue," the streetcar operator
cried. An electric chill surged through my body
turning my legs to jelly, and for a moment, I couldn't stand up. I was almost there, face-to-face with my real father. My heart began to pound. I reached for the hand strap and pulled myself into a standing position. The side doors slapped open with an abruptness that made me gasp. Finally, I willed one foot forward and stepped down to the street. The doors closed quickly and the streetcar continued, leaving me on the walk, feeling more stranded and lost than ever, clutching my
little cloth bag to my side.
I could hear the sounds of the Mardi Gras
floating in from every corner of the city. An
automobile sped by with revelers hanging their heads
out the windows, blowing trumpets and throwing
streamers at me. They waved and cried out, but
continued on their merry way while I remained
transfixed, as firmly rooted as an old oak tree. It was a
warm evening, but here in the city, with the
streetlights around me, it was harder to see the stars
that had always been such a comfort to me in the
bayou. I took a deep breath and finally crossed down
St. Charles Avenue toward the address on the slip of
paper I now clutched like a rosary in my small hand. St. Charles Avenue was so quiet in comparison
to the festive sounds and wild excitement on the inner
city streets. I found it somewhat eerie. To me it was as if I had entered a dream, slipped through some magical doorway between reality and illusion, and found myself in my own land of Oz. Nothing looked real: not the tall palm trees, the pretty streetlights, the cobblestone walks and streets, and especial-ly not the enormous houses that looked more like small palaces, the homes of princes and princesses, queens and kings. These mansions, some of which were walled in, were set in the middle of large tracts of land. There were many beautiful gardens full of swelling masses of shining green foliage and heavy with roses and
every other kind of flower one could think of. I strolled on slowly, drinking in the opulence
and wondering how one family could live in each of
these grand houses with such beautiful grounds. How
could anyone be so rich? I wondered. I was so
entranced, so mesmerized by the wealth and the
beauty, I almost walked right past the address on my
slip of paper. When I stopped and looked up at the
