Big Easy Rain

New Orleans in the rain suits Cal and his ever changing moods. The city is at times brash and festive, and at others, tawdry and shameful, like a perpetual partier who overindulges and wakes up with sharp stabs of pain in his head – a hangover that lasts all day. The thought of sunshine, really any kind of bright light, causes Cal to wince. The rain and darkness allows him to wallow in well deserved misery. 

Laissez les bons temps rouler has run its course. The good times aren’t rolling at the moment, either for him or for New Orleans. He looks out the open doorway and glances up at the skies. The only thing rolling in is more rain laden clouds. The town’s leafy, normally crowded streets, with its cafes, restaurants, bars, carelessly flung Mardi Gras beads, and girly and drag shows, are deserted. The wrought iron tables, chairs, and tiny balconies overlooking cobblestone walkways are empty. Everyone has been driven indoors by the pounding rain. More is forecast to soon be on its way. 

Although Cal feels himself rapidly drowning in the nonstop rain and his own sorrow, he searches for a bright side. Perhaps the rain has been sent to wash away his sins along with those of New Orleans. They both can do with a cleanse or absolution, he thinks to himself. In his short time in The Big Easy, he has noticed the town’s evil side, the side that tourists don’t normally see.

Although Las Vegas is known as Sin City, Cal believes New Orleans also qualifies. Anything and everything goes in the Big Easy. Its nickname is well deserved. Every vice is readily accessible – drugs, prostitution, booze, scams. The motorcycle gang he had once rode with, the Carrions, could have made a killing in New Orleans. The thought of all of the rackets he could have run in New Orleans boggles his mind. 

Well those days are long gone. Cal is trying to reform. Everything is easy until it’s not. It stops being easy when you are forced to confront your own shame. If he had led a clean life, if he had been on the straight and narrow, he wouldn’t be in this predicament. He wouldn’t be forced to live hundreds of miles away from the only woman he has ever loved. He wouldn’t be forced to cut her, Sherrie, from his life.

Somehow the rain reinforces his feelings of guilt and self flagellation – a reckoning with his past. It reinforces his loneliness but also gives rise to a feeling of absolution. Is it possible to wash away his sins? To free himself from painful memories? He wonders if the universe agrees with him. The skies have now opened up, releasing a torrential downpour. He flings his damp dish towel over his shoulders and glances outside the restaurant where he now works as a busboy. The streets are rapidly filling with standing water.

So much for the rain washing anything away. The water in the streets doesn’t appear to be rainwater, but rather sewer water. It's dirty brown and smelly, swirling and picking up trash as it drifts along. New Orleans flotsam and jetsam, remnants of Mardi Gras and wild times. Being already below sea level, New Orleans is now in danger of flooding, as it had done many times before.

Its residents are gearing up for the latest storm, stockpiling supplies and scurrying indoors like rats deserting a sinking ship. Misery loses company. The rain has not hurt the restaurant’s business in the slightest. People are crowding into the restaurant, trying to eat and drink their storm laden sorrows away. 

As a busboy, Cal’s is tasked with clearing the dirty dishes away, wiping the tables off and resetting them for the next party. A trained monkey could do his job, he thinks in disgust. The repetition and monotony allow him to think, which is sometimes a good thing, but often leads him down paths of bittersweet memories and longing. Longing for her. Sherrie. He sees her face continually in his mind’s eye. Her soft blue eyes, her tremulous smile, her long blond hair, her warm body pressed against his. The memories are permanently etched in his brain. 

His mind is always playing tricks on him. As he moves from table to table with his slop tray, carting dirty dishes away, he thinks he sees Sherrie. A tall, blond woman has entered the restaurant. Something about her rangy frame, swinging walk, and long fall of hair brings back Sherrie. It is an subconscious reaction. His heart skips in excitement, and his pulse quickens. Try as he might to control his emotions, his body betrays him. He is unable to control his responses. 

The rational part of his brain tells him that Sherrie can’t possibly be in the restaurant. New Orleans is a long way from Chicago. He feels suddenly lightheaded, euphoric even. Sherrie’s nearness always generates a physical reaction in him. Even if that nearness is a false alarm. The heart has its reasons that reason knows nothing of. He can’t help how he feels. 

He sets his tray down on an unoccupied table. As if in a daze, he walks over towards where she stands waiting alone for a table. As he approaches, he notices out of the corner of his eye another man sidle near her. Something about the man sets off an alarm in his brain. The man appears to be a stranger but is standing uncomfortably close to the blond woman. The newcomer is not a large man. He really just appears to be an overgrown kid. Nevertheless, something about him looks shifty. 

The woman evidently feels the same way because she recoils and takes a step backwards. The strange man is invading her personal space. That much is evident. As Cal gets closer, he realizes the woman looks nothing like Sherrie. The woman’s face is narrower, her nose longer and sharper. Sherrie’s face is rounder, softer, more delicate. In Cal’s opinion, Sherrie is the perfect woman. No other comes remotely close. Still, his sense of chivalry kicks in. This woman looks enough like Sherrie that it bothers him to see her being accosted by a stranger. Cal doesn’t know exactly how to stop this affront, but he can’t stand to see this hapless woman harassed.

All of a sudden, the man grabs the woman’s purse off her shoulder and runs out the door into the pounding rain. 

“Stop! He’s got my purse! Help!” She yells in a high pitched voice. The din in the restaurant suddenly lessens as the shock of her voice disturbs the others. 

Cal doesn’t stop to think. He just reacts, running out the door and into the street, frantically chasing after the purse thief. 

The man, wearing a hooded sweatshirt, jeans, and jogging shoes, is sprinting down the street, splashing through the dirty standing water. The woman’s purse bounces against his side as he runs.

Cal feels his fury mounting, followed by a strong resolve. Maybe he can’t wash himself clean in the rain, but he can do something to atone for his sins. He can stop this thief. He can get the woman’s purse back. For once, he can be the hero, the white knight in shining armor, instead of being the perpetual bad guy. He will do it for her. He will do it for Sherrie. 

His strong resolve fuels him. He picks up speed, his adrenaline rapidly kicking in. He splashes his way through the dirty water which now reaches almost up to his knees. The raindrops continually pelt him, and he hears thunder in the distance. The sky flashes. A random thought pops into his brain as he wonders if he should count between the thunder’s boom and the appearance of the lightning’s flash. Someone had once told him to do that to see how many miles away the lightning had actually struck. The whole scene feels surreal to him.

Although the other man is significantly younger and smaller, and in theory should be speedier, Cal has somehow closed the distance between them. He is now almost upon the thief, a mere foot or two away. He decides to make a flying tackle towards him. Somehow, despite his wild run, his dish towel is still slung around his neck. It is now thoroughly drenched as is his T-shirt which sticks to his skin. 

He lunges and grabs the man around the shoulders. They fall together into the water, Cal’s knees scraping the pavement uncomfortably, despite being wet. The man sputters out water, but continues to hold tightly to the purse. Cal gives him a hard shove and pulls the purse from his shoulder. It finally falls off the man’s arm. Cal holds it up triumphantly and rises from the water. The purse thief gets to his feet unsteadily. 

Before he decides to run again, Cal reaches over and grasps the man’s arm tightly, looking into his face. To his surprise, Cal notices that the man is even younger than he first thought, really just a kid. The kid’s lip is trembling, and his eyes fill with tears. At close glance, Cal realizes that the kid is not just slight, but almost emaciated. Deep circles underscore his brown eyes. 

Cal’s first thought is to teach the young, desperate looking purse thief a lesson. Maybe he can scare the other man straight. Being much larger than the thief, he has no trouble keeping him captive. He doubts his prisoner has a weapon. Being shot not so long ago, Cal decides the universe wouldn’t be cruel enough to subject him again so soon to another attack by weapon. 

“Tell me why I shouldn’t shove your face into the water and hold it there,” Cal spits out.

The kid squirms in his grasp, his whole body shaking uncontrollably.

“No, please! I’m sorry! I’ll never steal again!”

“Tell me why I should believe you.” 

The kid is silent. Cal waits him out, letting him suffer. Cal weighs his options. Should he march the kid back into the restaurant and call the police? He has left his cell phone behind. In the pounding rain, the streets continue to remain empty. No one from the restaurant has followed them out. He and the thief are strangely deserted, suspended in time and space. Two men on a water drenched island.

As an almost convicted felon who is part of the witness protection program, Cal is loath to call the cops. As a former criminal, it goes against his grain to call the authorities. Moreover, he realizes that it’s probably in his best interest to stay under the radar. When he negotiated his plea deal about a year ago, turning over information to the authorities in exchange for a new identity and a new life, he had learned the importance of remaining anonymous. Remaining incognito is for his own protection from former gang members who will surely kill him in retaliation if they find him.

The feds had found him his menial job working in the New Orleans restaurant to keep him safe. He needs to blend in and be just one of many in a touristy area. An anonymous nobody. He should do nothing to attract unwanted attention.

It probably wouldn’t be wise to play the hero. Maybe he could tip the scales of justice, however, by teaching a valuable lesson to this young wannabe criminal. Cal swallows and continues speaking.

“You know I was once in your shoes. I took from people, not giving a damn that what I took wasn't mine.”

Belonging to a gang known as the Carrion eaters, or Carrions for short, Cal had once subscribed to the gang’s symbolic motto that it was okay to rip the flesh and blood away from others to fuel your own survival. He had learned the hard way that this self centered belief wasn’t right. Somewhere along the way, he had developed a conscience. Sherrie, his girlfriend, had been instrumental in his moral awakening. He owes her his life.

The kid squirms, but remains silent. Cal takes that as encouragement that perhaps his young captive is listening.

“It’s not too late for you, you know,” he says conversationally. 

“What do you mean?” The kid asks.

“I’m not a big fan of the cops myself. Maybe I should mete out my own punishment to you.” It wouldn’t hurt to scare the kid a little, Cal thinks. Teach him that lesson. 

The rain continues to pound down. Cal is now thoroughly soaked. He feels like a drowned rat. The kid also is waterlogged. Cal can’t tell if his young captive is shivering from the rain or from fright. 

The kid swallows, his Adam’s apple bulging slightly in his skinny neck.

“What are you going to do to me?” he asks in defeat.

“I don’t know. I’ve got to think about that. I’m leaning towards letting you go. I’m going to watch you, though. If you ever sit foot in the restaurant again, or steal another purse, I’ll find out. I’ve got my eyes on you.”

“Really? You’re letting me go?” The kid looks up, hardly believing his luck. “Why?”

Why? That was a good question. The only answer Cal can think of is that he is doing it for her. For Sherrie. He wants to do the right thing for once. Throwing this kid to the wolves doesn’t seem the answer. Maybe the young purse thief still has a shot in life. If only he can turn things around.

“I just want to tell you one thing. One day you might find someone you really care about,” Cal struggles to put his thoughts into words, “Being the best person you can be is the only way to go. If you screw up, you just might lose them. You might think you can fool everyone and steal things and run scams, but eventually it'll catch up to you. You’ll be forever on the run, looking over your shoulder.”

The kid remains silent.

“Trust me. I know.” Cal’s voice breaks. “You’ll be forever alone.”

He swallows hard and tries to pull himself together, still unsure if he's doing the right thing or not. But like the rain coming down, Cal realizes he can’t stop nature. Some things are just beyond his control. He's now tired of talking. 

“Consider it a gift. Don’t ever steal again. And don’t hurt anyone.”

“I promise,” the kid says suddenly. “I’ll never steal again. Thanks, mister.”

Cal releases his firm grip at last. 

The kid, elated by his unexpected freedom, decides not to push his luck. He sprints away, the water splashing once again under his flying feet.

Cal comes back to reality, feeling the cold, damp rain soak into his already drenched skin. He now stands alone shivering on the deserted street. It is now rapidly turning into a scummy river.

He looks at the purse still in his hand. It is a tiny handbag imprinted with some sort of designer logo, the kind rich women carry to look fashionable. It holds the bare minimum – keys, a wallet, a comb, and a shiny tube of lipstick. He pulls out the leather wallet and opens it. The first thing he spots is a driver’s license tucked in front of some sort of insurance card. 

As he continues to walk down the street, his muddy tennis shoes splashing through puddles, he reads the car insurance card, discovering the woman drives a late model silver BMW. A Beemer fits perfectly with her teeny, fancy purse, he thinks cynically. She's obviously a rich one. Just as he ponders that thought, a large raindrop from an overhanging tree hits him squarely in the forehead. He turns his head, trying to shake the water off. As he does so, he notices a silver BMW out of the corner of his eye.

In bemusement, he pulls out the car key and hits the button on it. The car instantly beeps and its headlights shine. In a daze, he opens the car door with shaking, wet hands and sinks into deep plush bucket seats. He slowly puts one hand on the steering wheel and with the other, turns the key. The engine immediately roars to life. As he hears it, he brings himself back to reality with a visible shake. Does he really want to do this? 

The potential consequences sink in. He will be a fleeing man. Running from the law. Throwing away his get out of jail free card. All at once, he makes up his mind. He floors the gas and pulls away from the curb, the water spraying under the tires.

His thoughts race. Sherrie is long gone. She is never coming back. No, he has that wrong. She had not left him. He had left her. He had no choice. He still has no choice. Things will never change.

He looks behind him in the rearview mirror. He may as well get used to it. No matter where he goes, he will always be looking over his shoulder. The rain is not a cleanse. He can never shake off the dirty water or his past. He will never be completely clean and dry. Nothing about the Big Easy or life, for that matter, is easy. He may as well drive away. Where he's going, he has no idea.