Inside Out, Part 1
Monday, December 1st, 2008(published in the November 2008 issue of Don’t Look)
I am going out. Finally, it is time. I feel it deep with in my bones, as my grandmother, God rest her soul, used to say. She died when I was fourteen, choking on an oxtail bone from her favorite diner. I burned the place down the next week. The owners were in financial difficulties, I found out later when I was much old. They were suspected of arson, but it was never proven.
My favorite suit is cleaned and pressed. White is really a bad idea, but it won’t matter. In the end, I will be magnificent. I will have reached my final level – a Monarch butterfly hatching from its cocoon. I will be bright and beautiful. The press will love me. The world will know and fear.
I will forego a hat when I leave the house. It is too hot and humid even at night. The Indian Summer hangs on to New Orleans like the city does its traditions. My hair is trim and neat, socially acceptable, as is my beard and moustache. What did mother say? Always make a good impression.
I place the small box of Whitlam chocolates into my pants pocket. By the time I am ready, the candy will be melted. Oh, how she will lick her fingers. Yes, she will lick her fingers and smile at me like I am a gentleman. Then I will make her my finest work of art.
(to be continued)