The Bayou

[Swamper]

This isn't a HS story, but it is fiction, and I wanted to share what I've done so far, so here y'all go! It hasn't been really strictly edited yet, so there may be some grammatical errors in there yet.

The soft moonlight shone down, giving the scene a quiet, otherworldly feeling. A soft summer breeze blew through the Swamp Chestnut Oaks, their leaves dancing at its touch. A whippoorwill sang, its haunting melody blown in by the wind. Another whippoorwill answered, and the forest seemed to come alive. A bullfrog croak, a splash, the sound of the mighty Mississippi lapping the shore. Then, as quickly as it began, all became silent once more, save for the breeze rustling the leaves. The forlorn cry of the whippoorwill came once more, slowly fading away to silence.
Then, the river breaks the silence. She softly strokes the banks that hold her confined to her path, her playful insistence slowly wearing them down. They slowly succumbed to her advances, yielding a clump of soil here, a small pebble there. It was a dance they did, a dance as old as the bayou itself. But suddenly, the river's advances came more quickly, more powerfully. The sound of the water lapping the bank became more powerful, more frenetic. Something had disturbed her peaceful flow.
A girl crouched behind a large oak, listening to the melody of the forest. Her long hair fell down to the middle of her back, its deep chestnut color appearing black in the dim moonlight. Her sharp green eyes penetrated the darkness, darting back and forth along the length of the riverbank. As she ran her hand along the rough bark of the tree, she tilted her head slightly to one side, listening to the rhythm of the river. She heard it; the almost imperceptible change in the river's mood. She tensed, her heartbeat began to beat a quick rhythm in her chest, adding its deep bass beat to the music of the forest. Her foot tapped in anticipation, and her hands quickly brushed her hair away from her heart shaped face.
Around the bend in the mighty Mississippi came a flatboat. She floated slowly along, her passage leaving a v-shaped wake. Peaceful, tranquil, she hardly disturbed the natural rhythm of the river. She knew her place. She was merely a passenger on the mighty waterway, grossly out of her league. Should the water decide it no longer wanted to support her journey, she would be powerless to stop her own destruction. So she continued with the utmost respect, being careful not to disturb the natural order of things. The girl remained by the tree. Taking a deep breath, she peered out from behind her stronghold just long enough to catch a glimpse of the boat. She quickly withdrew her head and breathed a sigh of relief. The Calypso, just like the old man had said. Crouching down, she tried to gather her thoughts. Adrenaline was pumping through her body, and her heartbeat had reached a frantic crescendo. Finally, her goal was within sight. No more school, no more slaving away in the kitchen, no more boys with their leers and snide remarks. She was going down to New Orleans, and from New Orleans to New York and a whole new life. A smile played across her face, and suddenly she laughed out loud. She quickly clamped a hand over her mouth and crouched down. The laugh seemed to echo across the water, and she was sure that someone had heard her. One minute... two minutes... nothing. Silence. Breathing a sigh of relief, she peeked back around the tree. The boat was closer. She tensed her legs; the old man had said that the boat would slow momentarily at this point. One of the captain's old ships had gone down here, and it was his custom to draw close to the shore in order to skirt her final resting place. That's when she would make her move.
Sure enough, just as the old man had said, the ship began to slow and come towards the riverbank. She was strangely calm; the next few minutes would be the most important in her life, but she didn't think about that. The only thing she thought about was the rope trailing behind the boat. An old Cajun tradition, it was supposed to bring good fortune to the ship and its crew. With a whispered prayer and a last rub of the tree for good luck, she took off down the slope and slipped silently into the water. With a few powerful strokes, she was at the rope. She grabbed hold, pausing for a moment to catch her breath. She listened for any activity on deck, but heard nothing. Moving at a glacial pace, she began to pull herself up, hand over hand. In a few muscle shredding moments, she was up on the deck. She glanced around furtively, looking for someplace to hide. Her wet hair clung to her back, and the soft drip of water falling from her body to the deck seemed obscenely loud. The deck was mostly bare. There was a door that she suspected led below decks to the galley and crew's bunks. Growing worried, she looked around for someplace to hide. Nothing, nothing.... there. A rowboat, turned upside down. It wasn't much, but it'd have to do for now. Laying on her stomach, she scooted over to it, slipping under it into the comforting darkness. Her heart pounding, she slowly relaxed. As the realization of what just happened dawned on her, she began to feel oddly afraid. Up until now, she had the chance to turn back, to go back home to what she had always known. But now? Every passing moment, the mighty Mississippi carried her farther and farther from where she belonged. With a shake of her head, she pushed such thoughts out of her mind. She had to do this. There was no other choice. There was nothing for her at home, and the whole world outside to explore. She stretched out, feeling the water pool under her. With a sigh, she resigned herself to a damp night and closed her eyes.

The sound of approaching footsteps awoke her. She froze, unsure of what was going on. Was it morning? Was there a guard that spotted her trail of water droplets and decided to follow it? Someone must have seen her. There's no way that she could have snuck on board a boat without being spotted! She held her breath, her pulse racing. The footsteps stopped right in front of the overturned rowboat. She could see the bare feet tapping slowly, turning one way, then another. She braced herself for the worst.
“Jim? Jim! Quit your lollygagging, boy! Do you see anything?”
Jim turned so that the girl could see the backs of his heels.
“Naw, Cooky, I don't see much of nuthin' over here. You sure you heard something last night and you wasn't just havin' a nightmare? We all know you got a kinda tender disposition!”
There was a howl, and then a clunk against the side of the rowboat. The girl saw a wooden spoon clatter to the deck, and Jim yelled some obscenities towards the cook.
“Cook, dad-blast it! What's the big idea? I got enough problems without you chuckin' the eatin' tools at me! Do a favor for a friend, and this is what I get!?”
Still grumbling, the pair of feet turned and stormed off.
“Hey, get my spoon, you ungrateful son of a- Jacques, go get that spoon, you worthless scamp!”
Before the girl had time to react, there was another pair of feet in front of her, and then a hand descending to pick up the spoon. She closed her eyes, sending up a prayer that the boy wouldn't see her. A moment passed and she peeked through her eyelashes, right into the eye of the boy. Both of them froze, neither sure what to do. What seemed like a century passed while they stared at each other. His eyes were almost mesmerizing. They were a funny mix of green and brown, with flecks of gold interspersed. She could see his pupils dilating to adjust to the dim light under the boat. They stared at each other, neither sure of what to do. Suddenly the moment was broken by the cook's harsh voice.
“Boy! What are you doing?! Get the spoon and come on!”
The girl stared imploringly into the boy's eyes. “Please,” she mouthed. Jacques' eyes softened momentarily, and then, with a barely imperceptible nod, he was gone. She breathed a sigh of relief. Disaster was averted, for now at least. There was no telling what the boy, Jacques, would decide to do. She sent up a silent prayer and settled down to wait. He seemed nice enough, from what she'd seen, which admittedly wasn't much. He had nice eyes, but she'd met plenty of boys that looked nice and turned out to be anything but. Settling back into a more comfortable position, she resigned herself to a long day of waiting.

Jacques ran his forearm across his sweaty brow. You wouldn't think that cleaning dishes would be a sweat inducing activity, but then again, you've never tried washing dishes in the Louisiana humidity at high noon. It didn't help matters any that the food seemed to be superglued to the plates. How the crew managed to eat the goop that the cook served and survive was a mystery to the most profound philosophers. Cooky, Jacques' boss, was fond of quoting somebody named Buddy Hackett; “At my house, there were two choices on the menu- take it or leave it.” Jacques found the quote humorous the first couple of times, but after a while it became tiresome. One of the crew members, tired of the tasteless goop he was being served, modified the quote a bit and carved it into the bulkhead in the galley. It read “On this ship, there are two choices on the menu- indigestion or starvation.” It made Jacques laugh; the three hours he spent sanding it out of the wood did not. Still, he didn't tattle on the crew member that did it, a guy that preferred to be called Spongy, even though his real name was James. Jacques didn't understand how he got Spongy out of James, but he didn't argue it with him. Spongy was the cool guy on board the ship. He was charismatic, handsome, funny. The girls absolutely loved him. Every time the ship went to town for the night, Spongy would come sneaking back on board during the wee hours of the night. He'd strut around the ship the next day, telling everyone of his sexual conquests. When he'd see Jacques, he'd slap him on the back and say “Jacques, my man! I got another one last night! That brings me up to six! How many have you got, buddy? We all know you slay the ladies!” Jacques would mumble something and blush- contrary to what Spongy said, he didn't have much luck with ladies. He'd never even kissed a girl before, but that wasn't something he was about to tell Spongy! He was content to stay away from girls. They were strange, foreign. He much preferred the known to the unknown.
As Jacques continued scrubbing, his thoughts turned to the girl hiding out under the rowboat. His heartbeat quickened, and he scrubbed even more furiously. It was none of his business. Whoever she was, whatever she was doing stowing away, she was nothing but trouble. Beautiful trouble, but trouble nonetheless. Jacques wasn't one for trouble, and she had trouble written all over her. Yet he felt himself drawn to her. The image of her eyes, beautifully blended between green and brown, a warm hazel color, was burned into his mind. There was something in those eyes that was asking for help. Jacques shook his head, trying to clear his head of such thoughts. If he was smart, he would stay away from her and hope that she would disappear and he would never see her again. Even as he thought this, he knew we couldn't stay away from her. He'd go back tonight and see what the deal was with her. As he decided this, he felt his heart begin to race. Cursing his nervousness, he turned his attention back to scrubbing the plates, his shoulders tensing and his arm flying. She would need some food. He better hurry up and finish this and make her a little something to eat. Taking a break, he ran a hand through his brown hair, leaving some suds on top. Absentmindedly, he wondered if there were any flowers aboard.

[Swamper]

The girl stirred, stretching her arms as much as the confined space she was in would allow. With a mighty yawn, she absentmindedly ran her fingers through her hair, wondering what time it was. Judging from the dim light coming in through the gap, it was getting close to twilight. Sighing, she rubbed her stomach. With a growl of indignation, it churned around, looking for something to digest. There was nothing. The last time she had eaten was two days ago, when she had left the old man's house. He had given her a hearty helping of gumbo and encouraged her to eat as much as she possibly could, but the butterflies in her stomach had kept her from eating too much. Oh, how she wished she had eaten more! The hunger was almost unbearable. She couldn't focus, couldn't collect her thoughts. All she could think about was the emptiness in her stomach. She knew that she'd have to sneak out tonight and try to find some food, but the very thought made her empty stomach do flips. There was already one person that knew she was aboard; if she snuck out, there is a very good chance that she would be seen and captured and then... it didn't bear thinking about.
She patted her stomach, thinking about Jacques. She expected him to come tonight, to see her, ask her what she was doing on his ship. What would she tell him? What could she possibly tell him that would keep him from alerting the captain of her presence? The truth? That she was running away from home, that she felt cramped, held back, unfulfilled, forced into the stereotypical female role that she so hated? How no one understood her, understood the passion that she felt so strongly but had no way to express? Wincing, she recalled her first attempt at providing the passion with an outlet. It was a party, a party one of her Cajun friends was hosting. They were playing traditional music, foot tapping, soul stirring, rousing music. She could feel the music enter her, travel around her body, take control of her. Her heart seemed to beat to the rhythm, her senses were muddled but at the same time strangely intense. Before she knew what was happening, she was standing up, her feet flying, her arms gesticulating and her hair whipping around her face. For a moment, she felt an amazing sense of freedom and power. Then the laughter came. Laughter, loud, long, and mean. They were laughing at her. Her face a beet red, she ran away from the party, walking the three miles back to her house alone, tears running down her face. The one time she had felt free, felt genuinely happy, she was mocked. She never danced again, even though her soul cried out for it. Sometimes she would dream about dancing. She'd be among the clouds, dancing with the angels, beautiful music surrounding her, entering her, taking control of her. She'd surrender herself to the music, and would feel completely at peace. But then she'd always wake up and be reminded of the hard reality.
She patted her knees, trying to push such thoughts out of her head. It wasn't hard, with the hunger waiting to pounce on her once more. The seconds seemed to crawl by, an unbearable eternity of gnawing hunger. Suddenly, she heard a knocking noise on the top of the rowboat, the vibrations reverberating around the empty space around her head. She froze, unsure of what to do or what was going on. A moment passed, then a soft voice whispered “You still there?”
Jacques. It must be Jacques. No one else knew she was under here. Thinking quickly, she scooted to one side of the rowboat, scrunching up as small as she could. There was enough room for one more, assuming Jacques wasn't a giant. It would be tight, but she could think of no other way to do things.
“Yeah, I'm here,” she whispered, “come on in.”
Jacques jumped at the voice. He was half hoping that the girl had moved and he wouldn't have to deal with her. But she was here, and not only that, she wanted him to crawl under that tiny rowboat with her! What if she was a serial killer or something? Jacques didn't know anything about this girl, other than the fact the she had beautiful eyes and a wonderfully sweet sounding voice. He hesitated for a moment. Every ounce of common sense he possessed told him to slip the food under the boat and run like the wind. But even as he told himself to do that, he got down on his knees and slipped under the boat.
As he slid in, he brushed up against something warm and soft. He hastily withdrew, feeling his face grow hot. He wasn't used to touching people, and he was unsure of the proper protocol in this situation. When you accidentally touch a girl while sliding under a rowboat to giver her some food, what does one do? Apologize? Send a card? His mind was racing a mile a minute. His eyes were beginning to adjust to the dim light, and the girl was coming into focus. The only thing he could think was wow. She was absolutely stunning. Her chestnut brown hair framed her full face, and her eyes twinkled with a mischievous light. Her mouth was split in a wide smile, revealing a beautiful set of teeth. Her lips looked soft and warm. Jacques' eyes started to travel down her body, but he stopped himself and forced his eyes up to her face. He didn't want her to think he was rude or a creep. Besides, her face was plenty to look at. He could hardly believe his eyes.
While Jacques was staring mesmerized at the exquisite female before him, the female in question was sizing Jacques up. He was attractive enough, she supposed. Nothing really ugly about him, but nothing particularly exciting either. He did have nice eyes, though, and she could get a good look at them, seeing as they were wide open in disbelief. She smiled at him, and he visibly blushed and started to look down, but forced his eyes back up to her face. He had a nice face, she decided. Open, trusting, innocent. Then she noticed the food he had with him. She stifled a squeal and whispered “You brought food?!?”
Jacques cleared his throat. “Yeah, I, uh, I figured you might be hungry.”
Jacques cursed himself. He sounded like a little boy, stammering and stuttering. Without a word, he pushed the food over to her. It was just a cheese sandwich, but she devoured it like it was a steak prepared by the finest restaurant in New Orleans. They sat in silence for a few moments, the only sound her was her chewing the sandwich. Jacques used the opportunity to study the girl a little more. She was tall for a girl, about 5'8 or 5'9 he reckoned. There was what he thought was a little crumb on her lip, but it actually was a freckle. It was cute. Cute was a good word to describe her, he decided. She kept brushing her hair back away from her face as she ate, and she smiled at him as she scarfed down the last bite.
“Thank you so much for bringing me something to eat. That was really sweet of you.” Jacques didn't know it, but he'd be hearing a lot more of the word 'sweet.'
Jacques shrugged noncommittally and looked around. “I figured you'd probably be hungry. I work in the galley, so it was no problem for me to make a little something.” With a slight grin, he said “I'm just glad you like cheese sandwiches. That's 'bout the only thing I know how to make.” He paused for a moment. “Aside from scrambled eggs and bacon. I make a mean scrambled egg.”
She laughed, and Jacques thought he'd died and went to heaven. His heart began to pound, and he was sure that she could hear it fighting to get out of his chest. A silence descended, and Jacques raced for something to say.
“So, nice place you've got here. Did you do the decorating yourself?”
A small grin curled at the sides of her mouth. “Of course! I have a real talent I think. If you ever need a house decorated or anything, call me up!”
Jacques smiled and nodded, waiting expectantly for her to say something. She fidgeted for a moment, then looked up at him with a sheepish grin. “I guess you're wondering why I'm here.”
“Believe it or not, the thought has crossed my mind.”
“It's a long story.”
“Why don't we start with a name? I'm Jacques.”
She smiled at him, a nice, warm smile. “Bonjour, Jacques. I'm Rosalie.”
Rosalie, Jacques thought to himself. A beautifully fitting name for a beautiful girl. He stretched out his hand, putting his on top of hers. “A pleasure to meet you, Rosalie.” Jacques had no idea where all of this was coming from. He'd never been this comfortable around a girl before. Usually he dissolved into a red, stammering mass of quivering nerves around even the homeliest of girls. By all rights, he should be comatose on the ground right now. But he wasn't. He was carrying on a conversation with this lovely creature. Just don't think about it too much, he told himself. Just go with it.
Jacques patted her hand and then withdrew his own, surges of electricity coursing through his body. “Well, Miss Rosalie, tell me how you came aboard the wonderful vessel The Calypso.”
“I flew.”
Jacques chuckled. She had a good bit of fight in her. “If you could fly, I don't really see the need for transportation by water.”
Rosalie remained stubbornly silent, her chin thrust out and a look in her eyes that said she wasn't going to be doing much talking.
“Rosalie. Come on. You can trust me. I don't know much, but one thing I do know is when to keep my mouth shut.”
She looked him in the eye, almost a challenge. Jacques did his best to hold eye contact, even though he desperately wanted to look away. He only had one shot at this, and he didn't want to mess it up. Finally, after a full minute of intense scrutiny, she seemed to come to a decision. She brushed her hair back from her face and began to talk.
“I'm running away from home. I don't like it there, and I know there's a lot more out there than the twenty five square miles that my parents expect me to live on for the rest of my life. I'm going on down to New Orleans, and from there I'm going to catch a plane to New York. And don't try to tell me I should go home, or that I'm too weak, or that I'm going to get hurt, because I'm going and you can't stop me!”
Jacques listened in silence, his brow furrowed and his eyebrow arched slightly. A small grin played across his face at her fiery response, and he could already feel himself beginning to fall for this girl. He paused a moment after she finished speaking, thinking about what to say.
“Well, I guess that pretty much sums things up then.”
He paused, and he could see her visibly brace for a lecture or something along those lines. He decided to switch tracks, see what he could learn about this girl.
“Y'know, Rosalie, I think that if anyone could run away from home and make it in New York, it'd be you.”
She glanced up sharply, a look of surprise flitting across her face, and then that gorgeous smile came out again.
“You certainly have a high opinion of me for knowing me all of, oh, five minutes!” she said playfully.
Jacques grinned. “Hey, don't forget the minute we spent staring at each other this morning! Six minutes, young lady. Six!”
They both laughed, their bodies rocking back and forth as they tried to keep the noise down. Suddenly, they heard footsteps. Jacques shot a look at Rosalie and held a finger to his lips. She nodded in understanding, and Jacques ventured a look under the edge of the rowboat. There was a pair of shoes walking towards them.
“Jacques? Dude, was that you? I coulda swore I heard you laughing, you son of a *****! What's so funny?”
Of course it would have to be Spongy that finds them. Jacques silently swore to himself, cursing his bad luck. Rosalie's eyes were wide with fear as she listened to the footsteps approaching. Jacques steeled himself for the worst, trying to figure out a story. The only thing that one track Sponge would believe was that Jacques snuck Rosalie on board for a little fun after hours, but if Jacques went with that story Rosalie would think he was a pig. His mind raced, trying to think of something, anything that he could say.
“Spongy? What are you doing?”
It was Cooky's voice, and Jacques saw Spongy's feet turn around. Without a second thought, he shot out from under the boat like he was fired from a cannon and crouched behind it.
“I'm just lookin' for that squirt, Jacques. I thought I heard him laughing over here.”
Jacques stood up, calling out to Spongy.
“I'm right here, Sponge. I was just tying my shoes.”
Spongy turned around, a suspicious look on his face. “Behind the rowboat? Why you back there? You hidin' something, little man?”
Jacques tried his best to act nonchalant, shrugging and looking Spongy dead in the eye. “My shoe was untied. What, you think I have a girl back here or something?”
Rosalie drew in a sharp breath when she heard Jacques say this. Was he going to turn her in already?
Spongy laughed, a deep belly laugh. “You? Have a girl? Jacques, you're a regular comedian, anyone ever told you that?”
Jacques relaxed and walked out from behind the rowboat to join Spongy. He stood a good head and a half taller that Spongy, but while he was lean, Spongy was more muscular and defined with soft brown eyes and a crew cut. He was handsome, no doubt about it.
Jacques forced a laugh, silently wishing that Rosalie fell asleep or something so that she didn't hear Spongy making fun of him. “Yeah, like I said, I was tying my shoe.”
Jacques went to walk past him when Spongy reached out a hand and grabbed him. He froze, unsure of what was going on. Spongy wasn't big on touching, unless you were of the opposite sex. Spongy sniffed a couple of times, then put his noise right up against Jacques' shoulder and inhaled deeply. Straightening up, he gave a snort of derision.
“You taken to wearing perfume, pretty boy? You smell like a little girl fresh outta the kitchen!” With another laugh, he gave Jacques a couple of smacks on the cheek and walked off. Jacques breathed a sigh of relief. They dodged a bullet there. Looking around to make sure nobody was around, he walked back over to the rowboat.
“Tomorrow night?” he whispered.
“Please,” came the whispered reply.
With a broad smile on his face, Jacques began walking down to the galley, whistling on his way.

Rosalie woke up with the sun the next day. Sore and tired from a fitful night of sleep on the hard wooden floor, she tried her best to stretch and relieve the tension in her muscles. She couldn't stay under here for much longer without moving. Maybe tonight she could get Jacques to take her on a walk along the length of the boat. If she allowed her muscles to atrophy and remain locked in one position, she'd be in bad shape if there was ever a need to make a break for it.
As she settled in to pass the long hours of the day, her mind began to wander. Jacques. That was a nice name. He seemed like a good guy, which was refreshing. Too often it seemed guys only appreciated her for her looks. Sure, they'd pretend to be interested in who she was, but after a while they'd tire of the charade and she'd see what they really had in mind. She never had very good luck with guys. There was one guy back home that she'd liked, but she when she tried to tell him how she felt, he told her he was gay. That kinda ruined things. After that, she decided she'd stay away from guys for a good long while. They weren't worth the trouble as far as she was concerned.
But Jacques was nice. He would be a good friend, and she needed a good friend right now. Running away from home is a serious business, and help is a good thing. Besides, where else was she going to get food and information? Yes, she decided, Jacques would be a good friend. He seemed trustworthy enough, and certainly loyal. He was smart, quick on his feet; she saw that yesterday when only his smooth talking saved her from being discovered her first day on board.
She absentmindedly ran her fingers through her hair as she contemplated these things. There wasn't much to do but wait until the night when Jacques would come again. Her feet began to quietly tap a little beat, and her head began to move to the rhythm. Maybe in New York she could dance without fear of judgment and ridicule. Everything would be better in New York; she was sure of it.

Jacques felt like he was walking on air. He had never felt this way before, and it was the best feeling he'd ever known. There was a beautiful girl that seemed to at least tolerate him, and he was going to see her again tonight! His mind a million miles away, he stirred the pot of gumbo with a glazed look in his eyes. Rosalie was the only thing he had thought about for the past thirteen hours. He knew that it was crazy for him to feel this way about a girl he had known for all of six minutes, but he did. Did she feel the same way about him? Maybe. Maybe not. Jacques didn't worry about it. He was confident that she would fall for him the same way he had fallen for her. As he stirred the gumbo, there was a small bump as the ship docked. They were spending a day in the small town of New Haven to resupply and give the crew a day off. Spongy had already come by to talk to Jacques, telling him about the girls he knew here and what all he was gonna do that night. His constant boasting didn't bother Jacques nearly as much as it usually did. Nothing could bring Jacques down today.
There was a loud orchestra of feet clomping overhead. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and Jacques closed his eyes and tried to protect the open pot of gumbo. Then, as suddenly as it had began, it stopped, and silence descended upon the ship. A realization slowly dawned on Jacques; there was nobody on board but he and one more crew member. And that crew member was in the captains office, all the way on the other side of the ship. Excited, Jacques grabbed a bowl and ladled some of the piping hot gumbo into it. Placing a finger into the stew and licking it, he grinned. “Mmm, exquisite!”
He raced out of the galley, careful not to spill a single drop of the precious liquid. Rosalie would be hungry, he was sure of it. Humming as he went along, he kept a sharp eye out for anyone that might have been left on board. He was friends with most of the crew, so he wasn't particularly worried about being stopped and questioned. As he drew nearer to the rowboat, his heart began to race. He paused a short distance from the rowboat to collect himself. You've got this, he told himself. Just go in there and be yourself. Don't over think this. You like her. She seems to like you. Be cool. With his nerves sufficiently steeled, he confidently strode forward the next few steps, a broad smile on his face. Balancing the pot on one hand, he knocked on top of the boat.
“I have an order of gumbo for a beautiful young lady named Miss Rosalie. Is this her residence?” he paused expectantly. No response. With a worried look on his face, he placed the pot on the deck and bent down to look in the boat. “Rosalie? You there?” she wasn't. The boat was empty.

[Swamper]

Rosalie practically skipped along the streets of New Haven, an excited gleam in her eye. Gone were the doubts, the nagging fears about leaving home. This was the reason she had run away; the chance to go somewhere new, try new things, test her capabilities. She laughed out loud, and an old lady walking the street gave her a funny look.
“You okay, little missy?” the lady said in a creaky voice.
Rosalie smiled back and gave the old lady a hug. “I'm absolutely wonderful!”
The old lady gave her the stink eye. “I think you're absolutely crazy!”
Rosalie laughed and continued on her way. There were so many new things to do, so many places she could go, she wasn't sure what to do first! Suddenly, she became aware of someone watching her. She hardly gave it a thought. Let the boys look, she thought smugly to herself. I know I'm looking good! There were footsteps behind her, and a familiar voice said “Ma'am?”
Rosalie turned around and looked in surprise at the young man standing in front of her. He was handsome, no doubt about it. His soft brown eyes gazed expectantly into her own, and there was a shy half-grin on his face. His brown hair was in a crew cut, and his broad shoulders strained at the seams of his tight fitting shirt. Rosalie found herself a little off balance. She thought she recognized him from somewhere, but she couldn't quite place it. She stared back at him, a puzzled look on her face.
He paused, waiting for a response. “Ma'am?” he asked playfully. “You okay, darling? You look like you've seen a ghost!”
Rosalie snapped out of her reverie and gave the young man a dazzling smile. “I'm sorry, I thought I knew you from somewhere, but I just can't seem to place you!” she said with a little laugh.
He gently took her by the arm and guided her down the street. “Well then, why don't you give me a chance to introduce myself to you?” he said with a mischievous smile.
Rosalie resisted his pull for a moment. The last thing she wanted to do was get involved with a strange guy in a strange town. When the boy felt Rosalie hesitate, he stopped and gave her a reassuring smile.
“Don't worry, honey, I just want to give you a bite to eat! You look a little hungry anyways.” he said with a chuckle. “I know this real nice little joint on down the road a ways, they got the best crawdads in Louisiana, I swear!”
Rosalie still wasn't sure, but she figured it wouldn't hurt to walk with him a ways. He was pretty good looking, and some crawdads sounded mighty good to her empty stomach. As she walked along with him, he continued to talk to her in a low, smooth sounding voice. It was a beautiful voice, with reflection and intonation worked in so that he almost seemed to be singing to her.
“You know something funny? I do believe you got the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen.”
Rosalie laughed and looked down at her feet. She could feel the heat rising to her face, and she almost laughed out loud. She was blushing! This guy that she had known all of five minutes was making her blush! “You're lying!” she said with a girlish laugh.
“Cross my heart and hope to die.” he said with a serious tone but a playful smile. “And your hair...” he gently ran a couple of fingers through her hair, and she almost sighed. “I do believe it's the softest stuff I've ever felt!”
Rosalie smiled and looked away, sure she was blushing now. This isn't what she was expecting at all. She looked at him, and, though she couldn't see it, her eyes were alive with the spark of attraction.
She couldn't see it, but Jacques could. When he realized Rosalie was missing, he ran off of the ship, leaving the gumbo under the boat for Rosalie to eat later. He knew he was being silly and that she was probably just stretching her legs, but he was worried about her. His feet flying, he combed the streets of New Haven, looking for her, trying to hear her. His hearing wasn't the best, but he'd stop every once and a while and turn his head from side to side, trying to locate her by the sound of her voice. After fifteen minutes of this high speed frantic searching, he was out of breath and had to stop for a breather. That's when he saw her. She was facing him, talking to some other guy whose back was turned to Jacques. Jacques' heart dropped like a weight. The way Rosalie was looking at that guy... Jacques wasn't stupid. He sighed, his heart heavy. He started to turn and walk back to the boat when he paused for a moment. The guy she was with looked oddly familiar from the back. A sinking realization dawned on Jacques. “No, no, no. It can't be him.” he whispered to himself, almost praying. And then the guy turned around.

Rosalie was lost in the young man's eyes. With an almost superhuman effort, she tore her gaze away and tried to thing about something, anything else. New York, dance, anything! Her mind briefly flitted to Jacques, but it left a second later. Don't think about him now, she told herself. It'll just confuse you even more.
The young man watched her internal struggle with a bemused glint in his eyes. He gently applied pressure on her lower back to get her walking again and continued to talk. “So, does this beautiful creature going to lunch with me have a name?”
“She does!” Rosalie said with a smile. “But you'll have to guess it! I'm not gonna tell you!”
The boy put on a comically sad face. “You mean you don't like me?”
Rosalie leaned in close. “Not. One. Bit!” she said with a smile.
The boy put his head down and walked slowly, making muffled crying noises. Rosalie tried not to laugh, but when he peeked out from behind his fingers and stuck his tongue out at her, she dissolved in hysterics. “Alright, alright!” she yielded. “I'll give you a hint... there's the name of a flower in my name.”
“Hmmmm...” the boy pondered with exaggerated thoughtfulness. “Is it... stinking corpse lily?!”
Rosalie gasped and lightly slapped him on the arm. “How could you say such a thing? And here I thought you were a gentlemen!”
The young man laughed and rubbed his arm. “Hey, hey, I was just kidding! You smell absolutely di-vine.” he said with an exaggerated drawl. “Come on, just tell me! I promise not to wear it out.”
“Okay, okay! Mr. Pushy.” she said with a bemused grin. “But you first!”
The young man smiled. “Alright, have it your way. My name's Dave, but my friends call me Spongy.”
Rosalie gasped. This charming, charismatic young man she'd been walking with was the boy she had heard making fun of Jacques earlier? How could that be? He sounded so different on the boat, so vulgar and coarse as opposed to his soft spoken easy manner around her. She reeled, unsure of what to do next. Spongy noticed her reaction. “You okay, honey?” he asked worriedly. “What, you heard of me or something?” he said with a chuckle. Did she detect a trace of nervousness in his tone? Had that shifty look in his eyes always been there and she just hadn't noticed it, or did it just appear? Unsure of what to do, she stopped dead in her tracks. Nervously, she brushed her hair back away from her face, trying to think of the best thing to do. She should leave. He's no good, she was sure of it. Yet... there was something that made her stay. He was handsome, and he was probably just kidding around with Jacques earlier. That's the kind of stuff guys do, after all. They make fun of each other, talk about girls, all that jazz. He seemed to be nice enough from what she'd seen of him so far. Maybe he wasn't as bad as she had originally thought. Smiling, she decided to walk with him some more.
“No, no, everything's fine, Spongy. My name's Rosalie.”
“Ah, Rosalie, a beautiful name. We're almost-”
“Spongy! SPONGY!”
Spongy and Rosalie turned around. With a gasp, Rosalie realized the voice shouting belonged to Jacques. He ran up to them, panting.
“Sponge, sorry dude, but the Captain wants to talk to you. He's back on the ship.”
Spongy scowled. “Just my luck. I meet the most beautiful girl this side of the Mississippi and my work pulls me away! On my day off, no less!”
Jacques forced a smile. “Rotten luck, bud. He just needs you for a minute though, and then you're free to go!”
Rosalie looked from Jacques to Spongy, confused. What was going on here? Were they trying to pull something over her? Did the Captain really need to see Spongy? What was Jacques doing following her? She decided to play along as best she could and get some answers from Jacques later.
She gave Spongy a smile and a hug. “I'm sorry, Spongy. I'll still be here waiting for those crawdads later...” she said flirtatiously. Was it just her imagination, or was Spongys' hand just a little to low on her back? And what was that look in Jacques' eyes? He looked like he'd just been punched in the stomach. Spongy did feel good and firm though. She could feel his muscles moving in his back as they separated. He held on to her hand for a moment and looked into her eyes.
“I'll come back as soon as I can, Rosalie.”
With that, Spongy turned around and took off at a run back towards the boat. Jacques had been standing by awkwardly, his blood boiling in his veins. Seeing Rosalie and Spongy together... it made his stomach churn and his muscles clench.
He had bigger problems on his hands right now, however. Rosalie was looking at him like a she-gator that saw him messing with her younguns. Sheepishly, he kicked some dirt on the ground and looked anywhere but Rosalie's face. A couple of minutes passed like this, and Jacques could almost feel the electricity sparking off of her body. Finally, Jacques couldn't take it anymore.
“So, nice place, huh?” he said weakly, glancing up at Rosalie to gauge her reaction.
It was not good. She looked even angrier, if that was possible. With a look that froze his blood, she spun around on her heels and stormed off.
“Rosalie!” he shouted desperately, running after her. “Wait, hold up a minute.”
“Leave me alone, Jacques.” she said in an icy tone.
Jacques stopped, feeling like he'd been slapped in the face. Emotions swirled around inside him like a vortex, and he was utterly lost. He couldn't just let her walk away!
“Rosalie, are you coming back? Rosalie?”
She continued walking, not answering him.
Jacques watched her walk away, his heart heavy. The most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and he had already ruined things. Dejected, he turned and away.

Rosalie walked the cobbled streets of New Haven, anger eating away at her. Anger at Jacques for having the audacity to follow her, anger at Spongy for making her lose her head and flirt with him, and anger at herself for snapping at Jacques like she had. Even though he hadn't acted in the most subtle manner, he was just trying to protect her. And he had stopped her from getting too involved with Spongy, which was a good thing. Maybe. She really liked Spongy. He was smart, extremely handsome, charming... any girl would be attracted to him. And she was, she grudgingly admitted.
She was attracted to him. But there was this nagging feeling in the back of her mind that there was something a little off about him. She remembered the way he had talked to Jacques earlier and frowned. It was probably nothing, but something about him made her uncomfortable. Not when she was with him; when she was with him, she was absolutely enchanted. But now that she was away from him and could think about things with a clearer mind, she realized something was a little off. But who cares? He was handsome, and it wasn't like she was planning on sticking around here for very long. What was the harm in having some fun with him? She was a big girl; she could take care of herself just fine!
She continued walking, taking in the sights of New Haven. It was a small, old fashioned town, with short, squat buildings dotted in between taller, two story homes. There was a majestic peacefulness about the place that made Rosalie slightly sleepy. As she turned the corner, she saw an old man enter an old, decrypt building. Surely not... Rosalie thought to herself. Nevertheless, her interest was piqued, and she followed the man.
As she stood outside the building, looking into the darkness with slight apprehension, second thoughts began to enter her mind. There was no way that old man was the old man she was thinking of. And even if he was, he had probably forgotten all about her by now. Rosalie chuckled quietly, laughing at her own silliness. She turned around to walk away when she heard a voice, old and wise.
“Well, aren't you coming in, my dear?”
Rosalie turned around, surprise written all over her face. A flood of emotions rushed through her like a raging river; love, happiness, excitement, wonder, joy. She rushed in, the cool darkness enveloping her and the pleasant, dusty smell of a long abandoned place greeted her nostrils.
Breathless with excitement, Rosalie could hardly contain herself. “What are you doing here? How did you get here? Did you know I would be here? Are you okay? Nothings wrong, is it?”
The old man laughed softly. He stood hunched over, age pressing down the once tall figure. His eyes glowed with a warm light, and his wrinkled face attested to the many years he had seen and experiences he enjoyed. On his feet were simple sandals, and he wore a loose tunic, whimsically decorated with strange little knick-knacks; a flower here, a piece of cloth there, a child's drawing on his back. His head was overrun with a mess of unruly white hair which he made no attempt to \tame.
“One at a time, dear one. Why don't you come sit down with me for a moment? We will have plenty of time to talk.”
Rosalie gasped. “No, we don't! I have to get back to the ship!”
The old man watched her reaction with amusement. “You mean The Calypso? She's not due to cast off for another two hours. We have time yet.”
Rosalie looked at him with wonder. “How do you know about that?”
A sly grin crossed his wizened face. “One doesn't get to be as old as I am without learning a few things, Rosalie. Now, tell me about your adventures.”
So she did. She told him everything that had happened after she had left his hut, which she had stumbled upon after wandering through the woods for a day and a half. She told him about sneaking on board the ship, about Jacques discovering her, about how she snuck off of the ship for some time ashore in New Haven. She left out the part about her and Spongy; for some reason, she didn't want him to know about that. When she finished her breathless narrative, she leaned back, exhausted. The old man watched her with a bemused smile. He was a good listener; he gave her all of her attention and made her feel like she was the only thing he was thinking about. He paused for a moment, soaking in her story.
“My, Rosalie, that's quite the story.” he looked at her with a knowing smile. “But aren't you forgetting something . . .?”
A look of apprehension briefly flitted across her face, only to be replaced a split second later with a mask of casual indifference. “Nope, don't think so.” she said with a forced air of flippancy.
“Oh really?” the old man said with a smile. “I guess that young lady with the handsome young man out there earlier was someone else, then. It's a shame, I think you'd have liked him!” A teasing grin danced across his wrinkled face, and Rosalie couldn't help but laugh.
“Y'know, for an old man, you sure do get around!”
The old man chuckled softly. “Yep, little lady, I got lot's of stories that I could tell you. That I want to tell you. But you tell me your stories right now. Who was that young man?”
Rosalie settled in to tell her story. “He's a . . . friend of mine, named Spongy. We just met a few moments ago, and he was going to take me out to grab some lunch real quick, but-”
The old man interrupted. “The other boy?”
Rosalie shook her head in bemusement. “If you already know the story, why am I telling it? Yes, the other boy. That was Jacques, the boy that found me on the boat. He said that the Captain wanted to talk to Spongy. . .”
“But?” the old man prodded.
“But I think he was lying. I think he didn't want me to go out to lunch with Spongy.”
“Oh?” the old man said with feigned surprise. “Could it be that your beauty has captivated not one, but two boys? My my Rosalie, you're quite the hot item these days!”
Rosalie shook her head emphatically. “No, no, Jacques doesn't have any feelings like that for me. We're just friends. Barely friends, even. Acquaintances really.” But even as she spoke, Rosalie knew it wasn't true.
The old man looked at her with compassion in his eyes. “My dear. . .”
“Besides,” Rosalie injected desperately, “he's only known me for a day or so. How can he possibly have feelings for me?”
“Take it from one who knows, Rosalie. It doesn't take long for a man's heart to make up its mind. And once he does, it'll take a lot to change it.”
Rosalie shook her head slowly, a melancholy look on her face. “But. . . I don't. . . I mean, Jacques is a nice guy, but-”
“Give it some time.” the old man interjected kindly. “You may be surprised. Besides, if this young man really likes you, he'll wait.”
Rosalie nodded, her eyes glued to the floor. “And Spongy?”
The old man paused for a moment, his brow furrowed. “I'm afraid I can't help you with that, my dear. I'm a little biased on matters such as these.”
“What do you mean, biased?” Rosalie asked, puzzled.
The old man dismissed the question with a small laugh and a wave of his hand. “A story for another time, my darling. But for now. . . be careful. Not every guy out there is as nice as me, y'know!”
Rosalie laughed and nodded in agreement. “You're right about that!” She paused for a moment, her brow slightly furrowed. “Say, I don't even know your name! What is it?”
The old man gave her a mysterious smile. “Names are of no importance to people of my age, Rosalie. Once you get old, you begin to see the friends of the past in the friends of the present. Once that begins, names slowly lose their meaning. Everyone is basically the same, Rosalie. Remember that.”
Rosalie looked at the old man with wonder. “Do I remind you of. . .”
“Oh, yes, you remind me of someone. Someone that was very dear to me. It's a wonderful thing to discover that which was in that which is, Rosalie. It's almost like she's back with me.”
A sense of tranquility descended upon the two, and they sat in silence for a moment. Rosalie looked at the old man, his face relaxed in peaceful bliss and a faraway look in his eyes. He was obviously lost in some far thrown memory, and Rosalie waited patiently for him to come back to her. After a moment, he cleared his throat, his eyes slightly watery and gave her a sad smile.
“What was her name?” Rosalie asked softly.
“Names, names, names . . . haven't you realized, Rosalie, it's not what you can see, it's not what you can hear, it's not the physical things that make a person special. It's the intangibles, the things of the heart that make you you. Don't get caught up in the physical, Rosalie. The physical lets you down. The inside, the spiritual is what elevates you to a higher realm. And once you find that . . .life is magical, Rosalie.”
Rosalie sat in silence, absorbing the wisdom of the wizened old man sitting across from her. With a sad smile, he stood up slowly, wincing slightly as he did so.
“Oh, I'm getting too old to be chasing around pretty little things like you, Rosalie!”
Laughing, Rosalie sprung to her feet and wrapped the old man up in a hug. “Thank you so much for everything, Mister. . .?”
With a playful grin and a shake of the head, the old man replied. “Nope, I'm not telling you my name! Not yet. I'll tell you on down in New Orleans.”
Rosalie's face split in a wide smile. “You're coming with me?!”
The old man shook his head, his eyes alight a playful sparkle. “Not with you. . . but you may see me again, Rosalie! Until then, laizzez les bons ton rouler!”
Rosalie smiled, wrapped the old man up in another hug, and skipped out the door. “I'll see you down there, then!”
With a sad smile, the old man watched the beautiful young lady skip down the street. His eyes misty, he recalled the girl he used to know, the girl that had made him feel as alive and as happy as Rosalie did. She had broken his heart, but Rosalie didn't need to know that. Not now. There would be a time and a place. Although the pain had faded a long long time ago, he still remembered the girl fondly. Shaking his head to rid himself of such thoughts, he smiled. The warm Louisiana sun was shining on his tanned skin, and a slight breeze ruffled his hair. He looked back at Rosalie, now a speck in the distance, and waved. “Be careful.” he whispered as he turned around and slowly walked down the street, humming an old song under his breath.
“There is a house... in New Orleans...”

Jacques sat at the bar, his elbow propped up on the tabletop and a sad look on his face. The bar was mostly empty, save for the bartender and a couple of patrons sitting on the far side of the room. Jacques took a swig of his beer, grimacing as he did so. He was never one for the drink, but it seemed fitting, considering the state of mind he was in. He couldn't stop thinking about Rosalie. That beautiful, intelligent, amazing girl had turned his whole world upside down. He was in love with her, he was sure of it. He'd never actually been in love before, but he'd heard people talk about being in love, and he was feeling exactly like it was described. Well, he did feel that way. Now he just felt empty, alone. He'd ruined things, he was sure of it.
With a sigh, he ran his fingers over the rough, pockmarked oak bar. There were some initials carved in the wood; ZD and TN. Running his fingers over them, his mind wandered. What was their story? How did they meet? Did they get married and live happily ever after? Or did they fight and end things?
The bartender noticed Jacques rubbing the bar. “Hey, little buddy,” the man said in a deep, rumbling voice. “What'cha rubbing there?”
Jacques looked up in surprise. “Oh, just these initials carved into the bar here,” he said absentmindedly. He looked up at the man, a spark of interest in his eyes. “Say, you wouldn't know who these people were, would you? A ZD and a TN?”
The bartender paused for a moment, his eyes rolled up to the ceiling as he thought. After a moment, he snapped his fingers and looked at Jacques with a smile. “Oh yeah, I know the story behind that! Them's been there for a long long time, longer than I been around, for sure! But the old bartender, Johnny boy, God rest 'em, he told me the story.” The bartender looked Jacques in the eye. “Say, buddy, you wanna hear it?”
Jacques looked at the clock on the wall. He had some time. Why not? “Sure,” he replied, settling back in his chair.
The bartender poured himself a drink and leaned up against the bar. “Well, as I remember it, this guy, ZD, he had a thing for this girl, TN.”
“Don't you remember their names?” Jacques interrupted.
The bartender shook his head sadly. “Naw, Johnny boy never told me. Said old Z would still come around New Haven sometimes and he didn't want us talkin' 'bout him. But anyway, the Z had this thing for T. It was pretty obvious to everyone that Z liked T, but T. . . T didn't feel quite the same.”
Jacque shot a glum look down at his drink. “I know the feeling.”
The bartender continued as if he hadn't heard Jacques. “Yep, T didn't feel the same way. She was just passing through, you see. She was headed on to bigger and better things! But Z, he didn't let that stop 'im. Naw, Z kept on trying, buddy. He'd do something all romantic like for her, and she'd give him a hug, and he'd ask her out, she'd say she'd check, and she'd cancel on him. Happened like clockwork. Old Johnny boy, he said that they'd tell Z to stop, give up on her, she ain't worth it. But mister Z would just smile and say 'She'll come around, don't y'all worry.'”
The bartender paused, reflecting as he gulped a couple of swallows of beer. “Yep, Z never doubted that she'd come around to him. But then she stopped coming around as much. Z was worried, even though he tried to hide it. Johnny boy said that Z would talk to him, tell him about how he was worried T was in love with some other boy. Oooo boy, Johnny boy, he was quite the therapist, but he said that even he couldn't get ol' Z to let T go. Z was holding on for dear life! He'd say that if he ain't gonna stick by her in the tough times, what right did he have to be around in the good times? Yep, ol' Z, he sounded like a faithful guy. But then. . .”
Another pause, another gulp of beer. “But then, something happened to Z. He did one of his big romantic gestures, T politely thanked him and turned down the request for a date, as usual. But the next day, 'ol Z was walkin' on down here for a drink when he saw T out on a date with some other dude, a big, strapping fellow. Now Z, as I remember it being told, wasn't a big guy himself, tall, but he wasn't a big muscley fella. Well, Z saw T with that guy, and it crushed him. Johnny boy said he ain't never seen no one so sad as Jacques was that night. Why, Z, he sat down right at that piano yonder and played the most beautiful music. . . Johnny boy said he ain't never heard such music in his life. Ol' Z would play that there piano for T sometimes, but this time, it was heartbreak music. . . yep, some music can only be played in heartbreak, and I reckon that's what ol' Z was playin'.”
Jacques listened quietly, his mind turning the story over in his head. It was a sad story, no doubt. He couldn't help but draw parallels between his own predicament and that of Z's. Swilling around the beer in the mug, he looked at the old piano sadly. Without a word, he got up and walked over to the old instrument. He reached out a hand to touch its old mahogany cover and paused, almost in reverence. The bartender watched him with a quizzical eye as he slowly rubbed the top of the cover.
“Does this thing. . .?”
“Yeah,” the bartender replied, “Yeah, she still works. A little outta tune, but . . .” his voice faded as Jacques slowly lifted the cover and sat down at the bench, his fingers poised over the ivories. A hush seemed to fall over the room. Jacques sat hunched over, his eyes closed. He could see Rosalie in his mind's eye, her beautiful smile, her long brown hair, her sparkling eyes. It was almost more than he could bear. He felt a burning in his eyes, and he sniffled once, twice. He placed his fingers on the cool ivory, his eyes still closed. And then he began to play. The piano, old and out of tune, still sounded wonderful. Jacques poured everything he had into the music; all of the pain, the heartache, the anger, the jealousy, the love, everything. It flowed out from his heart, down through his arms and fingers and into the piano. For a moment, he was out of himself. He knew nothing but the music, there was nothing but the rhythm and the chords inside of him. As he reached the crescendo of the song, his heart seemed to stop, and the tears poured freely from his face. And then. . . he descended, slowly coming back into himself as the music faded away to silence. As the last note reverberated around the room, Jacques drew a shaky breath and wiped away the tears from his face.
An old voice, rich and layered suddenly broke the silence. “That was quite the rendition of Moonlight Sonata, dear boy. Tell me, where did you learn to play like that?”
Jacques turned around slowly; his mind still with the music. He took in the sight of the strange old man, with his sandals and loose tunic, his crazy mess of hair and bright eyes. Rubbing his face with one hand, Jacques replied with a tired voice, “I picked it up here and there. It's just a little hobby, something to. . .pass the time.” Jacques voice slowly tapered off as his eyes slid to a spot above the old man's left shoulder. Lost in thought, Jacques didn't even realize that the old man had taken a seat beside him on the piano bench.
The stooped elder loving ran a finger over the faded white keys. He placed both his hands over the instrument, as if he was about to play, but then sighed and withdrew them. With a bittersweet smile, he turned to Jacques. “I used to play a little music, myself. It's a wonderful thing. It's a powerful explosion of humanity, of all the pain, the joy, the good, the bad, the innermost desires of the musician poured out for all to see. It's both freeing and captivating at the same time; there's nothing in the human experience that comes quite as close to love as music.”
Jacques looked at the old man, puzzled. “What are you?” he asked suspiciously. “Some kinda philosopher or something?”
The old man gave a tired laugh and shook his head. “Nothing so profound, I'm afraid. Simply an old stooge that's had more than his share of time to think about such things.” He patted his knee thoughtfully as he looked at Jacques. “And what about you? Who are you, other than a fine musician?”
Jacques gave a cynical laugh. “Not much talent here, buddy. I only know a couple of songs. I'm no big deal.”
The old man sat in silence, his bright gaze slightly unnerving Jacques. Jacques was normally a very polite guy, but this old man was starting to annoy him.
“What?” Jacques demanded. “You wanna hear my story? Fine, I'll tell you my story. I've been wandering through life, all nineteen years of it, no cause, no plans, nothing. I always figured things would work out for me, but it ain't happened yet. I'm stuck on this ship as a galley hand, making less than minimum wage, and-” he slowly tapered off.
“And?” the old man prodded kindly.
“And I've lost the love of my life.” Jacques finished quietly.
The old man raised an eyebrow. “Nineteen and already lost the love of your life?” he said skeptically.
Angry, Jacques stood up abruptly. “What are you trying to say? You don't know how I feel! You think I'm silly, that this is just a case of puppy love? Who are you to judge me?”
The old man weathered the storm of Jacques' anger with a slightly bemused expression. After Jacques stopped venting, the old man cocked an eyebrow. “Are you quite finished, Jacques?”
“No, I'm not finished, you-” shock registered on Jacques' face as he comprehended what the old man had said. “How do you know my name?!”
“It seems like I just had this discussion,” the old man muttered to himself. “Never mind how I know your name, son. Just listen to me. If you really love Rosalie-” Jacques eyes widened in shock and the old man shook his head, amused. “If you really love Rosalie, don't give up. It takes a lot for a girl like Rosalie to believe in another's love, especially if the other is a teenage boy.”
Jacques started to speak, but the old man silenced him with a look. “Don't talk, boy. Talk is cheap. Show her you love her. Gifts, flowers, romantic stuff. The whole nine yards.” He paused for a moment, seemingly thinking things over. “But don't forget the little things. You have to be constant, consistent. What's Rosalie's favorite color?” Jacques opened at shut his mouth, completely at a loss. “Purple. Her favorite color is purple.” the old man said slowly. “Why don't you know that?”
“Hey, I've only known her for a day and a half! I've only talked to her twice!” Jacques said defensively.
“No excuse,” the old man said firmly. “You need to know these things.”
Jacques stared at the old man, his mind churning. Why was this old dude taking such a vested interest in his life? And how did he know so much about him? Unsure of what to say, Jacques nervously played a few bars of nothing on the piano. The old man kept his hard gaze on Jacques as he squirmed under the man's scrutiny.
“What's her favorite book?” the old man demanded.
Jacques mouth twitched upwards in a small smile. “I didn't know she could read!” he said devilishly.
The old man nodded slowly. “You've got a sense of humor about you, then. Good. You'll need it.” The old man stood up and patted Jacques on the back. “Good luck, son. I'm rooting for you.” With that, he walked out the door, leaving Jacques and the bartender to stare after him, puzzled.
The bartender turned to Jacques, curiosity written across his face. “Say, uh, not that it's any of my business, but do you. . . you know that dude?”
Jacques shook his head in bewilderment. “Never seen him before,” he said with a sense of wonder as he watched the door swing slowly shut.

[Swamper]

Rosalie was walking back to the boat, her mind firmly fastened to her empty stomach. She hoped Jacques had made her something to eat. With a slight frown on her face, she kicked at the cobblestone street as she went along. Jacques was probably mad at her. Maybe she had overreacted earlier, she thought to herself. It was no big deal. Besides, she needed him. He was her source of food, information, company. But mostly food, she thought wryly to herself as her stomach grumbled.
As she walked along, the sun began to scorch her white skin. It was mid-afternoon, and the temperature had finally leveled out at a high 95. Sweat began to bead on Rosalie's forehead as the sun beat down on her. Her mouth began to feel dry, and she suddenly had a longing for some water. She looked around, spying a pump coming off of a squat, highly decorated house. It was brick, with a white front porch and several large shade trees dotting the front lawn. The green grass had a vibrant look about it, somehow flourishing under the unblinking eye of the sun. Rosalie cast furtive glances around her. She didn't see anybody; surely they wouldn't mind her taking a quick drink of water! It was important to stay hydrated in the humid Louisiana summer.
Her mind made up, she too off towards the house, flitting from one tree to the other in an attempt to stay hidden for as long as she could. Twenty-five yards from the house, she ran out of cover. With no option left but to make a break for it, she leaned back against the tree she was hiding behind, catching her breath. After she was sufficiently rested, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves and took off. Her long brown hair flew out behind her, and she felt an exhilarating sense of freedom. The wind whipped passed her face and filled her ears, a subdued roar that blocked out the sound of the door leading to the front porch slamming shut. Rosalie sprinted the last twenty feet to the pump and knelt down, her heart beating at a break neck pace. Elated at her success, she began to pump the pump handle furiously, her spirits lifting at the sight of water beginning to drip from the mouth of the pump.
“You want a cup for that?” a female voice asked in a lazy southern drawl.
Rosalie froze, her eyes darting back and forth like a trapped animal's. Slowly, she stood up and turned around. There was a girl there, a girl about her age it seemed. She was short but cute, in a sweet church girl kind of way. She had an innocent, trusting face and a wide smile. Her eyes sparkled with a mischievous light as she slowly tapped her foot in an exaggerated show of impatience. Rosalie decided right away that she liked this girl.
“Actually, a cup would be nice!” Rosalie said with a playful smile. “And some ice cream, maybe?”
The girl laughed, a sweet, happy sound. “I don't think we have any ice cream, but I think Papa got some watermelon the other day. That good enough for you, stranger?”
Rosalie laughed along, her eyes sparkling. “My name's Rosalie, and yes, that'd be just fine!”
“My name's Cassie!” the girl said over her shoulder as she went inside. “I'll be right back!”
Rosalie waited awkwardly outside, her hands tapping the sides of her leg. Whenever she got nervous, she felt the overwhelming urge to move, to do something with her body. Suddenly, she felt the urge to dance. She cocked her head to the side. Did she hear the far off sound of. . . was that piano music? She listened as best she could, her eyes shut tight in concentration. She was just beginning to get lost in the music when the slam of the front door startled her out of her reverie. She jumped slightly as Cassie delicately balanced two glasses of water and a whole watermelon in one hand, and a large butcher knife in the other.
“My, you're a jumpy one, aren't you?” Cassie asked with a grin.
Rosalie laughed back. “Well when someone approaches me with a huge knife, I do tend to get a little defensive!”
Cassie smiled, revealing two rows of perfect white teeth. With a flip of her light brown shoulder length hair, she carefully lowered the watermelon to the ground and handed Rosalie a glass of water, all in one fluid motion. Rosalie looked on in admiration.
“You're quite coordinated, Cassie. I wish I could be as elegant as you!”
Cassie took the butcher knife in her hand and slammed it down on the watermelon with a satisfying, wet smack. “Eloquent, but with a bit of a bite!” she said with a smile as she gave Rosalie a piece of watermelon. “Thank you, Rosalie. It's not everyday one meets a girl that appreciates the natural grace and dignity of a dancer!”
Rosalie's eyes widened in shock. “You dance?!” she asked in disbelief.
Cassie laughed, a bit taken aback by Rosalie's enthusiastic response. “Yeah, I do a little dance. Why? You like to dance, too?”
Rosalie, suddenly embarrassed, hung her head in shame. She scuffed the toe of her shoe against the green grass. “Naw, I've never really. . . I don't think I could. . . Dancing's not for me, I think.
Cassie watched Rosalie's reaction with a mix of compassion and bewilderment. Rosalie obviously wanted to dance, Cassie could see it in her eyes. But she seemed scared, like she was holding something back. Cassie would have none of it. With a laugh, she downed the last couple of bites of watermelon and grabbed Rosalie by the hand, the watermelon juice running down each of their hands and commingling.
“Come on, Rosalie!” Cassie said, excited. “We're gonna go wash up, and then we're gonna dance!”
Rosalie put up a little resistance, more for show than anything. She was bursting with excitement as Cassie dragged her up the porch steps and into the house. For such a little girl, Cassie sure did have a lot of energy! They tore through the house like a whirlwind, hardly slowing down to clean the juice off their hands and kick off their shoes. When they finally stopped, they were in a large parlor, the hardwood floor shiny and waxed with a large chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Amazed, Rosalie stared around the room in reverence. She couldn't believe what she was seeing!
“Are you. . . are y'all rich?” Rosalie asked in a tiny, subdued voice.
Cassie laughed and whirled around, her summer dress ballooning around her as she spun her way over to the record player. “What if we are? You gonna leave?” she asked playfully.
As the music started, a nice jazzy New Orleans tune, Rosalie felt her inhibitions begin to fall away. “No, I guess not!” she said with a little laugh.
Cassie smiled, a nice, open smile and began to dance her way over to Rosalie. “Good! Stay a while, dance the night away!”
Rosalie felt her foot began to tap. The music began to make its familiar journey through her body, down to her legs and up into her heart. She could feel herself starting to get lost in the music, but she couldn't giver herself up fully. She didn't want to look like a fool in front of her new friend.
“Technically, it isn't night. . . more mid-afternoon,” Rosalie sad slowly.
Cassie laughed and continued to dance, her hair flying and her feet tapping out a complicated rhythm. “Whatever!” she said playfully. “We'll dance until the night, and then we can dance the night away. Good enough for you?”
Rosalie smiled, still unsure of whether or not she should try to dance.
“Come one! Whaddya waitin' for?” Cassie asked.
The music changed from the fast jazzy tune to a slower blues tune. A saxophone softly climbed its way up and down the scales while a jazz piano trailed along behind. The drumbeat came in, a soft base that did nothing but provide an anchor for the sax and piano to come back to. The two instruments intertwined, their music complementing each other beautifully. Cassie sighed as she went to turn it up.
“I love this song,” she said dreamily. “If only we had a couple of guys here to slow dance with, huh Rosalie?”
Rosalie nodded absentmindedly, lost in the music. The slow, relaxed beat seemed to slow time down to a crawl, and it took a minute for her to register what Cassie had said. Then the words slowly filtered into her mind, and she began to think about Jacques. Then Spongy. Then Jacques. And back to Spongy. Her mind swung slowly back between the two, a lazy pendulum of mixed up feelings. Cassie watched her new found friend, seemingly lost in the music, begin to sway slowly back and forth. Cassie watched in growing surprise and admiration as Rosalie perfectly executed several complex dancer moves, her eyes closed and a peaceful look on her face the whole time. The sparkling chandelier reflected the sunlight filtering in from the windows and sent small dots dancing around the hardwood floor. It was a magical moment, and Cassie felt like an intruder in her own house. The sax played one last, soulful riff, the piano ran down the scale in a flurry of keys, and it ended. Rosalie paused, her long eyelashes resting delicately on her cheeks. Her eyelids slowly fluttered open, and she looked around her in total contentment.
“I like that song,” Rosalie said dreamily.
Unsure of how to respond, Cassie laughed ruefully. “Yeah, I'd say you did! I thought you said you couldn't dance!”
Rosalie looked at Cassie with a mix of confusion, apprehension, and a tiny bit of hope. “I can't... can I?”
“Rosalie, honey! You are a natural! That was, without a doubt, one of the best dances I've ever seen in my life!”
Rosalie's face split in a wide, exuberant grin. “You really mean that? But the one time I tried to dance before, at a party, everyone, they-”
“You can't do real dancing at a party!” Cassie interrupted. “All they wanna do is grind on you. That's not dancing. What you just did, Rosalie, that's real dancing! You got a talent, without a doubt.”
Rosalie looked down at her feet, slightly embarrassed at the amount of praise Cassie was heaping on her. Her face was flush with excitement and joy, and her eyes were alight with wonder. She had never felt so free, so happy, so complete in her life. Giddy with the joy and wonder of it all, she spun around like a schoolgirl, her hair flying out behind her and a gay laugh erupting from deep within her.
Cassie watched with bemusement as Rosalie reveled in her new found freedom. “If you think dancing by yourself is good, just wait 'till you get a good looking guy to dance with you. Then it's heavenly!” Cassie said dreamily. “When he's holding you tight, and you can rest your head on his shoulders as he gently sweeps you back and forth. . .it's a wonderful thing. I love dancing with guys!”
A look of disgust crossed Rosalie's face. “Why would you dance with a guy?! He'd just try to cop a feel the whole time!” she said with a vengeance.
Cassie was slightly taken aback by Rosalie's reaction. “My, somebody has guy issues!” she said with a slight laugh. “You wanna talk about it?” she said with a concerned look.
Rosalie brushed her hair back away from her face, unsure of what to say. “Well, I mean, they just. . .it seems like they're all after the same thing. I haven't met a decent guy yet!” As soon as the words left her mouth, her mind flashed to Jacques, but she pushed him out of her mind. He was probably just like all of the others.
“Rosalie, sweetie,” Cassie said tenderly, “not every guy is like that, trust me! There are still some gentlemen out there. The hard part if picking them out of the crowd!” She paused, and a slight frown passed over her lovely features, but it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. “But make sure he's a real gentlemen before getting too involved with him. I made the mistake of falling for a guy's good looks and. . .let's just say it didn't end well. He was nice at first, but as time went on, he got progressively worse. I mean, I know every relationship had its rough patches, but this rough patch never ended. And he never tried to resolve our differences in any meaningful way. He'd just smile and sweet talk, nothing of real substance. Just a bunch of empty promises and pretty words.” She shook her head ruefully. “It was rough, Rosalie. Be careful out there.”
Rosalie nodded thoughtfully. Cassie had a way about her that just made everything better, even tough stuff like relationships. Sitting there talking with her, Rosalie could almost believe that she would find somebody for her one day. Almost, but not quite.
“I was so glad when his boat finally left port and continued on it's way. I needed to get away from him! He had this aura about him, he could get you to forgive just about anything and keep you wanting more. I'm glad he left, because I don't know if I'd have had the willpower to leave him.”
A sneaking suspicion crept up on Rosalie, and she could feel her stomach begin to drop. Surely not. That was just too crazy to believe, even for Rosalie! There are lots of sailors here, surely Cassie wasn't talking about the same one Rosalie was thinking of.
Suddenly, the grandfather clock tucked away in the far corner of the room began to chime. Startled, Rosalie jumped up. “My ship! I'm gonna miss my ship!” she exclaimed in a panicked voice as she rushed out the door. “Thank you so much for everything, Cassie!” she shouted over her shoulder. As she reached the front door, she screeched to a halt, whirled back around and ran back to give Cassie a hug. “I'm going to miss you so much! I'll come back and see you sometime, but right now I really gotta go!”
Taken aback, Cassie almost fell over when Rosalie attacked her with a hug. “Whoa, whoa, Rosalie, what are you talking about?”
“My ship!” Rosalie said breathlessly. “It's my ride down to New Orleans! I can't miss it!” And with that, Rosalie shot out the front door, down the steps and out into the street, her feet flying and her hair streaming behind her like a banner.
Cassie ran to the front door just in time to see Rosalie disappear around a corner. Shaking her head in amusement, she turned around and went back inside. She wandered through her big, empty house aimlessly, her mind a million miles away. She would miss Rosalie. It may seem silly, but Rosalie. . .she's special. Cassie had a feeling she'd never meet anybody quite like Rosalie. With a heavy heart, she sat down at put on another record. The music washed over her, deadening the pain somewhat. It wasn't the same without Rosalie, though. Cassie laid flat on her back, her eyes focused on the crystal chandelier dangling directly above her, and sent up a special prayer for Rosalie. Then she slowly closed her eyes and fell into a peaceful sleep.