City of Ruins
It seems impossible that there might be people who live in a place, somewhere, where all the houses aren't marked with spray paint, the way I've marked my banner to commemorate the one year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. I should probably explain it, though. All the houses in Orleans Parish were searched and marked with this spray painted X. The markings vary somewhat, depending on who made them, but usually the top is the date the house was searched, the left is the state that particular National Guard troop came from or the local agency that searched the house, and the right or the bottom is how many dead. The one on my old apartment said "9-9 LSP 0," for example, indicating that the Louisiana State Police didn't find any bodies. Most of them have a zero. But not all.
So strange, not to have seen one of those marks. I see them everywhere. I feel like I still have the dingy brown waterline stuck to me, in a place no one can see, just like it's stuck on the rows of houses, even though I never touched that water.
This week I have cried in my car numerous times. I am overwhelmed, and I am angry. I am angry at the Army Corps of Engineers for building substandard levees. I am angry whenever someone posts an ignorant rant on Craigslist about "you fucking stupid beggars stop whining i hope you die," because I was hurt by this too, and am not a beggar, nor am I a whiner. We are people, and this is where we live. I am angry because Bush doesn't deserve to show his face here tomorrow and talk about how much improvement has been made. I am angry at my cat's other people, for leaving him behind. Even though I know they couldn't have known, I am still angry. I am angry that we spend billions of dollars bringing the greatness of America to other countries. I am angry because people were left in squalor to die for the crime of being poor or old. I am angry at people who won't do something to help themselves. I am angry at people who won't do, in general.
I see furniture on curbs. I see dusty cars parked under the overpass. I see leaning, collapsed wooden houses. I see spray paint on the porch. I see a skinny puppy nosing the trash by the projects at Freret and Louisiana. I see eerily dark traffic lights. I see a mattress in the branches of a tree. I see a concrete slab where a house used to be. Tomorrow it will be one year, but I still see these things. I see them every day, every week, every drive.
This is not over. This will never be over.
"Without your sweet kiss, my soul's lost, my friend
Tell me how do I begin again
My city's in ruins"
2 comments:
You asked a while back for the lurkers to show themselves. Here I am. Hi.
I wasn't there and didn't even know anyone who was, so in a sense I'm afraid that I'll forget. I love your writing on this and think it's very important to keep telling people about the mail, the videos, the pets, all of the details that make this quite real to the long-distance folks.
I want our generation to be smarter and more capable than the people who are currently overseeing our lives, and I think telling stories (fiction or no) will help accomplish that. I'm not a comment whore, but I did want to thank you for writing.
I have no words. I too am angry and disappointed. I'm from Louisiana. I've been fortunate to have travelled all over the world. And I continuously stand my by opinion that New Orleans is my favorite city in the world. Nothing compares to it.
I'm devastated, and on some level in denial. I've been away from LA for 10 years now. This has been the longest period that I have been in my favorite city in the world. And I'm ashamed by that.
I'm at a loss. I pray, I curse, I hope, I donate, I volunteer.
God, I remember watching everything happen. I felt so guilty watching. It was like it was a movie. Truth is stranger than fiction. I could never have imagined how this would pan out.
Thank you for what you're doing.
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