Tattered Jeans
Louisiana Revisited: Journey ends in New Orleans reunion with a 12-year-old angel
Jul 14, 2013 | 4:43 pm
Katie first met Hanna at small Baptist Church in Bayou Lafourche.
Katie Oxford
Editor's Note: In 2010, Katie Oxford filed a series of riveting columns from the heart of the Gulf oil spill disaster. In this final column of a new series about her return to Louisiana, she tracks down a young girl named Hanna, whom she first met at a Baptist church in bayou country.
Traveling away from the Gulf, not towards it, feels awkward to me. Down right unnatural. On this day, it was a sure fire signal that my trip to Louisiana was winding down. Bummer.
For weeks, I’d traveled down the bayou. Numerous ones. Sheer bliss. Now, I was traveling up one, driving north to New Orleans where Hanna, I was told, lived with her family.
In minutes, he called back sounding like most folks do in Louisiana — your next-door neighbor.
Hours later and worlds apart, I arrived in the Big Easy. After settling into my hotel, I called Bernadette’s friend, who knew where Hanna lived, and left a message. In minutes, he called back sounding like most folks do in Louisiana — your next-door neighbor. He gave me a phone number adding, “I’m sure Hanna would love to hear from you.”
I dialed the number and low and behold, Hanna answered. I was ecstatic. So too seemed Hanna. For a minute or so we were a couple of chatterboxes. Me especially. As soon as I asked if I could come visit her, she was repeating the question to her mother. My Easter wish — spending time with Hanna — was about to come true.
A tearful reunion
The next morning, a cab driver was waiting in front of the hotel. Marcus drove us over bridges and through streets. One was lined with convenient stores, transmission shops, lumberyards, churches and dog poop in between. This part of New Orleans was a far cry from the Pointe-au-Chien community I thought out loud. “Yea,” Marcus said, “and these people are crazy here. Drugs, crime…they’ll kill you for nothin’. I don’t drive anybody here.”
“Three people were shot in the head here,” Hanna said. “It’s OK. We’re under a protected eye here…people sorta look out for everyone.”
Wearing a sherbet green dress with a Kelly green bow in her hair, Hanna saw me on the walkway and rushed straight into my arms. She had grown much taller since our last meeting. Taller physically. Metaphorically, I thought later, like a hollyhock growing against a house.
We hugged strong. Real. Glad. “I can’t believe you found me,” she said.
I commented on her bangs. They were thick and beautiful, seemingly shielding her blue eyes like a wide brimmed hat. We started down the walkway leading to her home. Waiting there outside were her mother, her three little half-sisters and her stepfather, who was sweeping the steps. I noted that he’d shaved his beard since our last meeting and gained a lot of weight. All were dressed in their Easter best. One of her sisters, Hanna had explained, was getting christened that day.
We moved inside and settled in the living room. All except for Hanna’s sisters, that is, who moved about like little butterflies. “What do you do?” her stepfather asked. I explained, looking more at Hanna, who sat in a seat near mine, listening attentively, looking poised and somehow, wise beyond her 12 years.
I didn’t stay long. The christening was at a church a few hours drive from New Orleans. Before I left, I asked if everyone would pile up on the sofa for a photograph. They filled it full like eggs in a basket. Hanna sat squeezed in the middle, yet still, I saw a hollyhock, standing tall against a house.
As the camera fired one snapshot after another, the three butterflies squirmed in delight. The stepfather directed Hanna. “Get your hair out of your eyes,” he said, “and sit up straight.” Seconds later, the camera captured Hanna and her mother sharing something, then, giggling like little girls.
As I got up to leave, I wondered if Hanna might walk out with me a ways. Hanna was silent. The butterflies begged to go.
Close encounter
Out into the sunshine we went, moving down the sidewalk like a train. “I’m not a very good writer,” Hanna offered. I explained that I was a student of writing, that, I’d come to it late in life. “You might be a writer and just not know it yet,” I said.
Suddenly a dog came charging towards us. Calm and just as easy as you please, Hanna bent over and reached out toward the dog like she was holding a ball.
As we neared the place where Marcus was parked, we paused. “Three people were shot in the head here,” Hanna said. I expressed my concern and the one more immediate - the safety of Hanna and her half-sisters now. “It’s OK,” Hanna said reassuringly. “We’re under a protected eye here…people sorta look out for everyone.”
Suddenly, from a distance, a dog shot loose from its owner and came charging towards us. The little girls, terrified, ran screaming behind Hanna. Hanna, however, stayed. Calm and just as easy as you please, she bent over and reached out toward the dog like she was holding a ball.
“I’m so sorry!” called the owner. “Oh, that’s OK,” Hanna answered, giving love to the dog with both hands.
I thought of the hollyhock again. The Bayou Lafourche too. Rolling toward the Gulf like a kiddie ride at the Southeast Texas State Fair.
