There was a young man, arrived New Orleans some years ago. Dressed in a shabby tunic, hip waders, and a creased, tan cap he came. He pulled his boat-- some northern contraption called a Canoe, that we seldom seen here-- he pulled his boat and stepped ashore. What we did not know, but might have guessed, is that this was a rambling man. A true, river-bound traveller, riding the waves right clear from godforsaken Canada. His journey had taken him five years, but here he was, at his final port.
Let's call him William.
***
When William stepped ashore-- and it was a Monday in July-- when William stepped ashore he inhaled through his dirty nostrils the air of our town. Pinching his nose to remove some debris gathered there, he, like someone who's done it one too many times, turned and hauled his boat up a ways. Then he reached into it, took out a small pack that I would guess held his most critical belongings, and made for the toilet.
Business done, he surveyed the scene. In his head ran thoughts, or so I'd guess, thoughts like: Now what..., or: Now I'm here... and the like. Truth is, this proper odyssee of his had lasted longer than was healthy for him, mentally I mean. And as such he, though an expert navigator of the river, had actually lost his bearings.
What I've learned is men may take to a long journey for a number of reasons. They may seek wealth. They may want to escape the past, loves lost or a heartache too still hot to bear. Or worse: they might seek to escape the present. These escaping men are another breed altogether, who do not feel emotional pain but only know how to run, run, run; run from place to place, leaving a trail of spoiled innocents (of one sort or another) in their wake.
Lucky, our William was not such a man. He took to his five year canoe trip from curiosity. Where a river leads can be shown, in some sense, on a map. But a map is an abstraction, and so it's useful it's but not the truth. The truth of what lies down a river can only be found out by travelling it, and so William set out in a Canoe to find that out. Here he had seen where it led, and everything in between: and it's too much to list here.
So William the wanderer set out from northern parts, from Canada, and for five years he saw what was along the river. His mind became warped by his extreme solitude, until having set his foot firmly at last on his final destination he found he no longer knew himself or where he really was.
But this, it turns out, is only half the story.
***
He was born and bred in a place called Edmonton. Edmonton, as you might not know, is an oil town. It's people are either poor, dirty, and grim (I'd say like Russians but without a sense of history,) or happy, shallow and insulated. You cannot be uninsulated and happy in Edmonton, because for 8 months of the year the sun never shines, the temperature never rises above freezing, and the penetrating wind will not lets up. I know this for my Aunt went there once for an internet date. It didn't come to anything.
William was born to one of these insulated families. He grew up in a carpeted, television-strewn bungalow, with his kid sister always finishing his box of cereal or breaking his toys. And in such an environment, where "outside" was not something to be trifled with by such activities that are in other parts considered normal for a child (I'm speaking of things such as play,) he became a thinker. He thought on science, maths, astronomy. He thought up stories about fantastic creatures, princesses and knights, or space men who contended with aliens.
And deep in his subconscious psyche was born some kind of warm, gilded nut, which glittered in an abstract sunlight on the wavy sea of his soul. This was his desire, but it could not be named or brought forth to be dissected. It resisted such attempts, instead slowly growing and painting everything around it, his conscious thoughts, with something like a dappled sunset reflection.
As he grew he became fascinated with this indirect beaming that came indirectly from within, and he fixed onto maths, where he seemed to see something wonderful. He penetrated the depths of numbers-- which I don't understand-- and over and over and with increasing intricacies he took them apart and put them together again. Until, one day, he found himself a towering young man with a PhD in geometry, several real publications and four Theorems to his name (but not named for him-- because that only happens a hundred years later.) He thought he saw in numbers and their rules a grandiose plan, a mapping of the true reality, and this beauty captivated him.
But really, what I know is that he needed something else.
So when William stepped ashore, and found himself not certain where he was, he could think only of numbers. What remained of his tattered ship and camping supplies, he looked over one last time and then left for good. He wouldn't need it anymore for there was no more river. And then he headed to the Central Library of New Orleans.
***
He buried himself there in books. His stomach became grumbly. He fed on a scone from the attached coffee shop, which all popular libraries have these days, and then read more. He found himself; or rather, he exchanged trances: from that of the wanderer into that of the ponderer.
The sun was starting to low when he heard a distinct sound, which cracked his mental armour ever so slight.
Turning he saw that it was emanating from two creatures: fine, ebony and filled girls, who were sitting behind him. One whispered something, looked to him, and plaudered some more. And then something magical happened: as one girl shifted in her seat, the five years of river-supressed testosterone worked it's magic in William's soul. A slight and lovely hipsway had awoken it's opposite charge.
Suddenly he could do nothing but gape at them. Their hair and eyes seemed the finest, and their heads appeared to him as mountains. The depth of their pupils went on and on-- he remembered in an instant a story he had read once of man who falls into a wormhole that grants eternal bliss but never ends-- and on and on. Lips, a brownness and wetness that he could not comprehend. Here were gods, two. And all at once they had noticed he noticing them.
She straightened and serioused herself, stood, and walked over. Her gentle womanlyness swaying as one leg slightly crosstepping the other, passing the section of floor that separated their tables. She sat next.
"Keesha. Now: who're you?" Of course he did not answer. After four seconds, she laughed, and turned to her friend. "Hey Kayla-Soul, have you met this man?" As she did this she put her hand on the back of his chair, and the outside of her left hand brushed slightly the point on his back between his shoulder blades, a little below the top of the chair. He came.
***
The girls sat a little perturbed. When the grubby, strange young man had suddenly and inexplicably gathered his books and run out of the library, setting off the sensor-alarms and inadvertantly knocking the elderly guard to the side as he stepped up to question him, they had shouted "No, wait! Stop!"-- but it was no use. Now they felt slightly guilty, for having teased someone to such a point.
For a minute or so, they just sat stunned. Then, slowly they looked at one another. And Kayla-Soul said in her deep voice: "You certainly have an effect on men."
***
William recovered himself not long after; in fact he was relieved. Since it happened he did feel more himself, although a bit as if some spell had been broken. He found himself more comfortable talking with people on the street or in shops. That night he checked himself into a local hostel (he was a man of some means, though small) and had no dreams that he could remember.
For the next two days he puttered around New Orleans. He was determined not to return to the library, not just for the embarassing episode with the two girls (he felt certain they knew what had happened) but because math, in particular, seemed unappealing for the present. He purchased cigars and smoked one for the first time. He went to Dixieland pubs and took in a movie. He made some acquaintences at the hostel and told tales of his river-quest, but they moved on the next morning and out of his life.
And so he was somewhat settled in, at least for a true drifter, when one day he left a barbers on Mars St. (freshly cut and shaved) and saw what looked like the two girls from the library. He stopped himself for a moment and looked across at them: they were waiting for a bus and talking. The moment seized him, he felt confident from his shave and for the moment his sense of embarassment fled him. Looking quickly left, then right, he darted across the street.
When they saw him, they immediately stopped talking, Keesha subtly grabbing the elbow of Kayla-Soul to get her attention.
"I wanted to apologize for the other day." He said simply.
"Ah, no, no." Keesha began, but Kayla-Soul cut in:
"No, we're sorry. We could tell you were a newcomer, it was my idea to tease you. We should act older than high school, all adults us. Really you can't blame her. Anyhow I'm Kayla-Soul, and this is my friend Keesha. Nice to meet you."
"Ah. Nice to meet you to." He smiled a bit and there was a pause afterward, as they all three breathed in and out two full breaths. He stated to talk again, but as he did Keesha began as well, and they both stopped abruptly. After another pause, "Go on," she said. So he began again:
"I'm new to this city. Actually I've been on the river for awhile. I don't know anyone."
"Well! Well." Keesha smiled and looked at the other girl. "I was just going to suggest we show you around. But it's almost dinner, will you come over?" But before he could answer their bus arrived: "Ah, let's get on. We'll bring you back wherever you need to be after."
***
The scenery from the bus ride was interesting, and seemed to take them a long ways out of town. The girls asked where he had been and seemed amazed (maybe even a little worried) at his canoe trip. The question of what he would do now came up, and he said he didn't know. That begged the question of what he did before.
"A real math guy? With a PhD? That's something." Keesha was the more outgoing of the two, and did most of the talking.
"Yep." He wasn't sure what to say, but he knew what was coming next.
"I really hated Math. Just barely passed, and then in third-stream."
"A lot of people say that." He surrendered.
During the ride he noticed that Kayla-Soul had an enticing, half-hidden way of smiling, and that her words seemed a kind of satin poetry when they escaped her. Keesha would ask the basic stuff, but Kayla-Soul would observe things less obvious and point them out. As a result, the rhythm of their conversation had an easy flow, even on public transportation. Finally, Keesha pulled the bell and the driver stopped the bus.
William stood, but his river-legs couldn't compensate for the movement of the bus and he crashed into Kayla-Soul's lap, his hand finding the seat next to her right thigh. She paused a moment, cocked her head and playfully offered: "Smooth." She pressed his hand with hers for a moment before standing up, still looking at him awkwardly leaning on the seat.
***
Walking along the sidewalk in the New Orleans sunshine, palm trees and pollution mixing with the seabreeze, William felt he had entered into a dream. He began to feel elation. Conversation turned easy across the day's activities, the girls now discussing the affairs of their friends but politely explanining to him who and about what they were. Things just seemed so easy here, and it was good to be young but still old enough to be free.
They approached a short building, walked up the steps, Kayla-Soul taking her key out and unlocking the front door then stepping inside. She flipped the light.
"Home sweet home."
It was a lively, breezy environment inside the apartment. The late afternoon sunshine lit up the there that were scattered at the entrance, sweaters and magazines, and many pairs of shoes. They entered the living area, a little tidier, and Kayla-Soul put her keys on a side table. She stood a moment looking out the front window. "At it again." Across the street William could see some young men blustering at each other.
Keesha flopped into a chair. "Make yourself at home. It's Kayla's night to cook, which is lucky for you."
William sat down across from her and took his shoes off, here more for comfort than politeness. The girls seemed curious at this, then kicked theirs off too. Kayla-Soul left the window and went into the kitchen.
"So what do you think of New Orleans."
"It's nice."
"I bet. Well, we like it here. Gets us away from our family a little."
"Where's family?"
"Family's... far. What about you?"
He paused a moment. "Far, too."
"Mm."
The sound of packaging being unwrapped could be heard from the kitchen, then a can opener, and finally something being thrown into a pan. Soon the smell of simmering spaghetti sauce filled the apartment.
"You know, I only just met you but I feel like I already know you. Can you explain that?"
He smiled and laughed a little. He looked at the floor. "Hmn... maybe we we're separated at birth?"
Keesha laughed at this patently funny remark, and stood up. "I'm going to get us some beers." She went into the kitchen.
William had a look around the room. There was a lot of scattered reading, and a few pictures of the girls together. One near him looked like it had been taken somewhere north, on a cold day. They sat together in sweaters and jackets with the sea behind them, veiled in the morning fog. He guessed maybe New York or Maine. And it dawned on him that they must be a couple.
In a moment she was back, and he smiled.
"You married?" He asked as she handed him his beer.
"Uh!" She looked surprised for a second. "Well, can't get married Louisiana." Another pause. "Yes."
They sat and sipped beer for a few seconds.
She asked him: "So what are you gonna do next? Find another river to sail down?"
He turned a bit sad. "I don't know. This feels good, right here, but I don't know."
"You could stay." He raised an eyebrow. "I mean for a bit, or longer. I'm sure Kayla won't mind."
Kayla came out of the kitchen, leaning against the door frame. From this pose William felt anew the stateliness of her hips. She offered: "We have an extra room. The cat sleeps in it, now."
William felt he had come home. "I'm not allergic to cats."
***
Kayla-Soul's spaghetti dinner was wonderful. They all three ate at the kitchen table, devoured every bite. Kayla talked about how she and Keesha met, explained how she had seen her first at the front of an essay writing class at college, been annoyed by her constant questions, and finally come to feel attracted to her. Things finally gelled for them at a sorority mixer. They promptly left the sorority and moved in together.
William and Keesha cleaned up dishes, while Kayla sat and watched, sipping her beer. Then they three walked the street to the corner store, bought some milk, and stopped in the park on the way home.
The stars were bright and the night was warm. So they laid in the grass at the park for a long time, and didn't say anything.