50 Marbles
If you lie down with dogs, you’ll get up with fleas.
Old Southernism
I wake up this morning and pack for home. I decide to go for a run while waiting for dude to pick me up for the airport.
He arrives looking like a dog with his tail between his legs. He tells me that his friend from Costa Rica calls him “el perro” (dog) because of his overactive mojo. I look at him and see all his imperfection, but despite everything, he’s somehow shockingly likeable. He has been generous with me, generous with his time, generous with his knowledge of New Orleans even with my incessant questions.
I check out of the hotel, knowing it will not be my last visit to Nola. Dude brings his truck around and I get in. He has a bag of Mardi Gras beads for me to take home. I’ve never seen real throws before only the cheap ones from Gay Pride floats back home. I pull the mess of fancy beads out of the bag. The beads look exactly how I feel – muddled and tangled.
I hold the mess of beads in my hands and look at dude saying, “I just want to take something beautiful home.” He sees my tears and takes me in his arms. He understands. “Let me show you something” he says as he takes out a lighter. He asks me to point out the strands that I want to take home. He breaks all the cheaper beads in the tangle to get at the good ones. He expertly untangles the heap and then uses the flame from his lighter to melt the beads of the broken strands to fuse them back together. When he is done, I’m smiling.
At this point, I don’t really know what I’m taking home. I know it will take some skilled hands to untangle some of my emotions around my trip but I know I’ll also take home some beauty.
Do you know that we, the perfectly imperfect, are lovable? Can we be broken and beautiful?
Old Southernism
I wake up this morning and pack for home. I decide to go for a run while waiting for dude to pick me up for the airport.
He arrives looking like a dog with his tail between his legs. He tells me that his friend from Costa Rica calls him “el perro” (dog) because of his overactive mojo. I look at him and see all his imperfection, but despite everything, he’s somehow shockingly likeable. He has been generous with me, generous with his time, generous with his knowledge of New Orleans even with my incessant questions.
I check out of the hotel, knowing it will not be my last visit to Nola. Dude brings his truck around and I get in. He has a bag of Mardi Gras beads for me to take home. I’ve never seen real throws before only the cheap ones from Gay Pride floats back home. I pull the mess of fancy beads out of the bag. The beads look exactly how I feel – muddled and tangled.
I hold the mess of beads in my hands and look at dude saying, “I just want to take something beautiful home.” He sees my tears and takes me in his arms. He understands. “Let me show you something” he says as he takes out a lighter. He asks me to point out the strands that I want to take home. He breaks all the cheaper beads in the tangle to get at the good ones. He expertly untangles the heap and then uses the flame from his lighter to melt the beads of the broken strands to fuse them back together. When he is done, I’m smiling.
At this point, I don’t really know what I’m taking home. I know it will take some skilled hands to untangle some of my emotions around my trip but I know I’ll also take home some beauty.
Do you know that we, the perfectly imperfect, are lovable? Can we be broken and beautiful?
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