Just Off Elysian Fields
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University of New Orleans ScholarWorks@UNO University of New Orleans Theses and Dissertations Dissertations and Theses Fall 2014 Just Off Elysian Fields Woodlief A. Thomas University of New Orleans, [email protected] Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarworks.uno.edu/td Part of the Fiction Commons Recommended Citation Thomas, Woodlief A., "Just Off Elysian Fields" (2014). University of New Orleans Theses and Dissertations. 1949. https://scholarworks.uno.edu/td/1949 This Thesis is protected by copyright and/or related rights. It has been brought to you by ScholarWorks@UNO with permission from the rights-holder(s). You are free to use this Thesis in any way that is permitted by the copyright and related rights legislation that applies to your use. For other uses you need to obtain permission from the rights- holder(s) directly, unless additional rights are indicated by a Creative Commons license in the record and/or on the work itself. This Thesis has been accepted for inclusion in University of New Orleans Theses and Dissertations by an authorized administrator of ScholarWorks@UNO. For more information, please contact [email protected]. Just Off Elysian Fields A Thesis Submitted to the Graduate Faculty of the University of New Orleans in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Fine Arts in Film, Theater, and Communication Arts Concentration in Creative Writing – Fiction by Woodlief Thomas B.A. Hendrix College M.A. Teachers College, Columbia University December 2014 Acknowledgments Ma and Pops, of course, along with all my readers and supporters, which include Ife, Big D, Joanna, Barb, Rick, Randy, Neal, Amanda, Joseph, Morgan, Brother, Jaimito, and Stephanie, among others. ii Table of Contents 1. Antoine 1 2. Doc 4 3. Maybelle 11 4. Antoine 14 5. Doc 19 6. Maybelle 22 7. Antoine 25 8. Maybelle 41 9. Antoine 48 10. Doc 67 11. Maybelle 80 12. Antoine 91 13. Maybelle 107 14. Antoine 126 15. Maybelle 149 16. Antoine 168 17. Maybelle 180 18. Antoine 201 19. Maybelle 207 20. Antoine 211 21. Maybelle 217 22. Antoine 221 23. Maybelle 224 24. Antoine 225 25. Maybelle 234 26. Antoine 235 27. Maybelle 240 28. Antoine 243 Vita 244 iii Chapter 1- Antoine I grip the shaky wheel of the old Continental. I think I’m driving alright, considering it’s been eight years. The air coming in the windows is warm, the pines blow past. I-55 seems to be the Continental’s element—steady and straight. I was worried when I first pulled it out onto Mazant as Ma waved, after the 31-year old Continental she let me borrow clunked real loud and nasty into gear and I pressed the gas but didn’t get anything back for a good second or two, and how the car squealed something fierce when I turned the wheel. But I know how it is. Starting’s tough sometimes. I cross the Mississippi line around noon. A state trooper’s tucked into a stand of trees there in the median, and I’m doing seven over the limit. I pull my foot a little off the gas, and I get nervous. I have no idea what happens when an unlicensed ex-con who’s not supposed to leave Louisiana is pulled over in Mississippi. I pass him by and then look in the rearview. Nothing. Good. I need a beer, but I’m gonna wait. Yeah, I’m gonna wait. Just to drink something I take down some of that bitter, luke warm coffee I got back in Hammond. I put the cup down and try to focus on the road. Doc knew something was happening, but I didn’t want to believe him. Just Saturday morning, nothing but three days ago, I found him drinking a brown-bagged 22- ouncer on our favorite bench on the promenade, looking out at the water. Those fire- breathing-dragon silk pajamas somebody gave him were all covered in dirt, and his corn rows were coming loose real bad. He didn’t look so good. He handed me a beer from a plastic bag without saying anything, and I sat down next to him without saying anything 1 either. Then he started talking just like that, just like always, still looking out at the river. Told me he woke up on Toulouse, there in the Quarter, half in the street and half on the sidewalk, the curb digging into his ribs. “I woke up and found out I done pissed myself, Coozan. I ain’t done that since I was a littlin’, count on. And then, come to find out my bike was gone. C’mon, Coozan, you know damn well I don’t never forget to lock that bitch up,” he said. “It happens, Doc,” I told him. Even though I was worried by what he said. “It don’t happen to me!” And he was right. He took a big drink and he went on. Told me his red hat was crushed too. He started cussing and pulled himself off the pavement, and he started for the river just like he always did when he woke up, no matter where it was he woke up. The sun was just coming up over Algiers Point. He crossed Decatur, and he walked over the levee and then along the river down to the Governor Nicholls Street Wharf. The river was smooth, Doc told me, and the big gray sky it reflected made it look just like the mercury spilled from a broken thermometer. He listened to the water come all quiet against the bank for a minute, and he walked to the edge. Took off his slippers and peeled off his pajamas, on down to his drawers. Doc walked on into the Mississippi and swam out just about ten or fifteen feet, and he floated in that big old river of mercury, looking into the sky. He told me that floating there right then, he realized he was scared. He realized his time was running out. “C’mon, Doc. You’re fine,” I said. I couldn’t think any other way. I looked at the river and took a drink from my beer. A big freighter slowly rolled upriver, and I realized I 2 was scared too. Scared of not having Doc. Not being able to talk to him, or to at least know he’s out walking the streets somewhere being Doc. And yeah, I’m afraid I might fall apart; sometimes I feel like he holds me together. “Here… look in my eyes,” he said. He leaned over and opened his eyes real big, and I looked into them. I realized I’d never looked into his eyes for more than a second or so. While talking with him, I usually looked at him, and then looked again at Dauphine or the river, wherever it was we were drinking, or not look at him at all. I saw that his irises were milky and blue with age, and the whites were a deep brownish color, just a little lighter than his skin. The folds around his eyes damn near covered them up completely. “I don’t see nothing,” I lied. “Got damnit, Antoine! I’m fixing to die. I can feel it.” I turned back to the river and took another pull from my beer. I shivered, despite the August heat, and I shiver now thinking about it, three days later. “You ain’t gonna die, Doc,” I said at the time. “You ain’t gonna die.” And I guess despite my worry, I believed it. Doc can’t die, I thought at the time. But there he was when I left town, laid up back at Veterans to where he didn’t hardly have the energy to talk past a minute or two. I realize I’m doing damn near ninety. I slow it down. I got to remember. I can’t fuck this up. I’ve fucked up near every damn thing I’ve ever had. But this, I just can’t. I take another drink of truck stop coffee and put it back in the drink holder. I think of the last thing Doc told me there on the river that morning. “Coozan, listen here. I’mma go looking for my little girl. If I don’t find her before I…” He stopped for a minute, and I thought about how in his mind that’s what Maybelle still was, a little 3 girl. She was twenty now, but he hadn’t seen her since she was five. All the stories he told me over the years were of her as a little girl, until she was locked in our minds as just that. “If I don’t find her, Coozan, I need you to go out there and make sure she alright.” Not in all the four years I’d known him had I seen him so serious. “And… tell her about me. Tell her good things, like how I tried to make people happy.” “Alright, Doc,” I’d told him there on the river. And then yesterday morning I found him laid out way over on Gallier Street damn near dead. Taking the steering wheel with the inside of my thigh, I unfold the Mississippi road map I just bought and lay it against the wheel. I study I-55. The towns shake as I run my eyes up the paper interstate—McComb, Brookhaven, Jackson—as the Continental tries to keep up on the pavement one. 4 Chapter 2- Doc I don’t know where to start, Baby Maybelle, so I guess I’ll start with how I ended up in this here hospital bed and see what happens from there.