Queen of the Southern Blues

Chapter 1: Louisiana Sunshine

Summary: Have you ever wondered what it would be like to fly; to just jump up into the sky and never have to come back down? I used to... And then reality set in, and I hit the ground. Hard. A love story.

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I've always loved the morning, birds chirping, as if welcoming me into their space. Little, beady eyes turned to stare at me, beak opened in a cry; like hello in another language. The camera in my hands was old; older than me. I think it was my Grammy's when she was here. All I had to do was get a good shot of a squirrel, and I'd have a passing grade in art. How can anyone fail art? Good question. I don't know why I even signed up for the class. The teacher was bogus and so were her assignments, but I needed my credit.

And then, there it was, the fat, old squirrel that was always in our bird feeder. He was climbing down his tree, though he stopped, fluffy tail waving in the air. Yesterday, I had sat outside, in the early morning, waiting for him to come out of his hole. And guess what? He never did.

"Come on, just a little more..." I coaxed in a soft whisper. I think he must have heard me, because he climbed the rest of the way down, and hopped onto the ground. He stared at me, standing up on his hind-legs, then...

Click.

"Gotcha." I smiled at the sky, happy that I had finally accomplished an agonizing feat. The art thing? Well, let's just say that I couldn't draw to save my life, and that seemed to actually be a requirement. Swinging the camera onto my shoulder, I sat down in the dewy grass, pulling up a few of the green strands. It was so peaceful, and almost warm enough to walk around in shorts again. Louisiana weather was very unpredictable: one day it would be warm and sunny, making you want to jump in the nearest pool, and the next, it would be cold and gray, giving everyone the sniffles.

The trees overhead groaned and moved in the soft wind, the creaks of their branches making eery sounds. Something red flickered in the corner of my eye, and I looked towards it quickly, only to suddenly become dizzy. Sitting down on the ground, I rubbed my temples.

"Gracelynn! You better get your butt in this house right now!" a voice yelled at me. Oh, right. I had forgotten what time it was. I stood and brushed the dirt off of my church dress hurriedly, and saw Mama waving at me frantically from the porch. "We're gonna be late honey, hurry up!" I almost laughed at her, the corners of my mouth twitching upwards as I trotted barefoot to the porch. Her hair was still in the rollers, make-up smeared, and dress hanging off her shoulder. The steps leading up to our porch creaked as I stepped on them, and was rough from the many years of rugged weather. Mamma told me one time that they were older than me and her combined. Probably older than Papa, too.

"Come on! We have to go! Now. And we're going to your granddaddy's after," Mamma was shooing her hand at me as I passed, and scowled after I mock saluted her. "Get your shoes on! We're almost late!" Mamma doesn't have a really loud voice, even if she yelled, it would be wispy and soft; guess that's where I get it from. My voice, I mean.

Scurrying inside the back door, I ran down the hall to my room, almost slipping on the tiled floors in the kitchen. Staring at me feet as I sprinted to my room, I slammed smack into a person. And how do I know that, you may ask. Well, that's a simple question.

"Crap! What was that for, Egghead?" he asked me. The he, being my older brother, Wesley. He's in college, so he thinks he's all that and a bag of chips, plus he's in a band. He has a big ego, too, and can be rude in the mornings. Well, more than rude. And no one is able to understand him half the time- I guess that's why his last girlfriend dumped him...

"Egghead? Egghead? That's real mature, doofus," I muttered, slipping around him to go into my room. I mean, seriously. Egghead? There's got to be a Name-calling Book For Dummies, somewhere.

"Doofus? Doofus? Real mature, Gracie-lynn!" he called back, mocking me and I stuck my tongue at my door, though he couldn't see me.

It didn't take me long to find a pair of flip-flops and put the camera away. As I walked back into the hall, I saw Wes walking to his room.

"You riding with us?" I questioned him, slipping my flip on, then my flop.

"Nah, I'll catch a ride with Tabby," he called over his shoulder. By the time I got to the front door, Mamma was honking the horn. Rolling my eyes skyward, I sighed. She was more impatient than Papa.

xxxx

The service was was wonderful at church; the message was alright and the music was mostly from the old hymnals, but the ending was the best. All the children came out of the back, carrying pictures that they all colored. Together, and more than a little off-key, they sang 'Jesus Loves Me.' It was the most adorable thing I've ever seen, and not just because my little sisters were up there. After their little concert, the kids got to go to their parents and give them their picture. Anne-Marie helped Lily bring Mamma the picture she colored, before church was dismissed. Wes, my older brother, wasn't at church. Smiling to myself, I turned and got in the car with the rest of my family. He sure would get it later. I would make sure of it.

The ride to Papa's was boring, for me. My little sisters sure were having fun though, from the way they fought the whole dang time. Mamma didn't even try to stop them; it wouldn't have worked anyway.

"Lily-Gale, you better give me back my Hannah Montana doll right now!" Anne-Marie shouted loudly; I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw her pointing at my youngest sister accusingly. Lily was smiling sweetly, playing with the doll. She handed Anne-Marie one of her dolls.

"We can trade, Annie," she said sweetly, talking in that adorable 'little kid' voice. Her eyes were round and pleading. At long last, I heard Anne-Marie huff.

"Okay. But don't mess up her hair." It was so simple how they resolved their little spats. It was funny, too. Smiling to myself, I turned to the window, watching as the trees seemed to fly by.

It only took an hour to get to Papa's. He lived out in the country, all by himself on his small farm. Grammy passed away a few years ago, and he refuses to leave his home, even though Mama feels that it would be better if he moved closer. In case something bad happens, is her usual explanation, when all she really wants is to stop wasting so much gas.

Running up the porch steps, I rapped on the door a few times with my knuckles, bouncing in place a bit. I love going to my Papa's. He always tells me a new story, or shows me an old antique, claiming how he got it with outrageous detail.

I heard nothing from inside the house, so I knocked again. Nothing. Raising my fist against the wood, I tapped three times, before a loud banging echoed from behind the door. Mamma was just walking up the steps with the girls, and her face looked worried at the noise.

"Hold it, hold your horses! I'm comin'!--Ya theivin' rascals, get outta my house!" Oh. The raccoons must've got in through the window again... That's what he gets for leaving them open at night.

"Is he alright?" Mamma asked from behind me.

"Yeah, it's just that the raccoons"- I began.

"They got in again? I wanna see 'em!" Lily said, smiling with excitement. The door opened before she could go on a raccoon rampage, and there Papa stood.

"Well, now. What're you yellow-bellied varmints doin' at my doorstep on a Monday afternoon?" he questioned, gray mustache twitching as he talked.

"Hoping you cooked lunch, because it's Sunday!" Mamma said, laughing.

"Sunday? Sunday? Really, now. That changes things!" he chuckled deeply, moving back in his house. We followed, of course, like sheep. Papa's house is really old-looking, with wood paneling on the inside, and yellow-tiled floors; he even had orange shag carpet. Pictures dotted the walls: old, graying ones, as well as colorful new photos. One was of me and Wes, making mud pies when we were younger, with Grammy standing behind us, her own dress caked in it. Another was of Grammy with me on her lap and Papa smiling next to her. Papa's house had that feel to it; old and comfortable and welcoming, even if it was outdated; his knick-knacks lined shelves around the house.

I settled down on his couch, sinking into the old cushions, while simultaneously kicking off my high heels. Most of his furniture was ancient and tattered. Papa sat down in his rocking chair, one he claimed to have made himself, while Mama and my sisters sat on one of the more intact sofas. My stomach growled like a lion, and Anne-Marie giggled loudly.

"Now, I have a nice pot 'o gumbo cookin', if y'all want some?" he asked, leaning back in his chair and gesturing to his kitchen. Lily and Anne-Marie bounced up from where they were sitting and raced to the kitchen, arguing over what bowls they would get. "Gracelynn, don't go just yet; let me show ya sumthin before them two hooligans come back." He gestured for me to follow him down the hall to his study, just as I was about to go in the kitchen. My stomach grumbled in protest, but nevertheless, I followed.

"Papa, if it's your old fishing trophies, I saw them a million and one times, you know," I said loudly as I opened the door to his study, seeing him digging around.

"Now, I put it here somewhere," he grumbled as he dug in the drawer of his desk. I stepped closer, bare feet sinking into the shag carpet, and looked around. His study was empty, save for the red-wood desk and three shelves filled with trophies. Most were from fishing competitions, but one or two was a cooking award. "Aha, got it!"

Now, your Gram's didn't want me to give this to you until your seventeenth birthday, but I figured I'd forget about it later anyway. It's been in the family for generations; Gram's mama gave it to her, and her mamma gave it to her, and so on and so on." In front of my eyes dangled a necklace. From the leather line hung a copper design, shaped into a heart; amber stones were in-laid into it in no specific pattern, while small lettering was engraved at the bottom.

"It' beautiful," I breathed, smiling up at him as he helped me put it on. Simple, yet elegant.

"She wrote something, too. I never opened it." In my hands was a large, yellowed envelope, thick with writing inside. I hugged Papa around his neck and kissed his cheek.

"I'll read it later," I promised, before my stomach growled again. "Let's go eat."

Glancing towards the small window in his study, I thought I saw a flash of red again. I crossed the few meters to look out the window easily, and saw nothing but forest. A pounding became apparent behind my eyes and I ignored it. Just another headache, anyway.

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When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.

Victor Frankl

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