On an idyllic Friday evening in early August, we jam- packed my bright red car with bedding, packs and granola bars, heading out for a weekend adventure. Alex, his friend Sam and I rolled down all of the windows and opened the sun roof, letting our hair fly wildly in the wind. We listened to various remakes of MIA's Paper Planes, which as a result has become one of my new favorite songs, and wound along the interstate, looking out on rice crop while the sun set.
Just before we had left, Sam, who was severely injured after being hit on his bicycle by a drunk driver in April 2007, had another accident, this time caused by his car. Sam had recently gotten his license back after more than a year of physical and speech therapy that gave him greater mobility and drove an adapted car that made it easier for him to use his left side instead of right. We were all relieved he was OK but angered with whomever and whatever screwed up his car, causing his accelerator to stick, engine to smoke, and car to donut.
The more than two hour drive passed quickly. I felt refreshed to take a break from Jackson and see Northern Mississippi for a change of pace and scenery. Once we made it to Oxford, we traipsed along a seemingly rural path to Sam's new house where he'll reside while he attends Ole Miss this year. It feels like you're out in the country, but really it sits just a few blocks from a main street and McDonald's.
I think Sam will thoroughly enjoy his last year of school in Oxford. His cute house has a decent-sized yard for his dog(s), lovely wood floors, and spacious bedrooms. He plans to add a porch swing and modify the entrance way for easier accessibility.
For dinner, we drove into downtown Oxford–– "the square"–– and ate at a popular joint called Ajax. Colorful twinkle lights line the ceiling and a slew of young people give the soul foodish diner a definite college town vibe.
I ate the chicken and dumplings with side greens and a "reb beer" that tasted delicious together. So much for vegetarianism. Chicken is too delicious for me to not indulge, especially in a place that prepares it in such hard-to-resist, fatty and fried ways. Sam ordered us all some fried pickles, which I have come to love during my time in the South, but unfortunately the eatery was out of its famous jalapeno cornbread.
At our cozy leather-seated booth, I looked around and envisioned Bryan sitting at a table during his college years with a cold beer, reviewing articles as the Daily Mississippian's editor-in-chief. Who knows if he did this, but I got an image in my mind and went with it. I thought of Lauren, JoAnne and Scott Barrus, my buddy from Mexico, all of whom have attended Ole' Miss and, for the most part, loved it.
In 1962, James Meredith became the first black person to attend Ole Miss. Riots ensued and two people were killed. The Army National Guard remained on campus during that year, JoAnne's freshmen year.
From Ajax, we sat outside awhile––Alex and Sam smoking, me getting ADD tendencies and looking every which way at expensive, designer clothes through windows. I admired the square with its numerous boutiques and balconies. The place looks like my dream college strip and I had to pinch myself to remind myself I wasn't imagining the scene before me.
Why didn't I think to come to school in Mississippi?
We paid a wasted $15 cover fee at Proud Larry's for a pathetic excuse of a band that the collar-popped frat boys dug. I enjoyed sitting high atop the balcony for a while, escaping from the huge crowd and soaking up a nice view onto the streets bustling with all kinds of people and lights. For a moment, I felt deja vu from Mexico. Many of the bars and restaurants there included lovely landings.
Why is it that when thunderstorms strike and balconies avail themselves, I'm never with a love or crush? Both are two of the most romantic things I can think of–– being exposed to the elements, being up high, looking out on city sites––but I never seem to get the timing coordinated of getting a person in the right place at the right time. Last summer thunderstorms frequented Querétáro and this summer they've frequented Jackson. I've been on more balconies and stoops during the past two summers than I ever am. No love, no crush.
One day, I'll be sitting on a balcony with a Mexican man named Josewho can sing to me in Spanish and a storm will rage above us. He'll move us to a umbrella-ed table and ask me to dance with him under it, letting the rain paw at us. He'll pull me out into the rain and the bar's band will start playing a cover of "Dancing in the Moonlight." Magically, I'll transform into a good dancer and Jose and I will dance about the balconey.
Until then, I'll just enjoy my solitude in the storms and on the balconies.
At Lucky Larry's, I began to realize what a well-known person Sam is throughout Oxford–– hell throughout Mississippi. From the first time I met him at 930 Blues, I knew he was gregarious and humorous–– good-spirited and strong in soul despite a huge set-back just more than a year ago––but here random people on the streets would call out "Hey Sam!" everywhere we went.
Sam introduced Alex and me to some free spirit characters whom Alex summed up well when he referenced Jack Keroac's "On the Road." Coco, a Vietnamese spitfire with bleach blonde pixie hair and hipster clothing (short short Carhartts and a low buttoned top with red slip-ons), welcomed us to her hometown and within half an hour of meeting us at Larry's, asked "Hey, this is kind of lame. Do you want to go to my house, smoke some pot, and make some art?"
It made me feel at home. Eugene hosts its share of hippie free spirits.
After exiting Proud Larry's, the four of us, along with a guy dressed in tight jeans and a red headband named Taylor Webb, proceeded in a swanky, expensive car to the house Coco was "staying in." Taylor followed on bicycle, lost control when his chain came loose from the cruiser, and spilled into some bushes down the sloping street.
From Coco's eccentric house filled with half-finished art projects and lots of clothes and mess everywhere, we ended up at a hipster party. Slightly uncomfortable, I remembered that I had vowed to completely let go of my inhibitions and fears in Mississippi. This was another good way to do so. There, at the small cottage, I saw Bryan's other boss dressed in short shorts and an athletic top, celebrating the opening Olympic Ceremonies and talking about phalluses. I refrained from letting out any snide remarks or referencing my women's and gender studies editorializations.
I felt like a voyeur, mesmerized and alluded by this conglomeration of young folks going wild. I felt kind of wild myself with my tangly long hair swaying about and my prominent nose ring. Every once and awhile, it feels good to totally cut loose with people you trust. Friday night, we decidedly cut loose, returning to Sam's at 5a.m. after I had "called Jesus" for Alex and we picked up early morning snacks––sunflower seeds–– at a service station.
Once Alex and Sam woke up and we all showered and dressed, somewhat rejuvenated and definitely hungry, we met Coco at Big Bad Breakfast for brunch. John Currence, the American Seafood King 2008, whom I interviewed the following Monday, opened the joint in May 2008 to complement his other two popular eateries, Boure and City Grocery. It's menu features namesake dishes of Oxford authors. One brunch option is Willie's "Good Ole' Boy."
I loved my "Secret" veggie omelet and whole wheat toast. Orange juice and coffee hadn't tasted so good together. Coco offered us some of her self-created honey butter on the most fluffy, sweetly buttered biscuit I've laid my lips on.
After breakfast, we stopped in the Depot, a vintage flea market shop. Sam bought his parents a bottle tree and Alex picked up some books. I love consignment and vintage shops. They offer items with so much more personality and character than high-end chains. We found what Alex termed a "pimp's sink"––marbled gold, fur coats, funky buttons, wooden children's games, and a slew of other random things. Back downtown, we stopped into Square Books, a funky, local bookstore that celebrates it's literary scene well with signed photos and books.
We took Sam back to his house and greeted Sam Sr., who was moving Sam's belongings in, before heading to William Faulkner's Rowan Oak home and local legend Ray Shapiro's "Main Squeeze" juice bar. In the short time I spent around him, Sam left a resounding impression on me and I wish him all of the best in Oxford. He stands as a testimony to the goodness in the world––profound forgiveness, unwavering determination, the utmost positivity.
When I sent my mom an article I found online about him, she was moved to tears, across the country. In honor of Sam, I vow to never bike without my metallic silver skater's helmet again. Even if we're the best bikers around, we cannot escape drunken idiots who chose to drive and put other's lives in danger.
Juice was a good choice. Sarabeth, a girl we had met the night prior at Coco's greeted Alex and me at the Main Squeeze. We were both a bit foggy and glad to take a more than hour long stop to sip on healthy, fruity smoothies and enjoy Sara's care-free, "new age" spirit.
She sat with us on the funky Squeeze's porch in high-rised bright green pants and black belly top, smoking cigarettes and running her fingers through her silky blonde hair. We talked about her broadcast journalism degree, her relaxed boss Ray, and couch surfing. I wondered if perhaps she was hung-over or stoned because she had such a peaceful, loopy aura about her, but now that I reflect, I think she was just a chilled-out hippie girl who wasn't afraid to open up and connect with two wandering travelers from Jacktown. She even took down our last names, just in case fate caught us together again.
Driving onward to Memphis, I felt so excited to see another new Southern city. Bruce Springsteen's "Walking in Memphis" played through my head, as cheesy as that is to admit. After a slight detour, Alex and I arrived at his family friend Liz's elegant brick home in a fancy neighborhood not too far from Beale Street. I am a firm believer in making connections in every possible city you can to keep travels inexpensive and have city experts to refer to.
We dumped our bags in lovely rooms that I'd usually be too afraid to touch they looked so polished and sophisticated with high-rested beds and perfectly angled picture frames adorning expensive antique furniture. But, by looking at the photos of Liz, her beautiful daughters Betsy and Sally and her late husband, Charlie, hamming it up and looking full of spirit, I realized she probably wasn't an up-tight, crazy clean woman. Alex had explained before that she was quite the opposite.
Liz, who was out when we arrived, left us a note, inviting us to eat some snacks and drinks. We took her up on her invitation and brought Cheez-its, Fritos, pimento cheese, and wine out to the glass patio table. Those minutes spent out in a beautifully landscaped backyard with summery snack foods reminded me of sitting in my parents' backyard with the fabulous Albany crew.
Out there, a creeper-sounding man called me and asked when I wanted to go on a date. "Leeeeza," he said in a drawn out seductive voice. "When we gonna get together?" I realized it was a man I had met at a recycling center who had wanted my phone number. I had given it to him somewhat reluctantly. Based on his voice over the phone, I thought the better of my initial sizing up and decided not to do the date.
Shannon met up with Alex and me at Liz's house dressed up. Alex and I followed suite and snazzed up our outfits for an evening on Beale Street. He even ironed.
Once parked downtown, we looked out, mesmerized, on the street's lights from the top floor of the garage until an attendant asked us politely to meander on. We continued to a delicious barbecue joint where I ate fried chicken for the second night in a row. The restaurant, adorned with Elvis memorabilia, bustled with customers while blues music played in the background and excitement grew surrounding the Olympic's opening ceremonies.
Slightly dragging as we left dinner with full bellies, we ordered energy drinks to go and stopped in some funky shops. At the Voodoo one, Alex tried on a pair of breast pillows and Shannon grabbed them for a photo op. We all tried on animal hats,–– my a crocodile––oversized sunglasses, and other silly accessories.
There's an intensity to Beale Street, especially when you see it literally filled with people. It's a party in the street and offers excellent people watching. Men cleared a small path to do flips down, like those you see cheerleaders do. We stopped in at Morgan Freeman's Ground Zero blues club a few blocks up, which was a lot bigger and less intimate than 930 Blues. Toward the front, patrons signed large banners in Sharpies to wish Freeman a quick recovery after his serious car accident the Sunday prior.
We met up with Liz's niece, Melissa, and wandered more on Beale. A petite, energetic Asian man named Phat photographed our randomly conjoined group with his Nikon and pulled me aside for some portrait shots. I have to say, I've never modeled this much before––between the JFP's fashion shoots (for [FLY] and interns–– and this one. I don't think I'm vain, but I do enjoy being in front of the camera and don't feel bashful anymore about striking poses.
Our group decided to relocate from Beale Street once our little nook quieted down and its band finished playing. Many of us went to a "dive bar" called Earnestine & Hazel's that several people had recommended earlier in the weekend. The corridors were really dark and it was quiet enough that I became drowsy.
Sunday I woke up with a terrible stomach ache and pounding head. Three hours later, at 11a.m. I felt a little better but was comatose the rest of the day, at brunch eating french toast and a bloody Mary and especially when Liz's family, Alex and I drove to Tunica, a casino haven. To me, casinos are the worst places in the world. I feel depressed and overwhelmed whenever I even think about Las Vegas. But, I promised myself I would do everything this summer that I was invited to do, and that I have. And did.
We hit the road south around 6:30p.m. and it seemed to take a lot longer going back than coming. I got sad, as I always do on Sunday nights, going into another work-filled week and realizing it'd be a whole five days until another bout of freedom, but thankful for a wonderful, adventuresome weekend. Anna and I talked at length tonight and she left me with a quote that I think sums up my newly found life philosophy that I hope I'll abide by at age 75. "The brave may not live forever, but the cautious never live at all."
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