Color Blind Read Online Free
Author: Sheila; Sobel
Miles watching me in the rearview mirror. He smiled and winked. With a whoosh, the door closed and the van rolled away from the curb.
Miles began his spiel. “Saint Louis Cemetery Number One is the oldest and most famous of the New Orleans cemeteries, opening for business in 1789. Today, the cemetery is no longer open to the general public, it is open only for tours or to family members who own tombs. Spanning one square block and housing over 10,000 deceased, it is truly a city of the dead. The dearly departed are entombed in above-ground vaults, either because of the high water table of N’awlins or the traditions of the French and Spanish settlers. Now y’all pay attention. This is not a place to wander about alone! When we arrive, DO NOT stray from the group.”
Miles continued, “Many famous Louisiana folks are buried in Number One. Probably our most famous resident of Number One is Marie Laveau, the infamous high priestess of Voodoo. She’s interred in the Glapion family crypt, along with many of her fifteen children. Legend has it, if you mark her tomb with three Xs made from a soft brick she will either grant your desire or come to visit you in your dreams with solutions to your problems, after which you are to return to her tomb with an offerin’ for her spirit. Does anyone have any desires they want granted tonight?” Miles grinned, looking in the rearview mirror directly at me.
Miles had his audience, including me, spellbound. I listened and watched as he charmed and informed our tour group. He didn’t look much older than me. No apparent piercings or tattoos, which worked for me. I wasn’t big on tats. He was tall, dark, and handsome and if I had a “type,” he would be it. Those dark eyes, the “come hither” look, the crooked grin, the whole package must work well on the ladies, both young and old. I was betting he had a huge tip jar.
The van slowed to a stop. “We have arrived!”
I looked out my window, stared into the cemetery, and was struck by the enormous city of the dead. There were hundreds of decaying crypts, a stark contrast to my father’s manicured, evergreen final resting place. The tombs sat close together in a macabre urban sprawl, littered with broken walkways and dirt paths. A black cat ran stealthily past the open wrought iron gate. Was it really bad luck to have a black cat cross your path? I hoped not. No longer sure I’d done the right thing by taking this tour, I lingered in my seat while the rest of the group descended the stairs. Miles gave each guest a souvenir, a small red bag with the tour company information on its tag. He called it a gris-gris, a magic bag that should (but didn’t guarantee to) keep us safe. I doubted a little bag would keep anyone safe in this frightful neighborhood.
Miles climbed aboard the van, handed one to me, and asked, “Are you okay?”
“Never better,” I lied. “Let’s go.”
“Listen up, everyone! I’ll guide you through the cemetery. However, please do be careful. The ground is uneven and the cracked sidewalks are a bit of a hazard. The ancient tree roots can sneak up on you if you aren’t paying attention. Once again, we need to stay together. DO NOT wander from the group. This is a very dangerous place to be alone.”
The group, not wanting to get separated in the evening shadows, drew closer together and moved as one behind Miles through the cemetery towards the Glapion family crypt.
Miles continued, “Marie Laveau was both a Catholic and a Voodoo queen, sometimes practicing her Voodoo rituals in the Saint Louis Cathedral. She was a free woman of color who worked as a hairdresser to the upper class. Many believed she was all powerful, that her spirit still is. She was someone to be feared, either because of her Voodoo practices or her political influence. Either way, there is no denyin’, she left her mark on N’awlins society.
“Okay, everyone, let’s explore a bit more before it gets too dark. Let’s all go
Miles began his spiel. “Saint Louis Cemetery Number One is the oldest and most famous of the New Orleans cemeteries, opening for business in 1789. Today, the cemetery is no longer open to the general public, it is open only for tours or to family members who own tombs. Spanning one square block and housing over 10,000 deceased, it is truly a city of the dead. The dearly departed are entombed in above-ground vaults, either because of the high water table of N’awlins or the traditions of the French and Spanish settlers. Now y’all pay attention. This is not a place to wander about alone! When we arrive, DO NOT stray from the group.”
Miles continued, “Many famous Louisiana folks are buried in Number One. Probably our most famous resident of Number One is Marie Laveau, the infamous high priestess of Voodoo. She’s interred in the Glapion family crypt, along with many of her fifteen children. Legend has it, if you mark her tomb with three Xs made from a soft brick she will either grant your desire or come to visit you in your dreams with solutions to your problems, after which you are to return to her tomb with an offerin’ for her spirit. Does anyone have any desires they want granted tonight?” Miles grinned, looking in the rearview mirror directly at me.
Miles had his audience, including me, spellbound. I listened and watched as he charmed and informed our tour group. He didn’t look much older than me. No apparent piercings or tattoos, which worked for me. I wasn’t big on tats. He was tall, dark, and handsome and if I had a “type,” he would be it. Those dark eyes, the “come hither” look, the crooked grin, the whole package must work well on the ladies, both young and old. I was betting he had a huge tip jar.
The van slowed to a stop. “We have arrived!”
I looked out my window, stared into the cemetery, and was struck by the enormous city of the dead. There were hundreds of decaying crypts, a stark contrast to my father’s manicured, evergreen final resting place. The tombs sat close together in a macabre urban sprawl, littered with broken walkways and dirt paths. A black cat ran stealthily past the open wrought iron gate. Was it really bad luck to have a black cat cross your path? I hoped not. No longer sure I’d done the right thing by taking this tour, I lingered in my seat while the rest of the group descended the stairs. Miles gave each guest a souvenir, a small red bag with the tour company information on its tag. He called it a gris-gris, a magic bag that should (but didn’t guarantee to) keep us safe. I doubted a little bag would keep anyone safe in this frightful neighborhood.
Miles climbed aboard the van, handed one to me, and asked, “Are you okay?”
“Never better,” I lied. “Let’s go.”
“Listen up, everyone! I’ll guide you through the cemetery. However, please do be careful. The ground is uneven and the cracked sidewalks are a bit of a hazard. The ancient tree roots can sneak up on you if you aren’t paying attention. Once again, we need to stay together. DO NOT wander from the group. This is a very dangerous place to be alone.”
The group, not wanting to get separated in the evening shadows, drew closer together and moved as one behind Miles through the cemetery towards the Glapion family crypt.
Miles continued, “Marie Laveau was both a Catholic and a Voodoo queen, sometimes practicing her Voodoo rituals in the Saint Louis Cathedral. She was a free woman of color who worked as a hairdresser to the upper class. Many believed she was all powerful, that her spirit still is. She was someone to be feared, either because of her Voodoo practices or her political influence. Either way, there is no denyin’, she left her mark on N’awlins society.
“Okay, everyone, let’s explore a bit more before it gets too dark. Let’s all go
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