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Jambalaya
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Jambalaya If she had this baby, she would call her Jambalaya. She could still hear her mother’s voice singing that old song when she was little, jambalay’, craw fish pie and a fillet gumbo, wiggle in her walk, giggle in her talk, cara mio……at least she thinks those are the words she remembers. The sound of her voice so deep, crackly, the smell of cigarettes, the motion as she bounced along with her quick steps, each step giving her a peek of the road, her small hands clutching the long thick braid like a lifeline. By the time she was old enough to write words, she existed in a house with many , tended by sisters who swept the floor even if their feet were right there, broom bristles scratching them as if they didn’t exist. Just something else to be pushed out the door into the dirt they called a yard. If she had this baby, she would run. In the middle of the town was a fountain without water. There had been no water in the fountain that she could remember. It was the deep cobalt blue tiles that drew her, the dream of water, the color of her eyes. Unlike all the other girls with deep brown eyes like the earth in the rain. One of the older girls stole her shoes, the little ones fled from her like shadows. Her days were lonely, her nights long.  As she stood by the fountain chipping a corner of a tile, a tiny boy ran past her, gleeful, only to fall on the uneven ground, his knee beginning to bleed. She ran to help him, pulling him into her lap, wiping his knee gently with her skirt, while he pulled on her long braid. She softly hummed as she wet her skirt in the flowing fountain, cleaning his cut. He sighed, leaning back into her belly. Suddenly, smiling broadly, he yelled “PAPA”. A man with a cane limped toward the two of them. He sat, breathless on the edge of the fountain, gasping. His eyes filled with love for the boy, as he shook his head, wetting his bandana, wiping his neck. “Do not run from me, you know I cannot follow.” “Si Papa. But she fixed me, see?” holding up his leg, waggling it. The small cut was clean, already closing. The man frowned, turning about but seeing no one. He picked up a small piece of cobalt blue tile from beside the boy, thought again of his ’s mother, slipping it in his pocket. “Come Jamba. Time for us to go, eh?” “Si Papa.” You cannot conceive the many without the one. |
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[image] in case the fountain does not show up in the blog................ i have always loved fountains. fountains against walls, fountains in gardens, ones just plonked down anywhere. when i went to Vegas i was aghast. the fountains creeped me out. i like small intimate fountains that sound like creeks, that splash water on your face on a hot day if you sit with your feet in them. ah well, you don't see them much anymore.......... You cannot conceive the many without the one.
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Hmmm.... Maybe, they are in a different dimension... Maybe, her son, slipped... and she fixed him... but, there must be more... this is her son... she must have run... reminds me of a book I read recently... iain pears "arcadia"... thanks for sharing!!! ... Elvis Presley - "Fountain of Love" One thought of you, My heart begins churning I feel return To a fountain of love My lips and eyes, They ache to be near you To hold you here In my fountain of love Never be blue Should your world start sinking Just come and drink From… To leave private messages, please use my confidential mailbox at my blog: Good luck!!! 
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 great short story..loved it!!woop woop
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I have never seen the fountains in Vegas in person but I do enjoy small intimate fountains where one can rest their feet.
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Loved it. A beautiful story hugs V Become a blog watcher sweet_vm
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And we were just talking about ghost's today at my Mothers house. All the ghost's they have seen or heard at the various places they lived. I suppose you could say I've heard them too as at one place when you were in the basement you often heard what sounded like someone opening the front door and yet no one was ever there when you went upstairs. I never saw any of them though as some other family members have.   Vive La Difference
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Lucky little boy, for having her been there for him, and a wonderful little story.
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Lovely story, my friend. Made me re-think some of my own childhood (Virtual Symposium Group) use Virtual Symposium Group
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That's the first time I've come across a cobalt blue tile thief! 
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What a beautiful touching story. So very well thought up and written. . I just loved it! And such a great looking fountain! . It's one of the prettiest I've ever seen!
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Love.
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Just last night I saw a stage production of The Bluest Eye (based on the Toni Morrison book) and this story put me in mind of it, a bit.  
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Nice story WE  In the 70's I visited a place called Sharjah on the Persian Gulf, I think it is now part of Dubai. They had, probably the only Fountain in the Middle East! Other Arab states had Oil, Sharjah had water to spare for a Fountain, arab people travelled for miles to see this Wonder.... Visit my Blog Older but no Wiser and find out more
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A beautiful story. I am now your faithful reader. My featured post this week: Pulling Fantasy Sex Out of My Ass.
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