Road Trip

Tuesday, Dec. 23, 2008
I get to go outside today! yay! I'm excited about my road trip. To see the Doctor. It's been a week and a half since the accident. Second time I'll be going outside for just a little bit. First time was last Tuesday on a stretcher to Doc’s when workman's comp ordered an ambulance service to pick me up to enter into the corporate town of Metairie. You see, I live in New Orleans. And Bart lives in New Orleans, but Doc is in Metry. I work in Metry, use too. Off for 6 weeks, maybe more. Because I fell in Metry, at my job. So today I'm going to the suburbs. In a wheelchair! A nice black 9000 SL fits just fine in the Ghetto Farm. ‘Yeah, u right. U know what I'm talkin' bout, u dig? It dun not have the hubcaps and all that, but man, the two wheels in the back, uooooweeee, smokin'. See what I'm sayin'. And don't shame the front ones either. Nahhh, maybe be small, but tough as rubber. You can turn left. U can turn right. But I knows it's about the steerin'. U dig?’ The service is picking me up soon. I'm ready. I’m ready, willing, and waiting. I can see thru the outside door for the first time in my 9000 SL. Yes, the door is open, but the gate is locked. Bart lives in a raised house, 5 steps up. I can't quite make it outside without any assistance. It's a 3 man job to carry me out. So I'm waiting for my cab, my personal driver, my main gig, my ambulance...to haul=2 0me off to Doc's. As I wait, I stare at the black Santa across the street. A Christmas decoration on the house. Then a tall, slim black woman, not really a woman, walks by. She didn't notice me, she didn't look to her right, inside of the house. Another few minutes go by and a young black man comes from the other direction. He sees me and says hello and keeps walking. I feel safe. It's daylight, the gate is locked, Bart is playing the piano in the other room. who would want to rob a cripple anyway? If they did, sure, let them, it would just take me forever to open the gate, much less find my purse.

So now I'm in the vehicle and leaving the Ghetto Farm. I'm putting faces to the sounds i hear every day. I see a young mom, holding her baby, while 2 small kids are walking with her down the street. I see young boys playing kickball in the street, their yard. And older boys throwing a football down the corner from them. There's a guy on a cell phone sitting on his front porch, looks like a tight fit. And 2 guys walking their leashed Rottweilers. And a beautiful young girl with pretty curly, above the shoulder, hair crossing the street. Man, I love my Ghetto Farm neighborhood. I wonder where Russell lives though. I didn't see him. I didn't hear him but only twice this morning. He usually sings for an hour or two, but this morning, I only heard him twice. I wonder if he is sick?. You know there is a bad case of sickness going around out there b/c of the20weather change and stuff. I had bronchitis about a week before the fall. Msh, I heard, was sick during that time too. As well as Julie and Brandon and oh, my carpenter, Shawn, that I know of. So maybe Russell is sick too. Maybe he has a case of laryngitis? He does sing an awful lot. Worse case scenario, he was murdered. Noooo, not my rooster! Someone blew his head off?! A crazed neighbor? Maybe the neighbor wanted to sleep longer and the callings were making him mad. Crazy mad. He couldn't put up with Russell's shit anymore! Maybe Russell was warned. 'U knows if u wake me up, u goin' pays the price,' I'm sure the neighbor was just having a bad morning. I'm sure Russell is fine and just went into hiding for the day?

I didn't hear Russell, the rooster, later that night either, in the Ghetto farm, Our Ghetto Farm. He sings to His Hood nightly before he heads off to bed. I missed that. I was still at Doc's.

Recovering, deb