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I

"Git' up! Dumbass!"

I slowly rolled my head over and opened one eye-the eye that had heard Sarge come into the room in the first place. There he stood over me, staring down with his typical cock-eyed look and whimsical grin. I groaned and mumbled something that sounded remarkably like "bite me" or somesuch, moved my arm around to get a look at the clock. 6:30. Blink.Yep. Plan B.

"I said wake me up at 6:30 PM," He laughed and "accidentally" kicked me in the shin, I think testing for further signs of life. "Besides, today is Saturday and Monday is my birthday".

He looked at me quizzically. "Didn't you just have a birthday two months ago? I gave you that knife".

"Sure," I replied, planting my feet on the floor next to the bed and reaching for a cigarette. "But ask my mother and she will tell you that I was born on Labor Day".

Tommy snorted and reached for the shopping cart behind the door. "I'm going to the store to pick up some cokes. You need anything?" I gave him my list, which included a 4-pak of those Starbucks thingies and a few six-paks of beer. "What time are you planning on going to the cemetery?"

Saturdays were our half-day, but was important because that was the day I usually made my report to Red, the supervisor of Lafayette Cemetery. The weather was starting to get hot, even in the mornings, so the earlier I went, the more I could expect to get done before tourists and families started showing up. "Prob' not long after you come back. You with me today?"

He nodded and pulled the cart out of the door into the breezeway. "Oh," I called after him, " the paper guy said he was going to leave a few extra papers tomorrow. The new girl." The "new girl" had just become a new neighbor and I was the welcoming committee. We got free newspapers by virtue of the Project so I always made it a point to spread them around. Goodwill advertising for the Project. But this one particular newspaper was on a mission.

"You and your damned women!" he growled. By this time I was at the sink washing my face. I laughed and tried to think of a fitting retort.

"You used to like women a long time ago." I said, then added quickly when his eyebrows shot up. "Until you married one! And besides," I plopped down in the chair and started putting on my sandals. "I may be ugly, but I ain't DEAD!" As an afterthought. "Yet".

Sarge just shook his head and silently started up towards St. Charles Ave. I smiled, knowing that I had left him with something good. Me an' Sarge had been close friends for many years, back since the 80's. We were both ex-military and, even though seperated by 20 years, had each seen alot. He had been a POW in Vietnam in the sixties, retired as a master sargeant. From Texas. We both had a core understanding of things like critters and such, and he didnt hold it against me that I had been too young for 'Nam, had been stationed in Europe instead of Asia, and had never been recon. But most of all over the years we had formed a bond that had made me proud. When he had his second stroke it was me who had immediately noticed the symptoms and got him to the VA. I had had an apartment in the same complex at the time and was one of very few who could stand his ornery ways for any period of time. But Tommy truly has a heart of gold, albeit under a bit of grumpiness and ruffled feathers.

I put on my pouch with the cemetery map and walked out into the open air. Fantastic day. The birds were singing and I'm sure all of the dogs in the neighborhood were out; I would have been scratching at the door. The streetcar would pass by right there in both directions and even though you might think of the lightly clanking lumbering sound as something you have to get used to, I can tell you honestly that not hearing the sound is something that is hard to get used to. I was born one block from the streetcar; the cemetery is one block from the streetcar. And here I am, less than half a block from the streetcar. Grand.

John, the army vet who had lost a leg through too much corporate air travel as a high-priced attorney stuck his head out and I waved. He had just moved in as well. For some strange reason all of the veterans I ever remember having had lived in the complex had been Army; Mr. Lucky and Mr. Jay had both passed away not long ago. Many an afternoon had I sat and enjoyed the evening with these good people, all of us speaking the same language, from the second war, through korea and nam. I learned quite a bit from these oldtimers, all sorts of interesting stories about their experiences. After years in Germany it was nice having a chance to hang out with vets who remembered the allied occupation...we never ever bored ourselves, although we probably bored others. We never noticed. Or bothered to ask. But we were the saltiest of the earth.

I went back into the apartment and clicked on the tv. Saturday was usualy a good time to watch, as you might get a chance to catch Steve chucking one of his kids into a pool of crocs, or a least a few glimpses of his yankee wife. I flipped through the channels.

Press conference coming on. I had figured I wasn't the only one closely watching the critter that was making it's way into the Gulf via Florida. Stormwatching was a favorite pastime for alot of reasons, fascination being one. I had been through Betsy as a 4 year old, (hense the term "Betsy Baby"), remember Camille very well at 8, and a hodgepodge of other storms over the years. Nash Roberts had been one of my earliest influences and meteorology has always been a passion. So here is this storm coming into the Gulf. I think Angela (Hill) was on duty at WWL, although at this point, after so much, I am not even sure. No matter. The storm had just nailed Florida and was heading due west with a slight little jiggle towards the north, a bit like Karen at Igor's.

Hurricane preparedness is something we think about all of the time, and talk about even more. In between seasons we have alot to do, but the longer you are in New Orleans, the more you get a grasp as to how to handle it. You never want to be stuck totally without when the electricity goes off, for example; even a little tropical system or thunderstorm can knock the lights out. So you build you up a little stockpile of things, usually left over from the year before. Know where you are at, how your structure is built, are there any big trees that might come down on you. Not at all different than what you really should know in case of some other emergency, like a fire. The new contraflow system had been tested recently with bittersweet results; the improvements were a success, marred, though, by the loss of a number of people in transit (the buses) for a storm that didn't even hit. Easy enough to be a bit complacent after so many near misses, although the thinking, and moreover, the actions, of the powers that be, as well as the common folk, should have been quite a bit more farsighted. But hindsight is often 20/20.

None of this really affected me at that point. We (me and Sarge), like many other New Orleanians, had no intention on leaving. Standard procedure is that we prepare for special needs; the sickly, elderly, children, etc. New Orleanians are a group of rugged individualists. If you own a house, someone has to remain to take care of it. If you have any other interests, you usually remain behind with a safe place in mind to go when it gets rough. Government and media usually don't evacuate, criminals like to stay around, so the Home Guard sure as hell ain't goin' nowhere.

Sarge walked in trailing the cart behind him. He handed me a bag then proceded into the kitchen where I could hear him shuffling stuff around. He stuck his head out and tossed me a snack cake. "Happy Birthday".

"You remembered!" I threw it back solidly and it bounced off the POW/MIA flag on the window, knocked down a photograph, then landed in a box of papers, a fate worse than death. I turned back to the tv.

Ray Nagin was on now talking about the evacuation procedures. Voluntary evacuation was in place, contraflow was ready to roll upon go ahead. The experts were coming out one-by-one and detailing the status' of their missions. Tommy came into the living room and sat down. "What's that? News?"

"Press conference"

"Storm?"

I nodded.

"What are they saying?"

"Same old, at the moment. Going to give the contraflow another spin later on." I shrugged. "You know, I wish I would have mentioned to Ward about that loose pillar holding up the awning over the second floor". Ward was the landlord's son and a good friend. I had initially moved into my apartment there on the Saturday after 9/11; Ward had come out with his young son to bring me the key and met my father. I remember us talking about the effects of the constant coverage on the kids. Cartoons resumed that day. "It's always disturbed me"

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