Sugar Doll's Hurricane Blues by Kalua Lauber Page B

imagined his face and was even more determined to press onward. The pelts of the rain fell steadily like bullets. They showered down on her. As she passed the Riverwalk she looked between the buildings and saw the waves crashing up against the banks. It was scary to see it. The rain felt cold and she shivered and began to run in earnest. There were smatterings of people headed in the opposite direction but no signs telling her that she was going the wrong way. She approached St. Peter’s street. As she looked down the long Tchopotulis Avenue she saw hundreds of cars bumper to bumper, headed for the Mississippi River Bridge which was right up over her head. She looked up into the big droplets of rain and saw the cars cramming so close to each other that they looked like one giant organism.
    This rush to leave was commonplace in lower Plaquemines Parish where just the slightest tropical storm could send hordes of trailer park dwellers packing due to intense flooding. This, however, never occurred in New Orleans Proper which was sofamous that even God had stopped his mighty winds and flooding for 40 years. The city was where people usually ran to have hurricane parties and such.
    A sign flew past Sugar Doll. Its metal yellow corners hit the side of a brick building and took a chunk off with it. “That could have been my face.” Sugar Doll thought absently touching her face to make sure that it was still there. For the first time Sugar Doll felt real fear. She ran faster, picking up the pace. She heated up under the makeshift tarp she had wrapped around her waist. The French Quarters lay ahead as she turned past St. Louis cathedral and shot down Royal. She saw two news trucks. The reporters were there in front of their cameras. They stood almost side by side even though the trucks identified two separate news agencies.
    “Officials are saying, “Get out of town. This is not the storm to try to ride out people. You must leave now. People who insist on remaining are only placing themselves in danger.” News reporter Jana Carlsbad wrapped up her broadcast.
    “What the hell are we still doing here then?” She quipped to her cameraman Buddy who was turning off the equipment.
    “Honey, we are making news.” He joked back and gave her a wink.
    “Where to next”? Jana asked.
    “Well, we definitely need to get to higher ground, but I’m not a native. I think that St. Charles Avenue should be a good vantage point.” The cameraman said distracted as he buckled his leather carrying case to secure his expensive camera.
    “Shouldn’t we go to the waterfront? Jana disagreed.
    “We can capture the waves jumping up on the shore.” She suggested.
    “Everybody will be doing that.” Buddy shrugged sarcastically.
    “We’ll find an empty spot. Perhaps across the river by Algiers. We can get the poor person’s perspective.” Jana smiled encouragingly. She headed for the truck.
    “Who wants that?” Buddy asked.
    “America.” Jana yelled over her shoulder before she got into the car. “America.”
    Sugar Doll trotted past the news van without any questions or the usual interest that people normally display. Jana noticed the girl and automatically her reporter’s mind began working. The girl was beautiful and young. She cut an intriguing figure running so alone in hurricane weather. “Where was she going? Would she survive the storm? Who was waiting for her?” These questions would remain with Jana for a lifetime. She just didn’t know it in that moment. She thought of getting a photo of the girl but it was too late and too wet. Jana climbed into the truck, she had work to do.
    Bertrand strapped himself in for the ride of his life. The rain was coming down harder now. Visibility on the road was very low. There were many cars coming from the opposite direction. Many people were trying to get out of town and here they were trying to get into the city. They were trying to get into mischief. Kevin seemed unconcerned about the