SUNSET FOR PEARL

There was hardly any turbulence and we landed right on schedule. The moment I stepped out of the plane, I felt the humidity in the air. My skin felt softer immediately, drinking in the moisture. It felt wonderful compared to the dry western climate that I was now used to. I could smell the river and a hint of salt on the breeze. It wasn’t terribly hot yet and I took a moment to just breathe it in. It smelled like home. I loved this city, my birthplace. It could be many things to many people. It could lift you up and fill your heart with an unforgettable exhilaration or it might show you the dark underbelly, exposing an evil temptress to be wary of. I always encouraged people who asked, that the big easy was like any new adventure, everybody should visit at least once and take from it what you will. First time visitors were kindly reminded that after sunset, they needed to be aware of their surroundings. People came from all over the world to be here and for all kinds of reasons.
The limo service was waiting for me outside the terminal doors and they whisked me off to the French Quarter and Bourbon Street. Our building was on the east end and always referred to as the last house on the left. It wasn’t quite as loud and rowdy here but this was an unspoken “turn around” point for wandering tourists. Anyone venturing any further into the residential areas of the French Quarter may not be so warmly received.
The car pulled up to the rear entrance of our apartment. I tipped the driver and he waited to make sure I got into the courtyard before pulling away. I stood there with the gate to my back and stared at how magnificent it looked. The blooming plants took my breath away and it was obvious that Ima and Bo had been here. Everything was trimmed, cleaned and welcoming. It always surprised me that places seemed to have personalities, each one unique and special, and I had never tired of being here.
I don’t know what we would have done without Ima and Frank “Bo” Boudreaux. They had been close friends of our grandparents and we thought of them as family. They lived on the edge of town and we paid them well to keep an eye on the place. Ima was always excited to hear someone would be arriving and she spoiled us as best she could. She always dusted, cleaned and opened the rooms. She cooked meals, made tea and left the fridge full. And my favorite welcome site was the bouquets that she always left in each room. Bo took care of maintenance and the courtyard. He swept and hosed off the beautiful tile flooring. He kept all the plants fed, trimmed and watered and took care of the family car that all of us used when we were here. I thought they did too much as they were getting up there in years and becoming a bit frail.
I wandered around once, just admiring it all and feeling slightly intoxicated by the soft, exotic aroma from the blooms. I breathed in the jasmine and wished that exact smell could be captured in a bottle. The back wall was covered in red and purple bouganvillas, they were so bloom laden, they fell in clumps and long, slender limbs from the top of the brick wall all the way to the floor. The wall sconce planters were bursting with color and beautiful hanging vines. The huge palm trees in the back corners were healthy and thriving. And the wrought iron furniture had a fresh coat of shiny, black paint. I smiled at how magical and inviting it was.