A Memorable Night

Oct 04, 2006 19:31

Two hundred and forty years. There are moments when such a number seems nearly impossible to fathom. I have lived out more mortal lifetimes than any soul ever should and this date is like a thorn in my side - a constant reminder of those stolen years. Although sickness will never plague me and I shall never feel the icy touch of death upon my skin, immortality is not a blessing. Trust me on that fact.

We moved through the Quarter like two pale phantoms in the darkness. The heels of Merrick’s shoes clicking in a hurried tempo on the sidewalk as she guided me toward whatever surprise she had planned for the evening. The sweet scented silk scarf she had used as a makeshift blindfold was of little use on one who has called this city home for the better part of two centuries. I could tell exactly where we were simply by the nearby sounds of the Mississippi and by the subtle changes in the pavement beneath my feet.

When we finally stopped she left my side briefly to tap upon a glass door only a few feet in front of us. I heard it swing open and I instantly caught the scent of mortals wandering about inside the building. I reached up to remove the scarf from my eyes but her slender fingers caught my wrists and she leaned closer to whisper words of reassurance in my ear.

“You’ll ruin the surprise...” She said in a hushed voice, “we’re almost there.”

Of course, I trusted her completely yet that did not ease the discomfort I felt at being sightless and vulnerable in my own territory. I still couldn’t shake that feeling that we were never entirely alone in this city and that something was amiss. Holding my arm as if I were a blind man she led me through the rooms. I recognized this place immediately. The scent of Creole spice still lingered in the air from the meals that had been served only hours before our arrival. Snug Harbor Jazz Club. I had been here many times before but not recently. Years ago I came here fairly often, lurking at a small table behind the crowds of eager mortals that piled in to see some of the greatest jazz musicians New Orleans has to offer. Yet who was I to spoil her fun?

When I was finally seated she reached across the table to remove the blindfold. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of the room around us. The high ceiling and huge mirrors behind the stage made the empty performance room seem twice as large as it was when I had visited this place on other crowded evenings. The tables around us were each lit by a single candle and the exposed beams and weathered wood furnishings gave the entire building a somewhat rustic feel. It was as though the two of us were hidden away in a secluded little cottage someplace far from the busy world just outside those walls.

I was thankful to see that no elaborate plans had been made and that this night had been reserved for her and I alone. I’ve never enjoyed grand social events and this intimate little venue was all I needed on a night that often passed by completely unnoticed.

A waiter approached the table and poured us each a glass of the finest red wine they had available. I nodded in appreciation then slid the glass away once he had taken his leave. The scent of wine always brought the past rushing back again and despite my rather somber mood I had no intention of disappointing Merrick when she had gone to so much trouble to arrange all of this.

The stage lit up as a group of young musicians made their way into the spotlight, readying their instruments behind the projected images of pale green palm tress. And when the music began it seemed to fill the entire room. I can’t say how long we sat silently watching them but their range and variety was incredible. I heard it not only with my ears but with my soul. They must have spanned nearly a century of different jazz styles during that one performance before winding down into a quiet Third Stream piece.

When the stage was empty once again I took Merrick’s hands in mine and thanked her profusely in a hurried stream of old French - most of which probably made little sense to one who came from such a completely different time and place than I did. She was an elegant beauty in her little dark-black dress. Her blue eyes twinkled in the candlelight and her smile could warm the very coldest heart.

I could not have asked for a more perfect gift than this night in the company of such a magnificent woman surrounded by the music that is the very heart of this city we both love.

And so another year passes. The thread of an eternal life, much like the very music which stirs my soul, is ever changing, constantly improvising and reinventing itself to suit this modern world. Quite often it returns to its roots, tapping into those familiar rhythms that started it all. And sometimes, on the rare occasion, it takes another direction completely becoming an entirely new creature with its own unique voice.

new orleans, merrick

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