St. Bernard Parish : Camp Hope
Miles Ross
on my second to last night - maybe, i don’t know - we went to this place called the warehouse, just beyond the refinery. i had had a few drinks during the day already. it was one of those nights when suddenly everyone is in a mood to celebrate. i think a few people were actually celebrating their birthdays. i could afford like two drinks then resorted to drinking neglected drinks on the tables and bars. other people were scrounging for drinks too. half of our crew danced on the dance floor. i sat at a table with a few people i hardly knew, smoking cigarettes. people were drunk, smiling, and hugging each other, dancing. one guy i had worked with unloading one of the trucks had been dancing with a beer bottle in each hand. his pants were sagging showing his tan-line and white butt. eventually some locals wearing football jerseys started a name calling match with him. it was over and the guy said he wanted to go home because he had to work early. i said i’d go with him. i felt depressed because i was leaving louisiana soon or wasn’t drunk enough. before we could leave midnight came and someone else’s birthday became important. the person was sleeping in a trailer outside until his son dragged him in. he danced on the dance floor with is bare feet while the crowd of kitchen workers sang into the microphones on the stage. as we rounded up to leave outside the bar, the man whose birthday it was hugged his son. his son said, ’i love you pops.’ the man looked sad and red faced. girls with dreads i’d never seen before were standing around him, hugging him, saying, ’you’re going to be fine,’ and ’go to tennessee with laura and you’re gonna get cleaned up and have a nice breakfast and you’ll feel better.’ i think he said he didn’t want to leave or something. we crammed into an RV. the man’s son, the guy who was dancing with two beers and some other people and i rode back towards camp. the man’s son was telling a story about an old lady who trolled through flood waters in a fishing boat looking for her horses. one horse drowned and the other was shot by a sheriff where it was tied to a bridge safe from the storm waters. this story was disputed heavily during the ride. they were shouting over the music. i was fascinated until i decided i heard enough. i sat in the back across from a girl in a black and white patterned dress. she was smiling at me. i looked out at the refinery passing under the orange lights. i thought about all the bullshit everywhere. i felt relaxed.
photo by Jennie Clutterbuck
i felt more and more eager to leave as my time came near. some people talked about extensions to their stays. i saw that some people weren’t going to leave. i think i recognized an older guy who worked there for a month with his wife on the subway last fall. he got off in brooklyn, before me. i was surprised and happy to see the people i did when i returned to an e.c. kitchen in the 9th ward eight months later. when i think about why i went there and did those things i feel confused. i feel nostalgic. i think it helped me during periods of aimlessness. i don’t know.
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