Fire and Rain. Yes, part three.

[KB.]

Read parts one and two first.



I was having a conversation with a friend today. We sat outside smoking a cigarette and she made the comment that something seemed so long ago, but it really wasn't. I believe eight years was the distance between then and now. I simply told her as she gets older it all starts to run together; some things seem fresh when others seem to have happened years ago. I don't remember when all of these things happened that I will write about in a moment. I remember events that happened during the time, but that is the best I can do. I do remember the day this story ends though.



I managed to visit Sophie a couple times a year for the next six or seven years. New Orleans from West Tennessee is an easy eight hour drive. She always had a song for me, it might have been Sophie B. Hawkins after I left Houston, and it might have been Fast Car after the first woman to ask me to marry her rode a white horse into the sunset. (For clarity, and I shouldn't do this, white horse = cocaine – sunset = death. Did you read that story, and the stories about the woman in Houston?). I would write my letters and she would always show me the stacks of them when I would visit.



Thing about it was this. It wasn't a relationship as most people would see a relationship. There was a love there, and we told each other so. There were some strong feelings that were discussed. We decided to keep things the way they were. I had an eight year relationship with a woman who I might have seen ten times total. Rock my gypsy soul.



Sophie had a different sort of life. She lived in the same house she was raised in. Her parent's death had paid for it by way of life insurance. She didn't work a regular job. She lived off of tips from singing, and she lived off of that insurance. She did what she wanted most times, and she never did a lot of things she wished she had. She sang songs to lonely people in every dive bar you could name. No one ever sang her a song; I understand the look she had in her eyes when she would talk about that.



I didn't then.



I wondered what could cause a woman who could sing like her to look so misunderstood when she talked about just wanting someone to sing to her.



God, I wish I could sing. It didn't even matter that I couldn't I just should have.



I understand that look now. Two years too late.



Sophie would call me and leave voice mails; no conversation just a line or four from some song that communicated her mood or worries better than any story written on Myspace at half past midnight ever could.



Anything from Zeppelin to Sinatra. Lots of Van Morrison.



I didn't have a cell phone for two years, I just recently got another. Too many people too far away that I want to hear talk. The last time I had one of my own was August of 2005. The last voice mail I got from Sophie was this:



"I've seen fire and I've seen rain

I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end

I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend

But I always thought that I'd see you again

Won't you look down upon me, Jesus

You've got to help me make a stand

You've just got to see me through another day

My body's aching and my time is at hand

And I won't make it any other way

Oh, I've seen fire and I've seen rain

I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end

I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend

But I always thought that I'd see you again"





That voice mail came sometime in the early pre dawn hours of August 29th, 2005.



There are maybe two or three people reading this that have already made the connection between time, place, and song that know exactly how this story will end. I figure Lorie will; she wrote her own thoughts about this date, August 29th of 2005, and the place, New Orleans. For the rest of you just have patience.



On August 29th 2005 another woman came into the picture. This woman was a mean, spiteful, remorseless bitch named Katrina.



Sophie saw fire and she saw rain. She saw lonely times when she could not find a friend. I always thought I would see her again.



A hurricane could give one sh!t what I thought.



That storm rolled into New Orleans with no other intention than to kill as many poor desperate people as it could. Katrina was the worst home wrecker to ever be whispered about. Orphans, widows, widowers. Parents outlived children; lovers were separated to never know another kiss.





"I've been walking my mind to an easy time

My back turned towards the sun

Lord knows when the cold wind blows it'll turn your head around

Well, there's hours of time on the telephone line

To talk about things to come

Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground."



I wasn't working when she destroyed that wonderful city. I was taking it easy living off of a severance check. I applied for a job in a clean up crew. I was turned down. I was hopeless. I haven't been back to New Orleans.



Let me tell you something folks. Every one of you has some one who they think they will always see again. I know I do. Almost two thousand people (at least that is what the official records say. I figure it was far, far more) died in New Orleans.



Don't think you will always see them again.





I tried to go down there, but I only made it as far as Tupelo.



Tupelo Honey.



I stopped at a bar to get enough booze in me to keep me on my track. I heard a man say that he was glad that Katrina happened. He figured that mainly it was worthless and poor minorities that died. I gave my temper up for the most part a long time ago, but he made me forget. I hope he is still pissing and puking blood. A man should be real damn careful what he says around folks who might have family that just got destroyed by what he was glad had happened. No one even looked at him when I was done, and no one looked at me as I walked out the door and turned around and headed back home.





I didn't even tell you about the six inch scar Sophie left on my left arm.



I'll never see Sophie again; I'll never hear that sweet voice of hers again. I can try my best to make you see her though. There is a reason why I love a woman who can sing, or just will sing.



"Her hair was a light brown and curly to the point of kinky; shoulder length. Her eyes were green. I won't even try and describe the color of that green. People pay good money for contacts that look like her eyes. Her skin looked like hot chocolate poured into a favorite mug; with a red tint. Like cinnamon. She had freckles and her name was Sophie. Sophia. The sax started into a slow beckoning call to the piano and the piano answered in kind. Then this woman opened her mouth and I thought I was surely dreaming. Billie Holiday? Who in their right mind tried to sing Billie Holiday? She, Sophie, was making Billie smile as she looked down from the cloud in heaven where blues and jazz singers serenaded the angels.





"Willow weep for me

Willow weep for me

Bend your branches down along the ground

and cover me

Listen to my plea

Hear me willow and weep for me"



I asked who ever was listening to let me sleep forever if it was a dream. I love music, I love women, and I adore women who can sing. Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald, Nina Simone? Nope, Sophie."



All I can do is tell a story and hope someone takes a little something away from it.



I always thought I would see her again.



KB



If you didn't read about the woman and the white horse; or the woman in Houston who was addicted to Krispy Kreme donuts among various other things send me a message and I'll get a link for you.



Don't waste time folks, it runs out real f**king fast. I'll put a you tube link to Fire and Rain under this; and it is currently the last song on my play list.





A link to Lorie's reflections about a trip to post Katrina New Orleans. She is a woman possesed with a voice that rings older than her years.



http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fusea ... C926386215

[Patsy Warnick]

I was sitting on my patio this morning drinking a cup of coffee - thinking how heavy my heart felt, I was thinking of my Nephew, what I'd give to see him one more time - to laugh with him one more time - to hear his giggle.

Then I sit in front of this high tec picture screen and see other heavy hearts, and my day continues as any other day - out of all the people I have lost - this one hurts the most. Patsy

[KB.]

Can anyone who is interested see the story that I linked that my friend Lorie wrote? I have no idea if it is open to all or just if you have a Myspace account.