Katrina, My Dear Bitch

It was my first semester in college… not far into it. I was still clueless too. But that bitch we call Katrina attacked not only the lower parts of Louisiana but also Alabama.

Being in the northern part of the state, we never saw much from that dear bitch except for maybe a few showers (Rita would nick us and lay a few trees over, nothing even comparable to the southern parts though). The damages and losses from these two hurricanes – especially Katrina – were horrible. Not to brush that off as nothing but that’s not what I want to talk about now.

The north was suddenly crowded by evacuees. I remember sitting in the turning lane on Berts to go to Walmart for probably five minutes as a solid and constant line of cars flowed by. Whoever the hell decided a turn signal wasn’t needed at that red light should be fired! But despite the added hassle of more – a lot more – traffic, I never got upset about it. Put yourself in their shoes. I would be running away too if I had lived down there.

But the most memorable and inspiring moment was yet to come. The college I attend had opened its gymnasium up as a shelter for evacuees. My psychology professor – I loved her – decided to cancel class one day for everyone to go to the gym to help out in whatever way they could – bringing in food, talking to someone, playing with the kids, anything. We weren’t really required to go… it was completely optional and it wouldn’t affect our grade if we didn’t show. But I went, most of the class went. After our professor gave us a short briefing and had us check in, she left us to do as we pleased. At first, I didn’t know what to do. People, kids, adults were running around everywhere. I followed some of the guys in my class around to a truck unloading supplies, but they told us we couldn’t help (?). So I wandered around outside looking for some way I could help. I didn’t want to go inside. I had heard about it. I didn’t want to see that.

Finally, I found myself back at the front of the gym where several kids were playing. I watched them for a while and noticed this one kid in particular seemed sort of down, not playing much with the other kids. Opportunity! So I decided I would talk to him. I don’t remember his name… can’t believe I don’t remember his name. But, this kid was awesome! The strength, courage and maturity he had at his young age – probably 9 or 10... he told me but I don't remember that either – was amazing! I talked with him for about an hour. He told me where he had lived in New Orleans. That their house was probably destroyed. That he hadn’t heard from his dad in several days and had no clue where he was or if he was even alive. As we talked, he started crying a little at one point… and so did I. I wanted to tell him with certainty that everything would be ok, their house was fine, his dad was alright. I wanted to somehow take away the pain this kid was feeling. No one should have to feel that way, much less a kid this young. But no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t. I was almost at a loss of words. I just patted him on the back and told him everything would work out in the end.

After we talked about the hurricane and both of us stopped crying, I tried to get his mind onto other things. Can you imagine sitting around all day with nothing to do except for wondering if you had a house to go back to and if your father was alive? We talked about his hobbies and interests and ended up throwing a basketball around a few times. But soon, I had to go. I could tell the guy who rode with me to college – also in my psyc class – was getting ready to leave as this class was our last class of the day and we had been there longer than we normally would for a regular class.

Before I left though, this kid wanted to go inside to get a bottle of water. He wanted me to go with him. No! I don’t want to go in there! But, I followed him into the hall just inside the doorway. And as he turned to go into the actual gym where everyone was at, I hesitated. He looked back and waved me on. I couldn’t just stand there. I couldn’t just abandon him. So slowly I walked to the doorway that opened into the gym. Oh my God! It was so sad! People – tons of people – lying on mats on the gym floor. People just wandering around scared, confused. I stood there in a daze for a few seconds then I heard him calling me. I walked over to him as he grabbed a bottle of water out of a cooler. I bent down beside him (he was pretty short for his age) and told him I had to leave now. I could tell he didn’t want me to leave… I really didn’t want to leave (though I did want to go back outside) and I regret not staying longer. But, I hugged him and told him to stay strong and that I would be praying for him and his family and that I would try to come back to see him again. I never did… I had the chance to, several chances… but never did. I kick myself for not going back.

That kid showed me several things. He showed me what strength and courage really is. He showed me how to stay strong even when everything else has fallen apart. He showed that I shouldn’t complain about my petty little problems so much… they’re nothing. Not once did he complain about anything while I was there. And look at what he was going through. My problems couldn’t even begin to compare.

Many times since then, I’ve wondered what happened to him. I saw him and some of the other kids I talked to on the news the next day when one of the local stations did a report about the evacuees staying at the college. But, I wonder where he is now. If he still had a house. And most importantly, if he ever heard from his dad. I hope and pray everything really did work out for him in the end.