“Annually”

I had only been there for thirty minutes before I had to ask the question.

“Do they do that every year?”

I figured I would be doing it again. No reason to fake it.

“Oh, yeah,” Margot said, “That’s kind of a big tradition.”

“Damn.”

Two men with white hair were pulling crawfish out of a bucket and biting them in half. The crawfish were brown, like they were still wearing the swamp mud they had been pulled from. They were wriggling, slapping their claws open and closed hopefully. One of the men would spit out the half hat ended up in his mouth. The other took a big gulp and swallowed it. He was wearing a hat made from the bag that comes with a bottle of Crown. He had fallen over twice already but he kept biting.

“That’s my Uncle,” she said.

“Really.”

“He’s my Dad’s friend. I call him my Uncle.”

“Wow.”

“This is his favorite part of the year.

_____________

 

“Is that normal?”

“It was illegal for a few years but they just brought it back.”

“They look happy about it.”

“They are. Not much is illegal here. Except those baby gators with the crawfish craws they were selling.”

“Those scared me.”

“That’s a tradition too.”

“These guys look happy.”

“They’re drunk.”

“It’s barely noon. They look insane.”

“Don’t say it too loud. People won’t like that. Especially my dad. You’re worse than they are, anyway.”

She wasn’t wrong. I had gotten started on the plane. The girl on the streetcar in the red coat and the red lipstick was worried about me. She kept her hand on my back as I stepped on. I thought her hair was red then. It was brown when we sat down. I thought it was red when we finally got off, too. The haze was already setting in at that point.

I couldn’t hear it but I assumed it would be loud up close. The bar behind us left its doors open. We had to shout. The music from inside was live. No one recorded with a voice like that. The crowd inside sang along. I didn’t know the words.

“Down where the blues was born, It takes a cool cat to blow a horn, On LaSalle and Rampart Street, The combo’s there with a mambo beat.”

Margot hummed.

“You know this?” I asked.

“Everyone here does.”

Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she turned around.

“HEYYY YOU!”

It was another one of her cousins or old friends or acquaintances from her middle school or high school or soccer teams. They were wearing the same shirt, striped in purple, gold, and green. The new girl’s shirt had a lobster on the chest. Maybe it was a crawfish. I thought Margot’s had the same thing. I couldn’t see now. The logo wasn’t on the back.

I took a pull from the flask attached to my beads. The flask was shaped like a doll’s head. I hadn’t caught it. It hit me in the face and I picked it up off the ground.

“This is creepy,” I said.

“It’s tradition,” Margot said.

Now I was glad to have it. I thought it squirmed as I sucked out of the top of its head. I spit out the brown liquor. More Captain, unfortunately. The haze was getting thicker.

I showed the bouncer my real ID and ducked into the bar. I didn’t need another Hurricane or Miller Lite or Bud Lite or anymore Captain. I had had plenty over course of the past three days. Margot wasn’t happy about it. Oh well. I drank. She socialized. If she didn’t introduce me I kept drinking. She had seen a lot of old friends and I had plenty to drink. It worked for me.

_____________

 

I thought the guy singing was making it up as he went along. He sounded proud of it. I peeked in. He was wearing a black vest and a round, grey hat. He bounced side-to-side on the stage in the corner of the bar and spun back towards. He held a long note and grinned. He grinned wide. His lips stretched, garish, too wide for his jaw. The bass line started again and he turned towards his band, the grin gone.

The haze moved in further. It had been warm, a little bit red. Now it was cold, green and blue and purple. I saw the same colors yesterday and the day before and on Wednesday.

The music had stopped. People stopped clapping and moved away from the stage. The bar was filled more evenly now. The speakers couldn’t watch the volume of the singer’s voice or his grin. I could hear it outside now.

Margot poked her head in the door. The bouncer let her in.

“Come watch.”

Threee… Twoooo…. Ooooonnneee….

Sssss….

I could see it now. The fuse burned down. The cannon was black, unsmooth.

“It’s from the Battle of New Orleans.”

“Damn. It looks old.”

A woman stepped in front of it and it fired. A bag of beads plopped onto the ground in front of her. She scooped them up and pranced away, beads raised over her head in triumph.

“It doesn’t fire very well. That’s why it takes so long to get a winner,” Margot said.

 

Threee… Twoooo…. Ooooonnneee….

A man stepped in front. He was shirtless, maybe thirty years old. His shorts were purple and well above his knees.

It fired more quickly this time. The beads hit him in the face. They hit him hard. His face popped and broke. The man who had fired the canon turned away and threw on a pile of beads. It came out blue.

“Shit,” I said.

“That doesn’t usually happen.,” she said.

“Too many Fishbowls.”

“Did you try one?”

“No.”

I had had three last night and one this morning.

“He’s the winner,” she said.

“What do you mean he’s the winner.”

“He just won. That’s it.”

“Why?”

“That’s how it works. It’s an old tradition.”

I just shrugged. The haze was in my mouth now. I could taste it. The last shot out of the doll’s head had done it. It tasted sweet and syrupy so I took too much. I knew it wasn’t sweet, though. Anyway. There I was.

“Now they stop?” I asked.

“Obviously.”

“Why?”

“That’s how they do it. And that guy just died.”

“So?”

“You want them to keep going?”

“Sure.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No.”

“Let’s go talk to my aunt and uncle. You haven’t met them.”

“Sure.”

“Are you sure.”

“I love meeting your family. Almost as much as your friends.”

I took another pull out of the head and threw it at some people on the other side of the street. They were wearing the same shirt as Margot. Theirs had a white stripe. I think I hit one in the shoulder.

“Stop it,” Margot said.

“Why?”

“Don’t do that.”