Have we met before?

A couple of summers ago, in August, I was in New Orleans for two back to back business trips. These trips happened, before Katrina had sucked the life out of the downtown core. Bourbon Street was a sticky mass of near naked bodies swaying on beer baked cobble stones in search of a high, whether it be music or substance. This was a place of heady indulgence with an edge of the unknown voodoo culture surrounding the city and its many legends in eerie mystery. During the day I felt like I was being slow roasted in a massive Kiln and at night a breeze came as slight relief if you could find a place to stand without being elbow to elbow with fellow tourists or perhaps mortifyingly the undead!.

I have always been a target for the young boys, whilst flattering, the nearer I get to my late thirties the more this worries me. Let me begin at the point of contact: My job involves taking clients to see attractions and facilities in certain cities in the hope that they will book their company conferences with my organization. Usually in groups of 10-15 my flock consists of anyone from the company secretary to the CEO. My New Orleans groups proved hard to control with the factions splitting up often. One participant was prone to leaving our venue with random males having consumed dozens of what can only be described as vases of alcohol. This night, when I was in the midst of wondering if I should call the police for Miss MIA or just hope she appeared for breakfast, a young unshaved rather oval shaped face was suddenly breathing the very same air I was finding hard to find in the Jazz sauna we were frequenting. His eyed were bright and weighed down with long brown eyelashes and his skin was tanned making his lips stand out as if he had lipstick on. He oozed musician his untidy retro hip look with vintage jeans and green t-shirt was finished off by the seatbelt belt which I saw on the early 70"s shows and hence became trendy all over again.

‘She left with my friend" he said as If I had already asked him " She will be fine they are just having some fun" Immediately defensive hoping that her actions did not reflect on me I formed a barrier with my crossed arms and curtly thanked him.

This unusually polite boy introduced himself as David Arthur, budding musician poet and realist. He talked about his producer and friend Dwayne and of the adventures life had awarded them. David was from Nashville but was vacationing in New Orleans for a few days in between recording his second album. His outlook was that of living for today and the moment, it was catching. We stayed up all night, talking, walking, and laughing while we got covered in icing sugar from the famous New Orleans Beignets. We held hands, discovered The French Quarter, visited creepy graveyards and sat in the park until the sun came back up and I had to leave him to put my group on the plane.

I gave him my card but did not expect to see him again. I was proven pessimistic as he picked me up that evening. We had a whole weekend before my next group arrived. We drove around the area in a big old American car that you had to climb into, discovering odd little jazz bars with the resident 80ish year old singers just dying to tell their life stories.

We did not go out to dinner or shop instead we discovered the inspirational wonderment of Louisiana the old fashioned way. The constant sweet smell of Mona Lavender and Sugar Loaf flowers surrounded us as we lost ourselves and all sense of time. Reality was across the border and a fairytale was developing before us. David’s charm and knowledge was greater than any 40 plus man I had ever known and his sense of adventure greater than a child’s. When I looked at David I could not picture him aging as he seemed timeless. At the end of the weekend David told me that it was time for him to move on but that I had made him happier than he would ever be. I was filled with sadness not only because he was going back home but because it seemed so final with no mention of a second meeting or even emailing. I decided to be an adult and tried to convince myself that I had fallen in love with the experience, not the person and that he most likely had a girl friend at home. David got in his car and drove away, he didn’t even look back. My body felt like a porcelain figurine that could easily break but I had a job to do and as my next group were arriving, the smell of Lavender had disappeared.

A couple of month’s later my curiosity stabbing at my mind; I went to a music store in search of a CD by David Arthur. I found it, Twisted Summer Kisses headed up the play list.

My limbs unable to move fast enough they finally deposited me at my door; blood was sky rocketing around my body in a crazy panic, ridiculously flushing my cheeks in anticipation.

The dedication inside the cover read "To my love I will have met you in New Orleans "

The songs were enchanting, they talked of our time together. The lyrics of the final verse cried out that timing had robbed us of our future in this life but how we will meet in the next. I burst into tears, how he could care so much but not write. I consoled my self with rationalism, perhaps this was a type of journalistic license and the sentiment was purely to sell CD’s.

My eyes fell upon the last dedication from Dwayne "In memory of David Arthur who died at the age of 20 August 19th 1980 whilst vacationing in New Orleans". He would have been 41 in 2001 when I believe I met him. I closed the CD it was entitled ‘Too early’

Questions & thoughts:

Do we all have a soul mate? Perhaps we are not bound by time as we know it!

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