I could barely eat. We walked miles and talked through the middle of crowds and festivals.
I told him to come back in March, when Mardi Gras fell that year.
One thing he said as he fixed me breakfast after sleeping in Ben's old cold room..."At least you had someone who you really loved and loved you back."
But Sonny did come back in March for Mardi Gras. Dale would never take me to Mardi Gras in Mamou. He said it was dangerous or at the very least, very crude. And Dale was no pris.
But I convinced Sonny to take me. I told him he could hear some homegrown music and see things he never would again. This would turn out to be true.
Mamou was an old small one street town with one very tacky delapidated hotel and 3 bars. We missed the first part of the day where they ride through in colorful robes and hoods to "steal" chickens for Gumbo. We later had free gumbo at a roadhouse on the way home.
This time of year, I remember that one special day, where we danced and i danced with anyone who asked. I have to say that the crudest things ever said to me ever by anyone (strangers) happened that day..just because it was Mardi Gras and tomorrow would be Lent..time to repent.
Yet, that southern graciousness was also there.
I am including this music, because that is the old music we heard in 1995. The triangle percussion was hand forged. The player was missing a few teeth.
It is a long cut. But when I hear this old music, I think back to one day, so many years gone. I am so glad I got to go there.
Dale is gone and Sonny is gone. Both died. But when I hear that music, I go back. Every Mardi Gras.