Vernon Poche & The Ghosts of New Orleans by Paul Siefken

Author:Paul Siefken
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Amphorae Publishing Group, LLC
Published: 2024-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

20

VERNON | TIME’S UP

Tonti and I ran the whole way back to the convention center where my dad’s work trailer was parked. Sweaty and panting, we stopped at the edge of the parking lot, and I took off the Mardi Gras Indian patch and the Prompt Succor statue and put them in my backpack next to my horn. I knew Dad was already going to have a lot of questions about where we’d been all day, but if he saw me with all my new gear, he might just throw me in the van and drive straight to Atlanta—do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars, as my mom used to say.

“All right Tonti, let’s go face Dad.”

I walked toward the trailer with Tonti following close behind. When I got to the door, I took a deep breath and knocked.

“Come in!” Dad shouted from behind the closed door.

I opened the door a crack and peeked in. He was sitting at a small desk staring at some papers.

“Hey,” I said.

“Vernon,” Dad said, not looking up.

“Growlf!”

Dad grunted.

I put down my backpack and walked over to his desk. He was looking at a photocopy of an old map of downtown New Orleans. I recognized the half-moon-shaped curve of the river that cradled the city.

“Do you know what this is?” Dad said, pointing at the map. “This is a map of the World’s Industrial and Cotton Centennial Exposition.”

“Okay,” I said, not understanding why he was so interested. I shuffled my feet. This was not the conversation I was expecting. I thought he’d be lecturing me about being so late and irresponsible.

“Um, so what was the World Cotton Expo thing?”

Dad still didn’t look up from the map. “It was kind of like a World’s Fair. New Orleans hosted it way back in 1884.”

I did some quick math in my head. “1884, that’s like a hundred and … twenty-one years ago,” I said. “Wow, they had fairs back then?”

“Yep, and then we hosted another one hundred years later, in 1984,” Dad said. “That’s when we built the convention center we’re sitting next to. It was built for the World’s Fair.”

“Huh.”

He tapped the map. “I found this in one of the convention center offices.” Dad looked up at me for the first time since I’d come in. “I think it might be another hundred years before they host any big events around here, don’t you?”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

He sighed and folded the paper. “And even if they could host one next week, we’re not going to be around to see it. Because we’re leaving tomorrow.”

“What?!”

He stood and began straightening the items on the table. “I told my supervisor twenty minutes ago. I never should have brought you down here, Vernon. Things are too unstable, and I can’t leave you alone anymore. You’re going to get yourself hurt.”

My mind raced. Tomorrow? This couldn’t be happening! Alisha and I were going to follow the Dixieland Trail tomorrow. Mom wanted me to do this.

I just stared at my dad. Tonti began to whine.

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