Columbus, MS
you are so gorgeous.
When you leave a place that you know and love, a place that you’ve grown up in since you were born, you find it hard to say goodbye. Especially when you’re only thirteen. Driving past all those damn cow fields and tall green trees was hard for me. I was saying good bye to my security blanket. In fact, I was having it ripped into shreds. Miles we traveled until we finally reached Bridge City, Louisiana. A quaint little ghetto only ten or twenty minutes from the bustling city of New Orleans. I immediately taught myself to despise and push away from the new and unknown.
Now, I’ve come to accept the move. My eyes were clinched shut from my new world when we moved here. Easy to do when you’re on the West Bank. Everyone was brash, loud, rude and disrespectful. You have to understand this, I’m from north Mississippi, no one limped around the hallways telling their teachers to ‘Fuck off.’ My first day, I said thank you ma’am, a natural reaction when it’s drilled into you from day one, to one of my teachers, and she accused me of sucking up. Where the hell was I?
Columbus, Mississippi. Ahhh, what a town. Millions of Baptist-Christian churches, I think there might have been one or two Catholic churches, I can’t remember, and millions more Presbyterian churches as well. Racist rednecks driving four-wheelers and going out every weekend to hunt. The girls were just the same, their only twist was that they could easily slide into sling-backs and attend their church’s tea-party. It was my home, but I never quite fell into their stride. Yes, my accent was strong, yes I was proudly sporting red-neck casual wear and throwing out ‘Git-Er-Done’ like no bodies business, but at the same time, something tweaked in me.
