Billy

He stood there, glaring at me through the grease coated front window of a run-down diner on Bourbon Street. He looked young, about 18, with dark and tousled hair. (I pay attention to these things because you never know when you may be called on to be a witness for something.) He stuffed the almost shredded, blue chambray shirt haphazardly into pants held up by a belt not quite making its way through all the loops.

His gaze didn't falter. As his eyes pierced through me, I thought he must be hungry and considered offering him half of my burger but decided against it. Instead, I decided to give him a few bucks to buy dinner if he lingered there when I left the restaurant. I took a five dollar bill out of my wallet and put it in my front pocket so I wouldn't forget.

My hand slipped on the greasy brass doorknob when I exited the diner. Outside I enjoyed the sounds of Bourbon Street. Ahead, that young man stepped out onto the crooked sidewalk from one of the many hidden alleys in the French Quarter. I fingered the five dollar bill in my pocket. To my surprise, he matched my stride and walked alongside me in silence. After a few moments together, we passed a few storefronts and he finally said, "You're going to meet my sister tomorrow. Tell her I'm sorry."

"Who's your sister and when am I going to meet her?" I asked.
"You'll know," said the young man.
I turned to look at him, hoping to memorize some facial features to identify a family resemblance, but he was gone.

This chance, brief meeting with the young disheveled man piqued my curiosity so I asked clerks at the nearby stores if anyone knew him. The responses I received ranged from familiarity to fear. "Billy" as they called him lived more than 150 years ago and his life, although brief and otherwise ordinary, remained a source of intrigue for the locals.

Billy and his family lived on a plantation outside of New Orleans. Prior to the family adopting a young girl, Billy fell in love with her. Once she became a legal sibling, Billy's feelings could no longer be expressed, at least according to his family's dictates.

When Amelia began to entertain eligible suitors, Billy's envy turned to rage at the unattainable young woman's audacity to receive callers in his presence. His rage evolved into the ultimate outburst and one afternoon on a family outing, Billy tied the bowstrings of Amelia's dress to the wheels of a carriage and she was dragged to her death.

Billy still wanders the streets of the French Quarter as he has for decades seeking forgiveness from anyone who will listen. His painful howls ring out at 4:12 p.m. each day echoing his angst and guilt. If you listen very carefully, you can hear the sad, hollow cry, "Ameeeeelllia!"

November, 2005