Epilogue
Ten years later
A small boy clings to the metal barrier along Government Street in downtown Mobile, Alabama. It’s his first Mardi Gras and although a bitter wind chaps his tiny face, he’s excited to see the colorful floats and catch the thrown beads. His parents huddle behind him protectively, determined to keep him safe from the more unsavory revelers, as well as any hard-flung throws.
Next to this trio stands an old woman in a full-length fur coat. The elbows have been rubbed bare and some of the silk lining pokes out at the cuff. Her graying blond hair is teased and matted, the leather on her high heels peeling. She pinches the coat tight around her neck as if the very air of those around her carries a toxic contagion, or at the very least, the exhaust fumes and sweat of everyday metropolitan life.
A giant, lighted Moon Pie slowly drops from a nearby building and the parade begins. Marching bands dance past, their drums vibrating the little boy’s body to the core. He grins and climbs higher on the barricade. The mounted marshals have already given him several doubloons, special beads, and a faux red rose. The other children around him have also collected small prizes, but the floats with stuffed animals, theme cups, and special beads have yet to pass. He glances back at his parents, who both return his wide smile. This is a night to remember.
Finally, the Mystic Society’s elaborate floats come into view. The children push forward to get as close to the metal barricades as possible. As the floats pass, their hands go up and they yell, “Hey mister! Throw me something, mister!” The men don’t disappoint. They lob handfuls of special beads at the children as well as colorful plastic cups, doubloons, entire boxes of Moon Pies, and a stuffed whale bigger than the little boy. The children cheer while scrabbling for the prizes as they rain down.
Suddenly, the woman in the fur coat elbows the children aside and grabs what she can right from their hands. She puts the ball of her foot over a doubloon and bends to pick it up. It disappears into her pocket, as well as a handful of Moon Pies and several bags of peanuts. The parents watch in horror as their children begin to cry. She raises her hand and catches a glow stick, followed by a Frisbee. These, too, disappear into the folds of her coat.
“Ma’am,” says the boy’s father, “do you think you could share those with the little ones?”
“Absolutely not,” she spits.
The father backs away while the other parents raise their eyebrows at the woman’s incredible rudeness. “So much for Southern hospitality,” he mumbles.
A smartly dressed woman steps forward and addresses the man. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t think we’re all like that. She’s a very bitter woman. Used to be a member of the Mystic Society, but she got kicked out. Now she returns every year for Mardi Gras to terrorize the crowds. There’s nothing we can do about her. She’s just a bitter old woman. You have my sincere apologies.”
The woman extends a white-gloved hand and the man gently shakes it. She pats the little boy on the head, casts a disapproving look at the old woman, and disappears back into the crowd.
As she walks back to the grandstand, she whispers, “When will my mama learn?”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
After collecting a couple English degrees in the Midwest, Stephanie Lawton suddenly awoke in the deepest reaches of the Deep South. Culture shock inspired her to write about Mobile, Alabama, her adopted city, and all the ways Southern culture, history and attitudes seduce the unsuspecting.
A lover of all things gothic, she can often be spotted photographing old cemeteries, historic buildings and, ironically, the beautiful beaches of the Gulf Coast. She also has a tendency to psychoanalyze people, which comes in handy when creating character profiles.