"New Orleans Is A Good
City" by Kristin Hersh, March 17 2010 (originally published on kristinhersh.com)
New Orleans is a good
city to cry in, I guess. It’s messed up and overflowing, like I am right now. I don’t like to cry in front of
people – or at all – but walking my dog at sunset starts me thinking. Or feeling. Or whatever it is that makes
tears flow. And I don’t really see anybody but Hubert, the neighbor with thirteen kids who always waves and tells me
that he loves me and god blesses me. Nice things to say to a crying person.
I was amazed that there
is still a moon, that snow falls, that birds are still pretty without Vic. ‘Cause they are. Sort of extra pretty, even. But I was right to be amazed. I know that the guy I see through a second
story window, pouring cereal for dinner under fluorescent lights, thinks that’s
what he’s doing, but I know better. This world is pretend.
People at the funeral
told me I’d start talking to him and I have, but really, I never stopped talking
to him. I can’t call him anymore, though, so my lips just start moving. Not to give him shit, which is what people said
my lips would do. Just to clarify. To replay and articulate, to fix every misunderstanding and explain every confusing thing
I ever did or said. I wish I’d spelled everything out on my goddamn forehead when I had the chance, ’cause clarity
is everything. But then, so is music and we had plenty of that.
And we still do. Music
is still bewitching, even in this pretend
world without a Vic in it. And the moon in Athens was blue as
it raced across the sky (can Vic move the moon now?),
the snow in New England was breathtaking, miraculous, and there are perfect birds everywhere. Everything sparkles.