JESSIE
I love New York, but I have missed New Orleans so much. New York is home, but I grew up here in New Orleans. I have missed the music being played on the streets, the beauty of the architecture of the French Quarter, and the smell of Gumbo.
Speaking of Gumbo, I have missed my mom's cooking so much, I have missed her.
The reason I left is the reason why I came back. It's all because of Leonard Humphrey, my father.
I was shocked when I got the call late at night from my mom, telling me that the great, strong, iron-fisted Leonard Humphrey had kicked the bucket, my father is dead and the cause of death: a heart attack. What caused the heart attack? Anger, he was lashing out at my mom because he didn't like the taste of his soup.
And before the heart attack, it was revealed at the hospital that my father had high blood pressure. And he was told to calm down and to take care of his heart. But because Leonard Humphrey was a stubborn bastard, he didn't listen, which led to his death.
He lived an angry man, and he died an angry man.
It's nice to know that my dad hasn't changed. I was stupid enough to think that he would be a better person after I ran away after graduating from high school, but that's not the case. He stayed angry, and he stayed bitter. According to my mom, he got even angrier after I left.
I wanted mom to come with me, to be rid of the physical and emotional abuse, but she didn't want to listen; she wanted to stay because she had made a vow in their marriage to stay with him for better or worse, but she wanted me to leave.
Leaving her was the hardest thing I ever did, but I had to, to fulfil my dreams, to be my own person, to live life authentically.
And honestly, I thought I'd get a call saying my mom was the one who died. I thought she'd die before my dad because he would have killed her. But no, the almighty, powerful Leonard Humphrey died first.
When my mom told me that my dad had died, I didn't feel sad; I wasn't happy either. I was shocked at first because I didn't think Leonard could die, especially this soon. I thought he'd live forever. I saw him as an immortal vampire.
I didn't think that he would kick the bucket so soon.
But sooner, that surprise transformed to numbness. I didn't know what else to feel. My boyfriend, Jeremy, kept on trying to comfort me, but I had to let him know that I didn't feel sad; I felt numb.
I just…didn't feel anything.
I also kept on remembering the things that were said and done to me. The emotional abuse, the gaslighting, the hitting. The night he caught me and Sebby.
Sebby.
I left him behind as well. And I think he hates me, I don't know. I haven't heard from him in five years.
I am going to see him, see how he's doing, maybe we can go back to being what we were… friends, of course.
I look out the window of the cab I'm in, and I look around with a smile on my face at the beauty that is New Orleans.
New York is beautiful, yes, culturally significant. But New Orleans? There's something about this city that's…magical. Like, there's magic everywhere you go.
And yes, there are some superstitious beliefs here and there and tales of magic, and creatures that lurk in the dark, but what I feel is different. It's more than just the stories; the city is just so comforting.
And I never feared for all those stories about such creatures because I was faced with a dark creature myself. Yes, a human can leave you scarred for life in worse ways than a vampire can.
Being here brings good memories, but I know for a fact that as soon as I go to my house, I'm going to be faced with trauma. I have gone to therapy, been seeing a therapist for five years, so maybe it won't hurt so much when I step into that house.
But Sebby, I want to see him. I must see him.
The cab pulls up in the Gentilly neighbourhood. The place I grew up in. My head has been stuck out the window since I left the airport, observing the things that have remained and the things that have changed in the last five years.
I've got to say, some things have changed in this neighbourhood.
I'm reminded of the times when Sebby and I were kids running around the streets and being berated by our neighbours. I've missed that fucker so much.
I just hope he doesn't hate me.
Huh, Sebastian De La Rosa and hate in the same sentence? That's not possible.
The only person he truly hated was my father; he genuinely wanted to kill him, and he would gladly murder me.
God, our love story is truly tragic. He was my first love; it's too bad we didn't get to see how it would have gone because our romance was cut short. My homophobic father caught us, tried to kill us, and after that, I ran away and I never looked back.
I did send Seb a letter before leaving, though.
He has to know that my life wasn't easy when I went to New York. I had always wanted to go to New York, but at the same time, when I was there, I was extremely heartbroken and homesick.
I wasn't longing for the home I grew up in. The trauma overshadowed the good times I had there. I'm talking about the home I had with Sebby and my other friends.
I missed them so much.
But I'm back, even if it's just for a brief period of time.
I'll attend the funeral and then go back to New York, my new life, a life I love.
The car stops in front of my house. I get out of the cab, the driver helps me get my bags out of the trunk, and I give the kind man a tip. He thanks me, and he gets in and drives off.
I stand with my bags in hand, staring at the house of horrors I grew up in. The screaming, the shouting and the crying come back to me in a flash. I close my eyes and I shake my head, getting those horrible memories out.
The man is dead; he can't hurt me anymore.
The front door opens up to reveal a beautiful, petite black woman walking out of the house.
"Jessie? Jessie, is that you?" She asks excitedly.
I giggle. "Yes, Mom, it's me."
"Oh my God!" she shouts, running toward me and embracing me in a tight hug. I hug her back, we're both hugging each other tightly, not caring if we're going to crush each other.
"Oh my baby," my mom says in tears, tears of joy. "You're tall now, you are so tall. Where are you growing to?"
I laugh.
"Come in, let me help you with your bags."
"No, no, I got it," I say to her, and we both walk into the house.
At first, I thought I would have a panic attack as soon as I walked in, but I didn't. Everything in this house looks so different. It's almost like darkness has been washed away, and the light has found its home.
It looks well arranged, the curtains are open, and it smells like air freshener and Gumbo. Yes! I truly missed my mom's cooking.
It truly looks like a woman runs things over here.
"I'm making your favourite," she says.
"Yeah, I can smell it. Let me go freshen up first." I try to act nonchalant, but I'm actually so fucking excited.
I head upstairs, as soon as I put a foot on the staircase, I receive a harsh memory of when my dad pushed my mom down the stairs, and the memory immediately fades. Wow, therapy does work.
I walk into my room, and it's the only thing that hasn't changed. My table, where I used to write. My dad burned my novels and poems because, according to him, writing was for faggots.
The joke's on him; I'm a published author with two bestsellers. And I love being a faggot.
My Taylor Swift poster is still on the wall, even though he's tried to take it down in the past. I would still put it up because you don't take down Taylor Swift, God damn it.
I feel a wave of nostalgia because this is where Sebby and I shared our first kiss, and it was also the last time we saw each other.
God, that night was beautiful and traumatic at the same time. But my therapist said I should think and focus on the things that made me happy when I was here, and that's what I'm going to do.
I receive a call, and it's from my boyfriend, Jeremy. I smile and I answer immediately.
"Hey, babe," I say.
"My darling, my love. I am missing you already. I can't function right now."
"Oh my God, would you stop being dramatic?"
"I'm an Actor, that's not possible."
I laugh. "True that."
Silence.
"How are you?"
"I'm good. My mom looks good, everything looks good."
"No panic attacks."
"Nope, everything's good here."
"Are you sure? Do I need to sing-"
"No, Jeremy, I'm fine. Do not sing!"
"I thought you loved my singing."
"Yes, I do, but not right now, please. I still feel jet lagged."
"Oh, understandable. I'm going to let you rest. Just know I'm here for you, babe."
"I know," I say, still looking around my room.
"Okay, I'll talk to you later, my sweets. Say hi to your mom for me. I love you."
"I will, I love you too."