Chocolate Cake in Ferriday, Louisiana

“People still a lil’ ol’ fashioned down there, but you’ll do fine. Just keep yo’ head up.”

Ms. Eaton, a frequent customer at the small department store, smiled with secretive but knowing eyes at Beverly. Then she coolly left the store. Beverly smiled and shook her head from side to side, feeling silly for considering such an idea, and looked out the window into the light.

Beverly pondered if she should. She had it good here. But small town living and the chance for a break also sounded interesting. Especially from her best friend Sheila and all her incessant chatter and gossip. And she could get her brother, Phillip, to come with her. She called him that night. She explained what Ms. Eaton had said to her and pitched him the idea of a trip to Ferriday, Louisiana.

“I don’t know, Bev.” Even through the phone, Beverly pictured him disapprovingly shaking his shaggy brown hair back and forth.

“Come on, Phillip! We’re both in our twenties. This is THE age. We should be travelling! Besides, we’ll be together and we won’t stay long,” Beverly pleaded.

“I’ll think about it, Bev, then get right back at you.” Then Phillip, continually skeptical, critical and reluctant about pretty much everything, much to Beverly’s annoyance, hung up, with not so much as a goodbye. Beverly sighed and went to sleep, trying to ignore her want for a yes.

***

By the next week, Beverly had made all the necessary arrangements to take two weeks off. While her boss didn’t like it, and would not be paying her for her extended leave, her boss understood. One of Beverly’s friends would check her apartment when she left to make sure no one broke in and if everything was all right. Her apartment would remain the same as when she left it.

As soon as she and Phillip exited the Alexandria International Airport, she was hit by the heat of the whole place. They had rented out a small apartment in Ferriday and they were going to take a taxi to the place. As soon as she got there, she was going to settle down, unpack a little, and meet the neighbors. She didn’t know Phillip’s plans, and didn’t bother asking him, before his pessimism put a damper on her mood.

Beverly let out a little groan. Mid-afternoon was one of the worst times for heat. Beverly wore a long-sleeved dark-colored dress, something unassuming and elegant. But she had underestimated the heat, which meant that this was her first mistake on the trip.

They arrived at their apartment. Phillip, who’s sour mood wasn’t changing, the intensity of the heat, and the feeling of being in a strange place, made her increasingly feel that this trip was a mistake. They dropped off their suitcases, backpacks and duffle bags. She unpacked a little but soon began to feel hungry. Phillip was dutifully unpacking all of his stuff. They decided/chose to eat out for their first time in the town and walk to a local diner. Beverly wanted to wander and explore this place on her own on her way to the local restaurant. But with Phillip here and following her like a ghost, she couldn’t very well do that. If he kept annoying her, she might go off on her own anyway. She, hopefully, wouldn’t get lost, or too lost for that matter.

“Hey, this is a vacation. Lighten up,” Beverly said, angry that Phillip wasn’t making it feel like a vacation. Phillip didn’t say anything in response. “You know, you can just go back if you really don’t like this,” Beverly said dismissively as she flipped her hair dismissively.

“I’m not leaving you. That would just be irresponsible,” Phillip answered monotonically. Beverly grunted angrily in response.

They continued to walk to the diner. Looking rundown, old, and in need of slight renovation, the diner looked cozy and liked it belonged in a small town, as Beverly hoped it would be, but the sign of the name of the restaurant with chipped paint and faded dark red letters made it look slightly univiting. The inside was lit by a few lights decorated here and there, full of scattered groups of people, and had a platform of some sort in the back, lit up by bright golden light and made grand by a seemingly elegant red curtain. They sat down in a booth close to the door, which held back the dying light of the afternoon. They looked at the menu and browsed. Beverly, who was an avid chocolate lover like her brother Phillip, ordered a slice of chocolate cake labelled as the bayou’s best chocolate cake. Phillip followed suit. She hoped it wouldn’t disappoint. They ordered their respective choice of sandwich and a side of fries that they would share as well.

The food arrived and while the golden crinkle-cut fries smelled nice, and the bread of the heavy-looking burger Beverly ordered was glistening and had a nice weight to it, the real star of the meal, at least in Beverly’s opinion, was the chocolate cake. Nice and thick, the slice was large, with its sides coated with chocolate frosting, with a mountain of gooey fudge lathered dripping from its center. The taste was pleasant and fulfilling. This was the type of comfort food you ate when you felt really good or when you felt really guilty. Normally, she would have rejoiced at finding such an excellent food item choice/option their first time at a restaurant with Phillip. But Philip was silent. And Beverly expected him to remain this way for the rest of the night. Perhaps for the whole trip. They might even leave early, at this rate.

They were a ways into their meal and not talking much to one another but looking at their phones when a figure approached their booth.

“Hey, may I sit with youse folk?”

A tall, older woman with short, dark brown hair and who was wearing a wine-colored dress stood before the booth, a thin hand touching the top of the seat opposite them. Phillip ignored her. Beverly, eager to make friends, or at least acquaintances, on this short trip, readily agreed and the older woman gracefully sat in the seat across from them in the booth.

“Hello. My name’s Beverly. And this is my brother, Phillip. What’s your name?”

“Oh, people around here call me Ma Trias. But you can just call me Ma.” Beverly noticed that the woman spoke with a Southern drawl/accent.

Beverly, in an effort to retain her city speech formality, asked, “Can I call you Ma’am?”

“Very well. Suit yo’self, dear,” Ma’am shrugged, seeming a little frustrated.

At that point, Ma’am casually put a hand on the back of the booth and relaxed her body posture. Then she asked knowingly with a smile, “Just visiting, are you?”

“Yes-,” and before Beverly asked the sequential question to that word, Ma’am laughed a dismissive laugh, already anticipating what she was going to say.

“Tourists got a certain look to them. Be careful you don’t get robbed. Or maimed by a wild animal. Or killed by the mysterious man of Louisiana.” Ma’am let out a raucous laugh that caused her to look up at the ceiling.

Beverly and Phillip both looked at each other.

“I’m just messing with ya. I can tell by yalls eyes y’all think I’m crazy. Nuh suh. I just got a hankering for frightening people. Bad habit,” Ma shook her hand back and forth as she talked and laughing.

“Boy, you ain’t talk much,” Ma’am said while looking at Philip who was obsessively checking his phone. Phillip grunted in response.

“Sorry for his rudeness, Ma’am. He’s just upset about something,” Beverly said while giving Phillip a look for his rudeness.

“Not about here, though, I hope? It’s something back at home, I presume?”

Beverly looked at Phillip, who still wasn’t answering, and answered for him. “Yes.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate. I hope it gets better, whatever it is.”

“Yeah.” Phillip finally said, but it was an unnecessary addition to the conversation. But he seemed sad to Beverly. He glanced at his phone. Ma’am eyed him and patted his hand twice quickly, a sudden move of comfort.

“You still learning, boy. That’s okay.”

Phillip let out a disinterested hum of agreement and continued to eat his mostly done meal.

“You can’t please everybody.” Then Ma’am shrugged and unapologetically took one fry from their basket, still full of fries. She popped the fry into her mouth. “So why not start, and stick, with yourself?”

Then a man went up on the platform and went behind the red curtain. He reemerged with a saxophone and began to play it. Wearing a white suit and hat, he played soul music, which established a nice atmosphere for the diners. While he only played for a few minutes, a small number of diners seemed to have enjoyed his performance so they clapped and he bowed. Afterwards, he returned the instrument to its place in the back and reemerged into the crowd and darkness.

“It’s open mic. They’s got all tons of instruments up there, like the piano, the saxophone, and even a fancy electric guitar. Open for free use. Don’t worry. People at this diner respectful. They don’t steal. Besides, manager’s always watching and he’s planned ahead. Warning: don’t try.” Then Ma’am tapped one of her temples in a knowing way and laughed out loud.

“I can play the electric guitar,” Phillip said softly.

“You should go up there then,” Ma’am said approvingly.

“Yeah, Phillip, you should go up and try,” Beverly coaxed, encouraged, wanting to see her brother play.

“Fine,” Phillip said, agreeing and rising from his seat, exposing his uncertain body language and tall height. He went up on the stage, to the claps of a few of the diners. He grabbed the blue and white electric guitar and amp from the back of the stage, set it up with expertise, and began to play a couple of blues licks and a few songs that Beverly knew were his favorites. Phillip never failed to impress people with his hidden skills when he put in effort.

“He got a girl at home?” Ma’am asked while looking at Phillip.

“Yes,” Beverly answered distractedly.

“He crazy about her?” Ma’am was now looking directly at Beverly.

“To a fair extent. Why?” Beverly looked directly at Ma’am, after being entranced by watching Phillip finally let himself go and give in to the music.

“I’s only asking cause men don’t act like that unless they worried about something fierce. And that fierceness causes them to be… overprotective, let’s say. After all there’s a saying, originated in an old country, emotions are like suits. And men’s cans change they suits. In the blink of an eye.”

“What old country was that?” Beverly asked, giving Ma’am an uncertain smile, as she finished the last bite of the delicious chocolate cake.

“An old country called me.” Then Ma’am burst out laughing and Beverly laughed too. Ma’am was funny. And perhaps a little crazy. At that moment, Ma’am sighed.

“I’s should get going. Hope to see youse folk again. Stop by this diner anytime. I might see you,” Ma’am said with a smile.

Then Ma’am smoothly got up and left the diner, the bell making the old wood ring of ghosts and the emergence of fresh night air making the smell of food dissipate as diners went home for the night. And the ghost of whatever tension Philip and Beverly had, at least for this star-filled night, ascended as well.