mr. lawrence, 2009

this is mr. lawrence, phillip's grandfather, 17 years after i first met him. the neighborhood around him has changed dramatically since katrina. i notice the trees are missing, the beautiful plum. there's less shade, less green. and there is a drug house next door. "young people, goin' down that wrong road. only lead to trouble. smokin' that weed. lead to that white stuff, then that her-oin....i see some 80 year old still lookin' for that fix. say you can't go down that wrong road, don't lead nowhere". he's friendly with everyone, and they shoot him an 'alright mr. lawrence', but he keeps a wary eye on the traffic continually pulling up out front. he lends a man a few dollars, a man he knows who comes up to his fence. then watches as the man tries to casually head next door. he just looks at me with these sad and knowing eyes, eyebrow raised with a little smile, as if to say, 'whatcha gonna do?'. our neighbor vera died during katrina and was buried in a makeshift grave at the corner of jackson and philip st. it made the national news. her partner, max, died shortly after. they say he just couldn't go on without his vera. i can still hear her voice ringing through the french doors as i tried to sleep in. it all seems just a bit harsher now. mr lawrence is still doing work on his home. he has removed trees, is planting trees, and is working on his front porch. his magnolia, "it was all hollowed out. coulda fit you and me up in there. coulda been a threesome up in there". he is the same man, softened some by the years, the children, the grandchildren. the light in his eyes, his face shines when he smiles. just like philip, his grandson. the doctor won't let him drive anymore so he feels a bit stuck on his property...but there's always work to do. in that way he has not changed, he works. he had open heart surgery and shows me the scar. then he brings out his pictures from a trip to washington state, where he went to see his sister. his pictures are of houses there, houses that he liked. and some of his sister's house and his sister, and the mountains. he brings me in and shows me his father, handsome in uniform in ww1, who would be 107 if he was alive.

i'm hoping i get to go back soon to visit again and show him some of the pictures i've got for him.