Well, fine, if my destination awaits, then I'll just go to the next place I planned on, I thought. But as I walked to the voodoo museum, I thought about it, and the lady was right. Any place you travel to, any place you go, physical or emotional, is a journey both to and from. I've always stood on the line between belief and skepticism, and this summer, so far, was not helping. It was only making me more confused and less willing to pick a side. Maybe I didn't have to. Maybe I was just a traveler.
I opened the door and was greeted by overpowering incense floating out the front door. Through the smell filtered the curator's voice: “Good morning.” I managed to choke out “Good morning” in return and then proceeded to hold my breath, discreetly I hoped. I wasn't sure how he could breathe. I still remember that smell. He proceeded to tell me all about the museum and how it was founded to honor and educate about Marie Laveau, New Orleans' voodoo queen. I wandered through the various rooms of pictures and placards and small altars. I was torn between paying my respects and trying to stay under the radar of whatever gods might or might not live there. I felt like I was being watched, but I saw nobody.
As I turned around to go back to the front of the museum, I heard the door shut. Had the owner left? I found him back at his desk in the front room, looking pensive. He stood up and walked over to the wall of charms and grisgris and pulled one down.
“You best take this.” He was serious. Something was going on, maybe to do with the person who just came and went.
“Nothin'. Jus' keep it with you and use it well.”
“Thank you... what is it?”
“Ask your girl.”
My girl? But I didn't have... and he couldn't mean... Dani?