Dionysia

1

A month after Hurricane Ida swept through Westwego, Louisiana, Dennis Martin wiped some sweat off his brow. It seemed like another one of those hot and rainy days.

He stood on top of his ranch's roof, holding one end of a large blue tarp. His father, Louis Martin, tried to position the other end to where there'd been damage to the roof. In his other hand was a hand drill and nails, just one of the many things he had inside his overalls.

"Watch ya' self, Denny boy," Louis shouted over the noise. "Ya hear me?"

"Yeah pa," Denny responded. "I know."

As his father drilled through the tarp, Denny looked over at the other homes, which experienced the same damage as his family did. They'd been without power for several weeks, as well as a basement that was still partially flooded. To top it off, his father's marina business Martin & Sons suffered worse, damaging the facility and several of their tugboats.

Denny gazed at his father, the man he admired most in his twenty-one years of life so far. He was always a hard-working husband, father, and owner, proud of what he did. Despite the upbeat remarks he made, Denny could tell that he was devastated by the aftermath of Ida.

He should be, Denny thought. Damn storm is why da business's gonna go bankrupt soon.

It was harsh, but the truth. Denny knew because he worked there for the past four years, ever since he flunked out of high school in his junior year. He made many mistakes and never was a smart kid, but wanted to make his dad proud nonetheless.

"Denny, ya hear me?" Louis said twice, catching Denny's attention. "Hold the tarp tight, awrite? I'm almost done wit' this side."

"Awrite," Denny mumbled, hoping their repairment was over soon. He hadn't had anything to eat since yesterday's dinner.

"Whaddaya think ma's cooking in dere?" Louis asked, drilling the last nail into the plyboard under the tarp. "Make sure to use the zink once you're done, Denny, or she'll use her chancla on ya."

Denny laughed, knowing his mother Aurelia didn't like filthy hands on her plates. She was born in Cuba, her parents moving to New Orleans when she was a child. She met Louis at a college party in Tulane, which wasn't far from where they lived now. They eventually married and had three sons, with Denny being the oldest, and Percy and Manuel his younger brothers.

They'll fare off better than me, at least, Denny figured. Who knows if we'll have enough money to send dem to college, though.

Everything changed once Ida hit, Denny realized. His father would have to go into another business, frankly one that might not be like before. There were other shipyards along the Mississippi, but they were quite far from where the ranch was, located closer to the urban area of New Orleans. In any case, Denny would need to find a new job as well, in order to support his family first.

That's rite, he told himself. For the family, not me. I know pa and ma hope the best for me, but there's only one future ahead.

Denny looked north of their ranch, where the faint outline of a large, construction factory mixed with the gray skies. Called Blazen Materials, this conglomerate company was where supposedly all the dropouts and junkies from Denny's high school would wind up at. It was the place Denny figured he'd work for the rest of his life, dealing with dangerous materials like asphalt and concrete.

But that was the unfortunate reality for Denny, one that he didn't mind since he'd be able to provide for the family. Yet, it would never be enough, especially after the hurricane. Denny knew his father would have to work many more years to pay off his bankruptcy, even with compensation from his insurance.

Denny still remembered his years working with his pa at Martin & Sons, where he was taught many things about boats and how to maintain them. He actually enjoyed those times, even being called a natural mariner by the few people he worked with. He may have enjoyed a job like that more so than one at Blazen Materials, at least.

In another world, it sounded like the good ending to the play of this life. As Denny looked at the bruises on his hands, he imagined many more as a construction worker, the pain and dullness of everyday labor. Was that really the life he wanted?

A man can dream, he thought. Too bad dreams aren't real. Unless...

Denny remembered a memory in high school, where he'd meet with his friends under the bleachers, skipping class and gathering there once it was time for PE. One after another, they'd try liquor that the seniors would buy and resell to them. Illegal, yes, but it was like a getaway for Denny and the troubles in his life.

He regretted it, now four years sober after a terrible incident happened in his school. It was probably the greatest achievement he made, and even more pitiful that it was from underage drinking.

I fucked up, Denny thought. Pa and Ma know, but they never harassed me for it. How could I disappoint them like this? How can I be so pathetic at a time like this?

Denny and his father worked on the roof for a couple more hours, now covering most of the holes with the tarp and plywood. Denny also used the drill to balance the workload, somewhat familiar with it because of boat repair. It was hard work, but Denny was happy that he could help out his father, even if his arms and legs felt like they'd fall off.

But there was something floating in his brain, an idea that sounded so ridiculous if he said it out loud, much less to his father.

And it came from north of the Mississippi River, a college known for its lively party culture, Tulane University. After all, it was in New Orleans, the crescent city of nightlife. Denny knew his fair share of the city from his ma and pa, especially Tulane. Incoming freshman students attending Greek life frats and sororities were prone to underage drinking, but the college established "under 21" stamps on their student IDs for this reason.

Frats don't care if you're under 21, Denny thought to himself. They only care about the money you give them to walk in and drink their mixed shit. But what if that shit isn't theirs? Then, they would charge less and allow more students with fake IDs in, supply an' demand.

There were flaws to the idea, as Denny could just make counterfeit IDs for students to buy anonymously. But he had no skill for that, much less trying to avoid the law. Selling mixed drinks to frats secretly would be riskier, but it was something Denny could do with his talents as a mariner. Yet, he couldn't do it all himself, needing several other people to make the plan work.

That's why it's a stupid plan, Denny figured. Better scratch it out before I get any more shitty ideas.

Moments after, the front door to the stoop burst open, and a middle-aged, dark-skinned woman in a blue apron shot out of it.

"Sossidge is ready!" Aurelia hollered at Denny and his pa. "Get down here before it gets cold!"

"Coming, hon!" said Louis, drilling his last nail. "Let's get goin', Denny boy. We'll finish dis later tonight."

"Awrite," Denny mumbled, moving slowly off the roof's side and taking the ladder down. He helped his father down after, and they preceded to take the stoop porch inside. Denny took one last look at the Mississippi before he walked to his sossidge.

I could sail down to the Gulf, and maybe visit mamma's home country. I could live my life on the seas, without having to worry about what's happenin' on land.

But I'd need money for that.