When I Fell for Amanda

Tim Achee's Memories of Amanda

It wasn't too long ago that I had the honor of meeting Amanda for the second time. The first was brief. Into the room at Doug's and Janet's house in Atlanta came Lillian and Amanda on their way out for a trip to the library. Hello. Nice to meet you. Goodbye.

The second time was different. Robb, Carole, Amanda and Lillian all came down to my neck of the woods this time. They decided to visit New Orleans, and Valerie and I drove down there from Baton Rouge to meet them all in the French Quarter.

We set out from the Monteleon on Royal Street and headed for the Cafe Du Monde for cafe au lait and beignet. That was my idea. A ritual for the quarter, as it were. I couldn't help but note that Amanda and Lillian were pouting a bit. They had wanted to go off on their own, but no one in their right mind lets their kids do that in New Orleans anymore.

The girls' spirits brightened a bit after a few minutes. All around were other teens and pre-teens with their parents, and I think they were beginning to see that we might know what we were talking about after all. At least it was apparent that they weren't alone.

Valerie, Carole, Amanda and Lillian all wanted to see the French market next. And Robb and I, well, we wanted a drink. Or two. At the right bar on Bourbon Street, a drink can be generous. Two or three can get you well on the way to Mardi Gras, even if it is the middle of summer.

An hour or so later, Robb and I met the "girls" just outside the Cafe Du Monde. And after a short walk to my car, so that Robb and I could freshen our empty go cups from a bottle, we all headed for the hotel room to cool off a bit.

We got to talking up there in the cool of the air conditioning. Something I said struck a chord with Amanda. It was not what I said, but how I said it. I was slurring, and Amanda was tickled, quoting something from someone else in the same condition from another time.

She had me, all right. All I could think to say was, "I'm not that bad, am I?"

The girls decided to visit the pool on the rooftop of the hotel. Robb and I talked a bit, then Robb played his harp. I listened to his blues, wishing I had my guitar. We finished our drink, then decided to go up to the roof too. It was then Robb decided to explain the story of Amanda's Uncle Doug and why Amanda was tickled by my slurred speech. Forgive me for telling tales here, Doug, but we've all been there.

When Robb and I got to the roof, the girls were already gone. How we missed them is still a mystery. But Robb and I weren't worried about that just yet. We hung out on the roof and Robb pointed out buildings I couldn't identify, and we generally just talked. In the course of our catching up, we had wondered over to a corner of the rooftop where no one coming from the main pool area could see us at a glance.

This proved to be our downfall. Or might have been if it hadn't been for Amanda.

After a good while, Robb and I decided it was time to get back to the room so we could get back to Bourbon Street eventually. When we got to the room, I knew immediately that Valerie was mad. Carole wasn't thrilled either. Right away, our wives wanted to know where we had been. Now, Valerie knows me too well, and anything she might have imagined hasn't been too far off base in the past. And Valerie's aggravation must have transmitted to Carole. And there she was in a strange city, a wild city, with a MIA husband.

So why should they believe we had been on the roof looking for them? Why should Amanda and Lillian?

Still slurring, I began to explain. Or at least tell the truth, because we still don't know how we missed each other. But there was Amanda, sitting on the bed, enjoying the plight of these two same men who had insisted the quarter was too dangerous for a teen to wander alone with her little sister.

She looked up at me, with the most shit-eating grin I've ever seen, and said, "Y'all are bus-ted!"

At that moment, she won me over. I fell, all the way, for Amanda. A child after my own heart. She penetrated right through an awkward moment, an embarrassing moment, and with wit and wisdom, called the tune. Even if Robb and I were innocent. Amanda knew our innocence was mostly accidental.

My name is Tim Achee. I've known Robb for years. We email often. Of all the joys we've shared in our talks, I know that telling each other of our childrens' progress has been the most joyous and the most meaningful. Mostly for this, I will deeply miss Amanda. Yet, when it hurts, I think back on the expression on her face, that slight Georgia accent, and the beautiful candor of her words: "Y'all are bus-ted." And I can laugh again.

Tim Achee, 7/97