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</span></span>​</div><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><span style="font-size: 18px">On a sunny day in the bayou the trees admired their reflections in the water. The buttressed trunks of the bald cypress with their knobby knees and an aptitude for growing with their bases submerged stretched high into the blue sky and continued sinking their roots deep into the green soup. They stood on sentry duty over the life here, guarding it, keeping it. They were both home and food, essential for the food chain and maintaining the habitat. They were old and their spirits mostly slept, hundreds of years or a day was very much the same to them.<br/>
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At night, the bayou vista changed and the spirits of the day were no longer at rest.<br/>
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What twelve-year-old Ayren Bélanger wouldn't do for a cool breeze to break through Bayou Cane's stifling heat and humidity. Thunderstorms had moved in, bringing with it an oppressive moisture that made everything feel boggy. Ayren was about ready to wilt, his pale blonde hair forming sweaty strings that clung to his forehead and cheek like wet seaweed. He hitched a ride to get over the causeway from the the Lower Ninth Ward, to Mandeville. His father's business was in Bayou Cane, and so were his air boats. But Ayren wouldn't be stopping by to pick up his belongings from their <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.ecoshel.com%2FGalleryDEST%2Fimages%2FEcolumina7SR_jpg.jpg&amp;hash=8e116642bd8da0af3804b8dd2e18de6a" href="http://www.ecoshel.com/GalleryDEST/images/Ecolumina7SR_jpg.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">family home in Houma.</a> He had everything he owned stuffed into a backpack, and his guitar and that was all he needed.<br/>
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His Dad, Étienne Bélanger owned Bélanger Eco-Tours, treating hundreds if not thousands of tourists every year to authentic <i>Louisiane Acadien </i>culture and cuisine. It became a family business. Étienne and his older children would pick up tourists on a tour bus in Mandeville which would then transport the tourists on a covered pontoon boat. On the tour, they would get to view the winding bayous in very remote cypress swamps. Bayou Cane offered some of the most spectacular wetland scenery of all the swamps, marshes and bottom lands. Étienne Bélanger shared his knowledge of the Louisiana swamp including alligator habits, healing plants, as well as the types of dangerous snakes, spiders and exotic birds living in the bayou.<br/>
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Ayren's parents carved their living from the area's swamps, lakes and bayous since they were children. With unsurpassed knowledge, Étienne taught all eight of his children the art of making a living out of traditional Cajun Culture, and that included his youngest boy, Ayren. By the time he was five, he could play the fiddle and the guitar with an innate, prodigal skill that the tourists found unique as well as entertaining. A lot of things changed when Étienne lost his wife, Amélie, just before Ayren's birthday. Ayren was six years old and hadn't yet turned seven before a flirtatious woman in a red dress caught Étienne's eye.<br/>
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He was swept off his feet by the woman that he hired as a nanny for six of his eight children, because the disabled man couldn't take care of his expanding business and a houseful of children at the same time. It must have been her <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DW5cZ5Na4DMg&amp;hash=d3a11c3775310841632210d006b8148c" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W5cZ5Na4DMg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">black magic</a> that brought <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=http%3A%2F%2F31.media.tumblr.com%2Ftumblr_m5i888vKh21qdg7aso7_250.jpg&amp;hash=f0d61fa4b0713473f5f195610f55e05c" href="http://31.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m5i888vKh21qdg7aso7_250.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">Denise Napier,</a> and her 12 year old son, <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.irishtimes.com%2Fpolopoly_fs%2F1.2283655.1436809820%21%2Fimage%2Fimage.jpg_gen%2Fderivatives%2Fbox_300_160%2Fimage.jpg&amp;hash=35ca48594e4e787ae0b3557f09ae1224" href="http://www.irishtimes.com/polopoly_fs/1.2283655.1436809820!/image/image.jpg_gen/derivatives/box_300_160/image.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">Baptiste</a> into his father's life, but it soon became six year old Ayren's curse. They lived in the same home, ate the same food, and practiced the same religion.<br/>
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So Étienne believed.<br/>
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Then again, he was caught up in Denise's charming ways and seductive appearance. His children thought she was a money grabbing, cruel bitch. And Denise? She thought his kids were a burden. Her cruelty extended to punishing his children for no reason, and the brunt of her abuse fell like a ton of bricks upon Ayren, who was forced to eat things he didn't like, until he vomited. Then he was forced to eat that too, or denied food. She didn't discipline, she beat the living daylights out of him.<i> Especially him.</i><br/>
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<i>Why?</i><br/>
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Ayren was the only one of the eight kids that favored Amélie, having her fair hair, porcelain complexion, and that smile. Denise wanted Etienne's attention back in high school, but all he had eyes for was Amélie. It was a perfect outcome, and once he married Denise, she had his money. But his kids would have to be dealt with first, starting with Étienne's last will and testament. Then a successive unfortunate series of accidents, and one by one until Marguerite died. Four down, four to go and then Etienne himself.<br/>
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Ayren became a chronic runaway because he could no longer stand the living conditions at home. He usually hitched a ride to New Orleans to hang out at the home of his best friend, Blaise. It wasn't as though his Mama, Miss Anna, minded setting up an extra plate for him at her dinner table. Nine times out of ten, a blanket and a pillow were set out so he would have a place to sleep for the night, and Miss Anna worried about Ayren just like he were her own son. As long as he obeyed her house rules, and went to church on Sundays, she never asked questions about why he ran away. <br/>
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Ayren would stay with Blaise for little while, and then he'd leave with the renewed hopes that things at home would get better. </span></span><span style="font-size: 18px"><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Two of his siblings were sick, and he found out that his sister and brother had died during his absence. Realizing that he could not stay in Houma, Ayren took some fresh clothes, a picture of his mother and some personal belongings and said goodbye to his family forever. It would be the last time he would see them all alive, and a feeling of dread haunted Ayren for a long time after leaving home. <br/>
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It was likely drawing upon his experience of loss formed the energy underneath Ayren's melodic voice, and the harmony he produced on the guitar strings. </span></span><br/><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><span style="font-size: 18px"><br/>
The day his presence formed a familiar shadow at the door of Miss Anna's house, there was yet another face for Ayren to introduce himself to. His name was Spencer, and he was Blaise's older cousin. He was a beefy looking kid, a little on the shy side, and Ayren was friendly and outgoing. A lot of it had to do with how he was raised in the Bayou to be polite, but Ayren was playing his guitar and singing while Miss Anna watched Jeopardy, Blaise drawing, and his cousin reading a book. Ayren decided to draw Spencer out of his shell by playing a song he learned by listening to the radio.<br/>
</span></span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><span style="font-size: 18px">-------------------------------------------------------------------</span></span>​</div><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><span style="font-size: 18px"><br/>
Almost as if he were taken back to the moment of his twelve-year-old self, Ayren Bélanger stared at the other man he'd addressed in the crowd when he requested that song. A moment of recollection flickered over his ruddy features, that would have alerted him instantly to the identity of the young man had he heard him say his name aloud. While it was difficult to see at first, there was a sense of familiarity between them that Ayren was trying to figure out in the moments before he set down the water bottle and started singing again. <br/>
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He called him <i>mon ange</i>, and Ayren's eyes twinkled. <b>"Boy you betta watch yo'self. Callin me dat, you fixin' to git yo'self in sum hot wadda, fo' sho."</b><br/>
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He smiled, releasing a husky laugh as he drew the tips of his fingers against all six strings of the Gibson dramatically. <b>"Nex song ah'm singin' is dis one right here, and it come from...Hey homme? Watchu say yo' name is?"</b><br/>
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Without further ado, Ayren started to sing. Not only did Ayren have a wonderfully clear tenor as he sang <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DGkuypwKUX2Y&amp;hash=9cb594177b4bd617fbfa778e33a9ce7d" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GkuypwKUX2Y" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">Your Call</a></span></span><a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DGkuypwKUX2Y&amp;hash=9cb594177b4bd617fbfa778e33a9ce7d" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GkuypwKUX2Y" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank"><i><span style="font-size: 18px"><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">,</span></span></i><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><span style="font-size: 18px"> by Secondhand Serenade.</span></span></a><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><span style="font-size: 18px"> He showed dynamic range and a growing improvement of his vocals as he belted out the song lyrics. The song showcased his ability to play very moving and emotional music. The lyrics he sang to the crowd would've been just as inspiring even if he read them aloud, but with his tender voice and the smooth mastery of his six stringed acoustic guitar, Ayren gave the passersby everything they needed to hear in order to be totally immersed in his beautiful music. <br/>
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His tranquil tropical depths stared deeply into the crowd, seeking out Spencer's face.<br/>
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<b>"Waiting for your call, I'm sick/Call, I'm angry/Call, I'm desperate for your voice/Listening to the song we used to sing in the car/Do you remember, Butterfly, Early Summer/It's playing on repeat/Just like when we would meet, like when we would meet/I was born to tell you I love you,/And I am torn to do what I have to,/To make you mine/Stay with me tonight/Stripped and polished, I am new, I am fresh/I am feeling so ambitious, you and me, flesh to flesh/'Cause every breath that you will take/While you are sitting next to me/Will bring life into my deepest hopes/What's your fantasy?/What's your, what's your, what's your, what's your/I was born to tell you I love you,/And I am torn to do what I have to,/To make you mine/Stay with me tonight."</b><br/>
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The vocal performance Ayren delivered showed off his talents as a singer. From the lower range he used during the verses to the higher notes he belted out during the chorus and the bridge, he had done a great job at showing nearly every aspect of his vocal ability. As the crowd that gathered on the sidewalk erupted in applause, everyone could now tell from the sound of his voice that he was a young man who had developed a polished and refined tone that came with age and experience. <br/>
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<b>"And I'm tired of being all alone,/And this solitary moment/Makes me want to come back home/And I'm tired of being all alone,/And this solitary moment/Makes me want to come back home/And I'm tired of being all alone,/And this solitary moment/Makes me want to come back home/And I'm tired of being all alone,/And this solitary moment/Makes me want to come back home/I was born to tell you I love you/And I am torn to do what I have to,/And I was born to tell you I love you,/And I am torn to do what I have to,/To make you mine/Stay with me tonight."</b><br/>
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Ayren bowed in response to all the clapping, his voice still warm from singing. <b>"Tanks y'all fo' listenin,</b> <i>bon jour mes amis!"</i> Ayren Belangér called out, with a smile.<br/>
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As the guitar case started to fill up with donations, Ayren crouched down to pick up a dollar that landed outside of the zone. He wanted to find out who the guy was that requested the song because he looked familiar to him now, but he didn't notice that someone else had also taken notice of his beautiful melody as well.<br/>
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