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</b><br/><b>"Dat's sum gift dis. Must got a horseshoe</b><i>votre derrière</i>,<i>mon cher.</i>"<br/><br/><div class="bbCodeSpoiler">
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<div class="bbCodeBlock-content">Translation: up your ass, sweetheart</div>
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</div><br/><b>"As you wish, </b><i>mon ange.</i><b>Take yo' time. Mmm." </b>Ayren sighed, settling back against the leather bucket seat to get more comfortable.<br/><br/><div class="bbCodeSpoiler">
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<div class="bbCodeBlock-content">Translation: angel</div>
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</div><br/>He nearly shot out of the passenger seat from shock when he saw a sparkling light spread from her fingers that seemed to paint the scenery outside their vehicle in shimmering rainbow lights.<br/><br/>Ayren rubbed his eyes in astonishment.<b>"Girrl. Dis sum kinda voodoo shit? Cause ah seen sum strannngeee<i> juju</i> be'fo but dis sum <i>gumbo-ya-ya! </i>De sky look funny now, yeah....wat you do?" </b>he asked.<br/><br/><div class="bbCodeSpoiler">
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<div class="bbCodeBlock-content">Translation: magic;  clusterfuck</div>
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</div><br/>Ayren's cupid's bow lips tilted into a lopsided grin when she said she was okay with the nickname he gave her. Either she was being incredibly sarcastic or it was a sad attempt at pulling his leg. Ayren settled for the latter. He was finally relieved to know that he had an actual name to call her besides<i> Rainbow Brite.</i>Not that the woman's magic fingers did a whole lot to ease his anxiety level. Roxie had passed the city limits sign a ways back, the last three exits for Kenner and Metairie behind them.<br/><br/>After the car crossed over the Rigolets Bridge that connected the Mississippi Sound with Lake Pontchartrain, Roxie merged into the westbound lane of US 90, heading into St. Tammany Parish and Cajun country. Ayren silently worried she was some bayou voodoo priestess, and he might be heading to his doom as a willing sacrifice on her altar. The feeling of apprehension increased when he read the sign on the highway median, and Ayren had to wipe away a sheen of nervous perspiration from his forehead.<br/><br/><i><span style="font-size: 22px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#59b300">Houma. Bayou Cane. Take Route 182, Exit 1.5 miles.</span></span></i><br/><br/><i>Memories.</i><br/><br/>The city of Houma, Louisiana, held a lot of bad memories for Ayren Belanger. All of those memories led up to one singular moment of his childhood. Not even the proud bald cypress trees and their Spanish moss veils or the hum of the bayou could form a lull, apart from the long line of mourners crying and fanning themselves at Chauvin Funeral Home. She was lying peacefully in a white lace dress with a blue sash, her favorite dress. It matched her eyes when she was among the living.<br/><br/>Every time she wore that dress, it made her husband count his blessings because he had such a gorgeous wife. As the mother of eight children,<i>Amelie Belanger </i>didn't look a day older than thirty-five, even though she was pushing forty-five. Her long platinum blonde hair was braided in a loose French braid with the wildflowers that her five-year old son, Ayren, hand-picked for her days before her untimely death. The flowers were intertwined in her hair, hands folded neatly over her belly. She looked so peaceful, so still.<br/><br/>Michael Chauvin, the funeral director had done a good job with the preparation of the viewing, otherwise Amelie would've have required a closed casket. Even though Mr. Chauvin worked miracles, Ayren knew something was very wrong with his mama, very very wrong. Amelie's bright smile, the one that instantly made everything all better, was gone. Ayren could no longer hear her bright laughter, and even though her eyes were closed like she were pretending to be sleeping, he could still remember their blue color.<br/><br/><b>"Why's everybody crying? Why?" </b>Ayren asked his big brother, Henri.<br/><br/><b>"Mama's here, its gonna be awrite. She gonna make everyone feel better, honest." </b>Ayren replied, so optimistically for such a young boy.<br/><br/><b>"No, Ayren. Mama's not here no'mo. Her body's dere, but she gone to be wid Jesus now," </b>his older brother Henri, explained.<br/><br/>A hit and run driver stole Ayren Belanger's world away the instant Amelie was struck by their vehicle while changing a flat tire on US-90. The impact sent her broken body flying 250 feet into a drainage ditch, instantly killing her. Ayren's eyes began to swell as a massive wave of grief swept over him. A single tear slid down his cheek, warm and almost comforting. His mama would never again sit on his bed, sing songs in a strange language she only spoke to him with, or tell him stories of fairies before bed. Now she lie in an oak coffin lined with purple velvet, her favorite color.<br/><br/>The person responsible for her murder, was never caught.<br/><br/>All Ayren could remember was wanting to wake her up out of her stillness, so she was no longer lifeless and quiet. More and more tears were held back by the banks of the five-year old's aquamarine eyes. He didn't know it then, but many more tears would be coming in the future. A year later, his father remarried<i>Denise Arceneaux. </i>Their honeymoon period lasted only six months after their wedding. It soon escalated from verbal abuse and withholding Ayren food, to physical abuse doled out in heaping amounts by his new step-mother.<br/><br/>Denise yelled and beat Ayren black and blue just because he looked like just like Amelie Belanger. From the stories he'd been told, Denise and Amelie were rivals in high school competing for the love of one man: Emile Belanger. Now that Denise finally had the man she wanted, it was hard to look into Ayren's bright blue eyes without wanting to slap or punch him until it broke bones and left bruises on his flesh as well as his spirit. His step-mother almost succeeded, until Ayren was old enough to pack up his guitar and his meager belongings and run away from home.<br/><br/>Ayren played his heart out on the streets of New Orleans busking for tourists in order to survive. As he sat in the passenger seat of Roxie's enchanted car, the memories became too much for Ayren to bear, especially when she started talking about his real mother and some other hard to believe bullshit. He wiped away a tear at his memory, but the Cajun boy from Houma, was older, a lot more street savvy now and less easily swayed. Then again, Ayren had earned enough street cred from fellow Nawlins buskers to be dubbed:<br/><br/><i>The Cajun Prince.</i><br/><br/>Ayren always promised his mama that he'd always try to see the good in everyone and be good to others the way she would have wanted him to. Ayren was pissed off, and despite wanting to say something nasty to Roxie, he couldn't. She seemed so convincing, that he almost actually<i>believed</i>the wild tale she was weaving. It was in that moment he was reminded of a story his mama once told him while speaking about his true heritage, and that was when Ayren finally started speaking.<br/><br/><b>"Dat </b>tataille<b>back dere. Dat was a Sluagh yeah?" </b>Ayren asked, pronouncing the word like<i>slaw</i>, a little incorrectly.<br/><br/><div class="bbCodeSpoiler">
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<div class="bbCodeBlock-content">Translation: boogeyman</div>
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</div><br/><b>"Mama tole me dat story of</b><i>de tataille.</i><b>But ah always thought it was bullshit. Ah tink ah changed mah mind now, me. Ah know wat ah saw back dere. It real."</b><br/><br/>Then Ayren paused, shifting in his seat to look at Roxie with an incredulous and quite outraged expression on his face.<b> "My REAL mama?"</b><br/><br/>Ayren quietly contemplated what he would say next, before he came right out and said it.<b>"Now ain't dis sum shit! Mah dear </b><i>defan mama</i><b> she bury in a cema'terry down in Terrebonne Parish, and been dat way since ah was five. My Mama dead, ain't nah bringin' her back, no."</b><br/><br/><div class="bbCodeSpoiler">
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<div class="bbCodeBlock-content">Translation: dear departed mother</div>
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</div><br/><b>"De only otha mama ah had was dat witchy bitch mah daddy married. She bad, bad. You ain't sum magic twin sista of hers areya? Cause you kin lemme de fuck out dis car rite heyah, Foxie Roxie. Ain't goin' nowhere witchu if dat de case." </b>Ayren said.<br/><br/>There was no hiding the bitterness and hurt that was so very palpable in his voice.<br/><br/>"<i>Mais</i>IF. If mah REAL MAMA gave a damn bout me, she 'sho de hell picked de wrong woman to raise me. Denise Arceneaux? SERIOUSLY? Wat? My REAL MAMA run outta betta options up dere in fairyland?"<br/><br/><div class="bbCodeSpoiler">
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<div class="bbCodeBlock-content">Translation: AS IF</div>
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</div><br/><b>"You dayum rite ah got questions. You gonna answer all of 'em be'fo ah even start believin' dis crazy ass story."</b>Ayren huffed, settling back for the ride.<br/><br/>Until their final destination was reached, Ayren sat in uncomfortable silence, unless Roxie decided to fling his ass out the passenger side of her car before their arrival at the place she called home.