my safe place,
Shiloh’s childhood started out great, but when Katrina hit New Orleans it did more than just flood the city; it washed away everything she knew. She had only been eight years old, and when any semblance of safety was ripped away, she found herself wishing for the things that go bump in the night. She started sneaking out of the house-this was before she realized the sneaking was unnecessary given that her father no longer cared-and heading into the French Quarter. It was the stories that her mother used to tell her that took her to the small garden next to the Beauregard-Keyes house on the corner of Chartres Street and Ursuline Avenue. She would spend hours upon hours tucked away, hidden from view in the foliage and watch the Old Ursuline Convent across the street. She would calm the fear raging inside her by plotting ways to release the ‘vampires’ trapped in the attic there, thinking of ways to make them grateful enough to her that they would take care of the real monster that dogged her every step. Being this close to ‘monsters’ made her feel an odd sense of power over her own life, and it was only when her lips turned blue from the cold night that she would begin the venture home. Even to this day, when the world seems a little too loud, or she needs to remember she’s not that terrified little girl anymore, she finds a warm seat in the garden and watches the convent.