Vicksburg, Mississippi
Vicksburg is where I spent my last few years in Mississippi, and is the place where I made the most friends, had the most experiences, and have the most memories. I was there a few days ago, and just as I feared I was incredibly uncomfortable the whole time I was in public. I had the constant sensation of suffocation, and could only keep my head low and my pace quick, hoping so hard that no one would recognize me and pull me into a pit of eye-gouging “reunion questions.”
I was there to see Jessica, one of the few to survive such a place, held upright by the steadfast desire to leave and see more, and stressed by her (temporary) inability to do so. My discomfort was apparent, and she asked me what trauma had befallen me here to make me fidget so. But that was not my problem. Not the single instance of a horrible event, but rather the hundreds of tiny happenings that made life there so unbearable for me.
People who only knew of life within a six mile radius of themselves, and wanted nothing more. Stores that kept closing and restaurants where a decent meal couldn’t be had. Conversations about the new traffic light and baby Jesus. Thoughts that never veered to the unorthodox, actions that never teetered on risky, minds that never asked questions.
There are a few lonely spots where new things are being built, but these mostly consist of hotels to house the town’s growing casino populace. There is an entire mall with barely a customer. Street after street of abandoned, dilapidated or bankrupt buildings. Historial homes “protected” by new growth and renovation that slowly rot from the inside out. But you can always find a church… big ones, small ones, every Christian denomination represented. Fine brick work and spacious parking lots for savers and savees…
The place is a spark killer, plain and simple. I’ve watched it happen, and it continues to happen.