Day 1: Fortuna's Daughter At The Crossroads

Day 1: Fortuna’s Daughter At The Crossroads

I went down to the crossroads to see my Father where Dockery Road crosses old Highway 8. It wasn’t moonless and it wasn’t night. But I had been there before, many times even, just not with my eyes open. We stood there for a second and he nodded. “You’re looking more and more like your mother every day.” I kicked my foot in the dirt and smiled before grabbing his arm into our secret handshake.

I was coming to him for a reason. I need a direction, any direction and although I can do many things I don’t always focus on one thing. It’s like I’m constantly playing the shell game with myself.

I’m thinking about old Robert Johnson, the first of the 27 club. Ever since I was little I had a fascination with him.

In the delta of the Mississippi River, where Robert Johnson was born, they said that if an aspiring bluesman waited by the side of a deserted country crossroads in the dark of a moonless night, then Satan himself might come and tune his guitar, sealing a pact for the bluesman’s soul and guaranteeing a lifetime of easy money, women, and fame. They said that Robert Johnson must have waited by the crossroads and gotten his guitar fine-tuned.

Robert stood at these same crossroads once, but you see the storytellers, they got it all wrong. It’s not the Devil that stands at the crossroads but rather Elegba. And just because they wear the same colors don’t mean my Daddy is the Devil. He may be a trickster but he never once led me astray.

I’m the daughter of luck, wrong turns, right roads, and always in the right place at the right time. And so I give my Father my paintbrushes, my camera, my pen, and my cards and I ask him to tune them in and turn them out. You’ve brought me to this point now lead me to the next.

And he steps aside to look over at that setting sun and gestures that the path is clear. It’s my choice really, where I want to go next. I am Fortuna’s daughter after all.