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Dear Hendrix,
One day, while we were lying in bed, your dad asked, “So, if you could go anywhere in the continental United States, where would you go?”
Ha! That was easy. “New Orleans!”
“Why is that?” he asked.
“Well, my family is from there, and I grew up hearing about it all the time. I’ve been wanting to visit for years but just haven’t had the chance.”
To visit the city of New Orleans was, to me, like reaching Narnia. Or better yet, it was like Ash trying to get to the World Coronation Series to battle Leon and finally become a Pokémon master! (Dork alert!) It was a place I could only ever imagine, creating a hazy image in my head based on the many stories and references I heard while growing up with my mom and grandparents.
I was too poor to take a trip like that. I barely traveled in my twenties because I needed to eat and pay rent. I couldn’t sacrifice those things. I was the girl who did basic fractions with lunch meals to make sure I had dinner that night. How could I afford a trip to New Orleans?
It sounds cheesy, but your dad has a knack for making people’s dreams come true. He just has a loving heart and thrives from seeing others happy, especially someone he adores (like me!). It’s a damn fine quality. The next time we were in bed, he said, “So, how about we take a trip to New Orleans?”
I popped up and blurted out, “Really?!”
“Yeah, why not? We should go! I’ll pay for it. It’s a special place to you. Your family’s history has roots there. We gotta go.”
I could have gone down on him at that moment and not come up for air; it was so freaking sweet.
Little did I know, a month or so prior, Uncle Cedric and your dad had gone to a basketball game, and your dad began asking Uncle Cedric questions like “How do you know when someone is… the one?”
As we planned our trip, we decided Halloween would be the perfect time and made the arrangements. I couldn’t believe it! I was finally going to the place I’d heard about my entire life. New Freaking Orleans, Louisiana! I was so excited. I imagined what it might be like: the people, the weather, the buildings and accents, all of it.
We hopped on a plane a few days before Halloween, 2018. For some reason, I was nervous. Was the city going to live up to everything I thought I knew? Was I going to be accepted as a Northerner who claimed the city even though I’d never set foot in it? What was it like, especially post-Katrina? Was it still magical? Those nerves didn’t last long. My excitement and love for the place was just too strong. My family’s legacy was just too important. I could feel it in every molecule of air once we touched down.
As the plane landed, I couldn’t stop looking out the airplane window. I was like a little kid staring at all the rides at Disneyland. My infatuation continued in the Uber, staring out the window—smiling, excited, amazed. The French influence was everywhere! The architecture I saw in movies was unreal to see in person. Even the Uber driver’s accent was reminiscent of my Southern family, who would visit us in Seattle for holidays.
The drive to the hotel felt like hours. I couldn’t wait to get out of the car and explore this amazing city. I couldn’t believe I was finally there. And your dad made it all happen. Finally, we arrived at the Alder Hotel, checked in with the kind staff, and went up to our room. Your dad went into the bathroom as I tried to figure out what to do with my hair. I was still wearing it straight back then, and the New Orleans weather was like living underwater. The humidity was so intense. I finally gave up and said, “I’m just going to put a scarf on my head because I don’t know what to do with this hai…”
Then suddenly your dad was in the room. He dropped to one knee. “Hey, babe, will you marry me?”
The room became really bright. I was lightheaded, shocked, and speechless. OF COURSE!!!!! The moment shook me. I started going on about how I never thought I would be proposed to, and how I can’t believe this is happening. Then your dad, slightly tired of hearing me rant and being on one knee for so long, interrupted to ask, “Are you saying yes or no?”
I realized then, after he got me out of my zoned-out state, I’d forgotten to say yes and yelled, “Oh my god! Yes, of course I’ll marry you!” Then he slipped on a nearly 100-year-old family heirloom ring that included two beautiful diamonds and a pearl smack-dab in the middle. Pearls just happen to be one of my birthstones!
The first thing I wanted to do after calling our families and telling them the great news was, believe it or not, go to a New Orleans strip club! I hope I didn’t bury the lede here, but I’d never in my life been to any kind of strip club. And for some reason, it felt like the time to finally go with my new fiancé! In total, we popped into two or three different places along Bourbon Street (totally underwhelming, by the way, but no one told me you’re not supposed to go to strip clubs on a Monday), but one memorable thing did happen. Riding up the elevator to the second floor in one establishment, we shared the lift with one of the spot’s dancers. Before I knew it, I put my big ol’ hand with my engagement ring right in her face, totally excited, and vomited, “He just proposed to me!!”
The gal, wearing almost nothing, replied back, very, very dryly, “Oh, that’s nice…”
And here’s the lesson, dear Henny. If a proposal is in the air, make sure it happens in the most special of places. When it does, please don’t put your ring in anyone’s face. Especially on a Monday night… in a strip club… on Bourbon Street. (Long live New Orleans!)
Eva Walker is a writer, a KEXP DJ, one-half of the rock duo the Black Tones, and mom to her baby girl, Hendrix. She also cowrote the book The Sound of Seattle: 101 Songs That Shaped a City, which was released in 2024. Every month for The Stranger, she writes a letter to Hendrix to share wisdom learned from her experiences—and her mistakes. Read all installments here.