In October 2005, a family returns to Gentilly, New Orleans, after Hurricane Katrina. The neighborhood presents a stark contrast to its vibrant past, now eerily silent without the sounds of children playing or music. The family encounters destruction, including a crashed car and downed tree branches, with a spray-painted orange X on their house indicating it had been searched by rescue teams. The X communicates critical information, including search status and any hazards, highlighting the traumatic reality of their return amidst the aftermath of the storm.
The scene before me appeared and disappeared and reappeared again with every breath I took, the hot air from my lungs fogging the gas mask that fit snugly over my face.
Our neighborhood had never been this quiet before. There had always been kids riding bikes, or someone playing music from their car or their front porch.
A silver car with clouded windows had crashed into the trunk of the old oak tree in front of our home, its hood bent into a crooked crescent.
Each quadrant of the X had a different number. The top quadrant showed the time and date the house had been searched.
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