As full of beignets as two people could be, Nick and Sarah went north to watch some baseball, drink some healing wine, and find a to-die-for engagement ring in Jackson, Mississippi.  The couple was heading directly into the deep, deep South.  And it was getting hot, too.  Neither of them had ever been to Mississippi, which made them both a little giddy.  Or maybe it was the humidity that made them act like teenagers.

They kept the windows of the Jeep down, and could feel the heat hitting them as they drove.  And they knew they would miss the worst of the heat by months.

“Who planned it,” Nick asked, “that we would end up in the South in the late Spring?”

“I think we can blame that on both of us,” Sarah said, her hair blowing into her face and sticking to her forehead.  “Both of us, and LACK of planning.”  She reached for the book of CDs, continuing, “Besides, it’s not that hot.”

Nick nodded and listened to see what soundtrack she was selecting for this leg of the trip.  He was expecting something sticky and heavy, like the Dr. John and Professor Longhair that they had been listening to for the last week, where each note sounded upbeat yet damp somehow.  Instead, he was hearing the beginning of “Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes”.

“Jimmy Buffett?” Nick asked.  “He’s so…beachy.”

“He’s from Mississippi,” Sarah said.

“No,” Nick actually couldn’t believe it.  Then he smacked himself on the forehead.  “Sarah?” he asked.

“Yes, Nick?” Sarah responded.

“Do you know of any other famous people from Mississippi?”  He knew he would hear it anyway, so he thought he might as well just ask.

She turned to sit sideways in the passenger seat to face him, smiling. 

“Yes, I do, as a matter of fact,” she told him, taking a deep breath.  “Well, Elvis, of course.”

“Duh,” Nick responded.

“Morgan Freeman, who, as you know, rules,” she went on.  “Also from Mississippi, though not specifically Jackson, are James Earl Jones…”

“Who also rules,” Nick said.

Sarah nodded, “And Jim Henson, and Blind Melon—I do so miss them—and Nate Dogg…”

“Interesting mix of people,” Nick observed.

“It gets better,” Sarah told him.  “Walter Payton, Oprah, and Tennessee Williams…”

“He’s not from Tennessee, then?” Nick was mocking her.

Playing along, Sarah said, “You’d think so, but no.  That’s why I think we should name our first child ‘New Jersey’.”

Nick shook his head.  “With a name like that, she’d end up on ‘Flavor of Love’ part 182 or something.”

“And,” Sarah finished, “Medgar Evers, of course, is from Mississippi.”

Nick briefly bowed his head.  “Of course,” he echoed.

“There are more, but I won’t bore you,” Sarah told him as she turned to face forward.

“Thank you,” Nick responded.

“But there is rich baseball history in this here state,” Sarah warned.

“Tell me about it at the game, then,” Nick said quietly.

They had already planned on seeing a minor league baseball game while they were there.  Jackson happened to have a team that happened to have a homestand when they happened to be in town.  It was fate.

First, they stopped at their hotel, the Old Capitol Inn at 2256 North State Street, Jackson, MS 39201.  The room had a balcony.  Sarah opened the doors and looked out over the garden and freshwater pool.

“Let’s go for a swim,” Sarah said.

They got on their bathing suits and went into the garden, shedding layers and towels before they hopped into the water.  It was completely refreshing.  They really just splashed around and floated for about an hour until they decided to get a quick nap before the ballgame. 

That evening they went to Trustmark Park to see the Mississippi Braves play against the West Tenn Diamond Jaxx.  Sarah had, once, again, used her connections in baseball to get them good seats, but it didn’t really matter.  Minor League games weren’t quite like the Major League games on ESPN.  Big companies with season tickets rarely use their seats except for big events, like giveaways or fireworks nights, so anyone can sneak down and be right by the field, as long as the ushers didn’t care.   Nonetheless, Nick and Sarah settled into their assigned seats above the third base dugout to enjoy some baseball, hot dogs, and beer.

Putting his feet up on the empty seat in front of him, Nick asked, “Is there any time when beer tastes better than it does at a ballgame?”

“Not that I can think of,” Sarah answered, biting into her hot dog.

They relaxed into their seats and enjoyed the game, particularly the between-inning contests and games that minor league teams always had to draw more fans.  Although a AA-ball game offered them a far lesser chance of seeing a well-turned double play, it DID offer a much greater chance of seeing two drunk people wrestling in Sumo suits.  It was a trade-off.  That night, the Mississippi Braves beat the Diamond Jaxx, 5-2, which was good, as Nick and Sarah decided to root for the home team and had screamed their heads off and started the wave—twice—to show their allegiance.

After the game, they brought the Jeep back to the hotel and walked to the 930 Blues Caf? at 930 North Congress Street, Jackson, MS 39202.  It was a funky joint built into a house in one of the most historic neighborhoods in Jackson. 

“It feels like we’re going into someone’s private party,” Sarah said.

As he handed over money for the cover charge, Nick told her, “I don’t think I’d pay a cover for a house party.”

It seemed that everyone there knew who Jackie Bell, Norman Clark and the Smoke Stack Lightning Band were.  They were playing to an already-packed house that was decorated in full-on Mississippi Delta style.  After finding out that the beer selection was limited, Nick and Sarah started drinking whiskey, because it seemed like the right drink for the place.  They both got up and danced, and, after the bartenders and regulars found out that the couple was from out of town, didn’t seem to have to pay for another drink all night.  They were having such a good time dancing and drinking that they didn’t realize that they had gone way past a normal last call. 

Sweaty and a little woozy, Sarah looked at her watch and tugged Nick over to the bar.

“It’s 3:00am,” she told him.

“Really?”  Nick asked, and leaned over to the bartender.  “What time do y’all close?” he asked.

The bartender smiled.  “We don’t,” he said.

Even though the party seemed to rage on, Nick and Sarah shuffled back to the hotel and fell into bed. 

The next day, Sarah woke up and turned to look at the clock.  She nudged Nick.

“It’s after 11,” she told him.

“I don’t feel good,” he said without opening his eyes.

“We need coffee,” Sarah told him.

“This doesn’t FEEL like the City of Grace and Benevolence,” he said, rolling onto his side.

“The city is benevolent,” Sarah said.  “The whiskey is not.”

He sat up.  “I’ll get cleaned up,” he said.

“And put on your most plaid shorts, babe,” Sarah said as she watched him walking to the bathroom.  “I feel like hitting some balls today.”

He peered around the corner and looked at her, hair standing on end from a rough night’s sleep.  “You ARE talking about golf, right?”

Sarah threw a pillow at him and he retreated to the shower.

They went to CUPS coffee, which was some kind of a Deep South institution.  The work of local artists was on the walls, and there was no evidence of anything corporate to be seen, although there were several franchises.  They quietly drank their coffee and waited for their hangovers to wane.  After several glasses of water and a few lattes, they were ready.

LaFleur’s Bluff State Park was the perfect name for a park in the South.  There was swimming, tennis, and fishing, along with playgrounds and picnic areas.  And a public nine-hole golf course.  Instead, they opted for the driving range.  It required less motor skill and allowed for more conversation.  They were overtired and jacked-up on caffeine, so they just wanted to wail on golf balls, a la Happy Gilmore.  After laughing themselves silly over their inability to hit a ball straight, the headed for the nearest grassy knoll and sprawled out on the ground.

“If I stay like this,” Nick said, “they could draw a chalk outline around me and I wouldn’t care.”

“Mm-hmmm,” Sarah agreed, closing her eyes in the afternoon sun.

They both fell asleep for a while, and woke up refreshed and hungry.  After stopping to buy native Mississippi wine, they went to the Mayflower Caf?, which was supposed to have the freshest seafood in the city.  After ordering their food, Nick and Sarah popped open the wine they had brought with them.

“It is too cool that we can do this here,” Nick commented.

“And this wine is special,” Sarah told him.  “It’s HEALING wine.”

“It is not,” Nick said.

“But it is,” Sarah responded, having a swig from her glass.  “This guy, Dr. Galbreath, a veterinarian, had been making wine from these southern grapes called ‘muscadines’.  After his wife got sick, he did some research and discovered that muscadine seeds and skins have healing properties that they don’t know much about yet, except that they work.  His wife got better, and now they sell a pill form of the mush left over after the wine is made, and people swear by it.”

“So this wine will heal me?” Nick asked.

“So they say,” Sarah nodded.

“And what is this particular wine?”

“Well,” Sarah told him, “this is Blue Bayou from Old South Winery, where the healing wine and supplements come from.  I also got the Bayou Blush, which we should, technically, eat with dinner.  It’s supposed to be good with seafood.”

“Okay, then,” Nick said.  “Healing wine.  Who knew?”

After eating an excellent meal that seemed to take forever, they returned to the hotel feeling slothful.  They decided to relax in the rooftop hot tub and then call it a night.

The next morning, after getting coffee and walking around the historical districts of Jackson, they walked to one of Jackson’s more eclectic jewelers.  The man working there was wearing more jewelry than Sarah had in her entire life, combined.  Diamond rings, diamond watch, diamond chains around his neck, and one diamond stud on one of his earlobes.

“How can I help you?” he asked, reaching out a well-adorned hand to shake with Nick’s bare one.  “My name is James.”

“We’re looking for an engagement ring,” Nick told him, putting his arm around Sarah.

“Fantastic,” James said.  “Do you have anything in particular in mind?”

“Well,” Sarah said, “nothing too, um, ostentatious.”  She didn’t want to offend James, who appeared to really like his jewelry.

James began picking some rings out for Sarah to look at.  As he arranged them, Sarah was almost mesmerized by the glare from his watch.  James looked up and caught her staring like a deer in headlights at his wrist.

“Don’t be too impressed by this, darlin’,” James said.  Then he lowered his voice.  “A lot of this is CZ.  I just like the look.”

Sarah tried on the simplest ring in the lot.  It was a pave-set ring with a 2-carat diamond. 

“That one is all real,” James assured her.  “And gorgeous on you.  But you should try on something with a little more fire, girl.  A girl like you can handle it.”  He held out a ring that was three bands of channel-set diamonds that all came together at a huge center princess-cut stone.

“That might be a little much for me,” Sarah told him.

Nick spoke up.  “All of these diamonds are conflict-free, I assume,” he said.

“Of course,” James told him.  “They are all certified diamonds.”

“Are any of them lab-grown?” Nick asked.

“We do actually have some lab-grown diamonds,” James said, “But they are, of course, not as valuable.”

Nick raised an eyebrow.”Not as valuable, or not as costly?” he said quietly.

“Well,” James explained, “On the diamond market, a gem that has been developed in the earth over millions of years is going to be worth much more than one that is made in less than a month in a lab somewhere.”

Nick nodded.  “But can you see the difference?” he asked.

“No,” James told him, “But you KNOW the difference.  And we have certificates to let you know that.”

“Excellent,” Nick said.  “Good information.”  He turned to Sarah.  “See anything you love, babe?”

“Not yet,” Sarah said, “But let’s come back tomorrow and look when we have more time.”

Nick took her hand and kissed it.  Looking at James, he said, “See you tomorrow, then.”

They left the store in time to get to the Russell C. Davis Planetarium to see a movie called “Dinosaurs Alive!”  It was going to be an excellent show on a giant screen like that.

“If we’re going to the planetarium,” Nick said, “it seems like we should at least stop at the Jerusalem Caf? for a little hookah experience first.”

“I don’t think,” Sarah said, “that they have what you’re thinking of.  This isn’t Amsterdam.  And we’re not going to a Pink Floyd laser show.”

As they walked together, hand-in-hand, she put his head on his shoulder.

“If you want to, though, Nicky,” Sarah said, “we can go to the Jerusalem Caf? after the show.  This is the South.  I’m dying to see if they have falafel ‘n grits on the menu.”

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