The sun settled into the mighty Mississippi as I sat on the hood of my hand-me down car.
I was 19 years old, and the very next morning I would begin a new chapter in my life. I had traded in my high school Natchez High Bulldogs sweater for a Delta State Fighting Okra polo shirt.
The back seat of my dirty and dinged up Chevrolet was filled with about five pieces of luggage, an office fridge, a computer, a bookcase and a mountain of books that would show I was “well-read” to my dorm room visitors.
In the front seat was my trusty music collection that would help me get through the grueling four-hour drive into this strange land called the Delta. I had never stepped foot in the Delta before, and I was about to call her home for the next few years.
But before I made the voyage into the great unknown, I wanted to spend my last evening in my beloved hometown. Natchez...the place that shaped me during my youth.
Hometowns never relinquish that title. They are the places our minds drift back to as our lives push forward. And I was proud to call Natchez mine.
To friends and family, I exuberated such an air of confidence and even impatience to hit the road. With a sneer and an arrogant laugh, I vowed to never return to Natchez.
I was going places. There was no need for nostalgia for a place that I plotted to leave for most if not all of my teenage years.
But, deep inside, I knew I would miss her. I would truly miss the bluffs and the sunsets of my river town.
After about a week-long celebration with childhood friends, I decided to spend my last night alone. I wanted to soak up every last memory of Natchez before traveling full-speed ahead to Cleveland and the land of the Statesmen.
The first stop was to my old high school locker at Natchez High School. The school was an architectural experiment if there ever was one. Built in the 60s or 70s, the campus was scattered with square buildings with four classrooms in each one. Lockers, sidewalks, fountains and open green spaces littered the land adjoining a hay field on one side and a grocery store on the other.
Twirling through the halfway rusted lock, my same combination actually worked. I grinned as I pulled up on the metal hook.
School had not started yet, so the only reminders of the previous year were a few loose pencils and gum wrappers...and what appeared to be the cellophane of a cigarette pack.
But before I closed the door, I noticed the all-too familiar graffiti marks along the back side. And there it was in a black marker.
Jamie Kemp, Class of 2000.
My name remained in that metal shell. It hadn’t been painted over just yet.
I ran my fingers over the dark ink and instantly went back to the day I wrote it.
My mind was full of big dreams and bad ideas back then. I was uncertain of where I was going to college. I was head over heels in love with the boy I was sure I would live happily ever after with as an adult. And I would know all my friends forever.
Closing the locker door, my head was still filled with uncertainty as I continued to say “Delta State” over and over in my head. It was a new school, a new mascot, a new direction.
I left my high school and headed to the Malt Shoppe for a stack of curly cajun fries and a large chocolate malt. Huddled under her flickering yellow lights, I found shelter under the shop’s porch as a few rain clouds covered Natchez.
Places like the Malt Shoppe always stay with you. It’s not about the sweet drink you rolled coins to buy. It was a place that sold childhood innocence amidst the city streets.
And it was worth every penny.
I ended my night on the bluffs next to the city cemetery. With my car parked, I gazed out over the river and Under the Hill, alone by the muddy banks of the Mississippi.
I began to even get a little sad that I would be leaving the place I took for granted, the place I called home.
Since that time, my address has never returned to a Natchez street. I never did return home. I moved on, grew up. I visit family and friends still and still stop by those same places that helped shape me as a child.
I may never return to her, but she remains in me. The high school locker still probably has the same combination. Hopefully, a few traces of my name remain.
The Malt Shoppe still serves the best sweets in town.
The river keeps rolling past a wide-eyed kid on the top of her car packed for college.
And the hometown stays behind for the next generation.
