Blade? I’ll start singing if you don’t open up.
I put on my headphones, stare at the painting
of Mom
that I painted
when I was just three and believed
she was my world.
I take it down
and throw it in the closet.
I grab the torn teddy bear that’s wearing a Detroit Rocks T-shirt that Rutherford gave me after one of his sold-out concerts and toss it in the trash.
These things that felt like security a long time ago
were a lie.
A big lie.
The sadness
is even in the rain;
it hits the window
like a sledgehammer,
the hurt
banging away
at my nothingness.
So I do the only
thing that soothes
the only thing that fills
the void.
I write.
I Miss You
Rain rolls down my window Reminding me of you
Feel so uneasy
’Cause I’m still crying here for you Tell me again, why did you leave?
Don’t you know without you, I cannot breathe?
I give everything, everything to feel your touch You’ll never know how much I miss you
Don’t wanna say it
Just wanna play it
’Cause I miss you!
I wish it weren’t but it’s true I miss you
You had my heart, you had my soul You had the love my heart could hold And you simply walked away You just walked away
I miss you
Don’t wanna say it
Just wanna play it
’Cause I miss you!
I’m such a fool And, I miss you
? BLADE MORRISON
Day 5
A piece of paper clipped to an envelope slides beneath my door.
To Blade: This is what I have.
I’m still sorry.
—Rutherford I stare at the envelope and chills
like an army of fear
march up
the left side and down
the right.
There’s no one to hold
my hand.
No one
to encourage me to stop me
from leaving the stage.
No drum roll.
No lead guitar firing up the crowd.
Simply—
A manila envelope
with a Post-It
note
affixed
that reads:
Lucy Pearl November, Hammond, Louisiana.
And inside
another envelope,
sealed,
with a note
on the front:
To Blade, our son,
in the event
you should want
to know more.
Love,
Mom
Day 6
I have the name of the woman who gave me life and then took it away.
But
I can’t see unsealing
envelope #2
right now, if ever.
I’m going to shower off this pain eat real food empty out this sorrow on my guitar take this name on the front of this envelope and climb.
I search
her name
and find pictures
of a young Lucy November
teaching in a preschool
in Louisiana,
but also an older Lucy November
building a school
in Ghana.
Phone Conversation
Good morning. Ark Day School.
(My heart pounds. Come on, Blade . . . speak. Just get it out.)
Hi, I’m looking for a teacher by the name of Lucy November. I believe she’s in the pre— Lucy November?
(My head is spinning.) Yeah. Yes. Sorry, is this the wrong school?
Honey, it’s the right school, just the wrong decade. Lucy Pearl hasn’t worked here in a long time. Can I help you with something?
(My breath slowly gets lost.) No, I just needed to speak to Lucy. It’s important.
Well, I’m sorry, sweetie. As I said, she’s not here anymore.
But I can put you in touch with her mother.
Her mother? Grandmother.
No, her mother, baby.
Right. No, I know. I’m just, ugh— (Everything pounds. Everything’s real. Too real.) You okay, sir?
I’m okay.
Her mother is Minnie. She’s in the phone book. Willie and Minnie November.
Thank you, ma’am.
The Call
I push the numbers like I’m entering a code that’s going to unlock a firewall
and every detail and secret
will rush out and burn me.
Each time I go to hit the last number I push the red button to end the call to stop the knowing right in its tracks.
I can’t seem to make myself
get to the point where there’s no turning back.
I do this
for an hour
before I call.
Conversation
Hel-lo.
Hi.
Hi. Who is this?
Ma’am, my name is Blade—
I don’t need nothing else around here, young man. No more thingamajigs and whatchamacallits, so save your breath.
No, ma’am, I’m not selling anything.
If you’re calling about Willie’s boat, he’s sold it already. For sale sign been in the yard for months, and you just calling.
I don’t want a boat either, ma’am. I’m just looking for someone.
Are you the police?
I’m a, I’m a, uh, former student of Lucy November, and I just wanted to get in touch with her.
Lucy Pearl was your teacher at the Ark Day School?
Yes, ma’am.
She was a good teacher.
Yes, ma’am.
. . . .
. . . .
. . . .
Is there a chance I could speak to her, ma’am?
I reckon there is, if you were in Africa.
I don’t understand.
Lucy’s been in Africa for over ten years. Girl said she wanted to change the world. Determined, she was. Always talking about hope and love and Oprah.
Is she in Ghana?
Is that where they make the chocolate? At Christmas, she brings me the best chocolate I’ve ever tasted. I can’t eat but a piece a week, ’cause it’s just too sweet, you understand.
Yes, ma’am.
You’re a polite young man. I guess she did a good job with you, ’cause you turned out nice.
So, is there an address or phone number?
They don’t have street addresses in Ghana, she tells me.
So, no mail can get to her. Plus, she’s in the country part, not the city part.
Oh.
I do think I have the number to the organization she’s with. They’ll know where she is. Don’t you young folks . . .
Doogle this stuff?
Google. Yes, thank you, ma’am.
You know, you sound familiar. Have we ever met?
I don’t know. It’s possible.
Well, you keep doing good for yourself, young man, and if you ever get in touch with Lucy, tell her to bring extra chocolate next time. My church group always likes to meet here, and they eat up everything sweet.
I will do. Thank you for your time.
Track 4: I Was Young When I Left Home
ROCKER: BOB DYLAN: VOCALS, ACOUSTIC GUITAR / ALBUM: THE BOOTLEG SERIES VOLUME 7: NO DIRECTION HOME / LABEL: COLUMBIA RECORDS RECORDING DATE: DECEMBER 22, 1961 STUDIO: THE MINNEAPOLIS APARTMENT OF HIS FRIEND, TWILIGHT ZONE ACTRESS BONNIE BEECHER
A sad, sad song that Dylan wrote
on a train about a son leaving his family in search of closure and salvation that he never finds.
Hmmm.
Day 7
I finally brush my teeth, wondering what life will look like one week, six months, or even a year from now.
It’s time to find my mother, to start
at the beginning.
I’ve decided to climb the mountain and I’m not sure what route I’ll take or how
I’ll get to the top.
But I’ll start in Ghana.
Texts to Chapel
7:39 pm
Chapel, I miss you so much
the pain feels 7:39 pm
like a million heart attacks.
It’s time for us 7:39 pm
to jet. Together.
The world is waiting.
Let’s run. Far. Fast.
7:40 pm
I’ll be at the park.
Tomorrow, 7:30 pm.
Meet me, babe.
Conversation
AFRICA?!
Yup.