Sorry. What are you
thinking? Family, I lie. You’ve
hardly mentioned them.
Family
What do you want to know about my house secrets? My family is an envelope that’s sealed. Literally.
Well, there’s a story in there. A before the envelope, a now, right? she says as rain pounds around us, keeping us inside, keeping us talking, and playing this guessing game of who are you?
Who am I? I don’t really know, or I guess I don’t really care.
I’m the son
of a man
who named me after a Marvel Comic.
I’m the son
of an addict
who used to be
a guitar hero.
So that’s where the music comes from.
The music has been with me since day one. Those guitar chords used to help me understand the world. There’s always music in my head. Even still.
I can tell. You have a special rhythm when you walk and talk, she says, pinching my cheek. Like your mother.
She stares into my eyes.
I know this look.
This is the moment of captivation.
I’m going in.
You know how
you can politely
be at the tip
of a grand ocean
and you can see
the wave on its way . . .
What are you doing, Blade?
I was just . . . trying . . . to . . . kiss you.
Why?
Because it felt right.
That is not a good idea.
I thought we were vibing or something.
Chapel?
Huh?
Your arm. It’s written in ink, with a rose.
. . . .
. . . .
She was my girlfriend. Emphasis on WAS!
I see.
. . . .
Blade, you can’t just come kiss a girl because you miss a girl.
Someone I’m Trying to Forget
Her smell of spicy cinnamon her golden skin a sunset the blue wonder in her gaze.
She could meld into me,
and we would build a tower
of love
that stood above all the others: the Empire, the Eiffel, Liberty herself.
The city beneath us wanted to see us crumble.
The lore of our love had no choice but to escape and fall off . . .
She jumped
without me
leaving me
alone
without a light and I’ve been lost since.
Conversation
You love your American woman.
I loved her.
Get some rest. I must check on the school and the families.
Wait, I’m sorry, Joy.
Don’t be.
It won’t happen again.
Blade, if there is no destination, why take the journey?
Thought
Her legs
her lips
are fire.
But, her goodness
could probably light my life,
if I weren’t
such a shady secret.
After four days
of nonstop rain electricity returns and the sun reveals itself, finally.
The men
go back to cutting trees the women wash and balance the world
on their heads.
The guide
returns tomorrow, then I will make the trek to Lucy November.
This is it.
Sia rejoins me, under the coconut tree, and we watch people.
I feel bad
that she has not been in school, so I teach her counting, letters, “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”
and every song I can remember Mom singing to me
when I was little.
Conversation
Sia, Mr. Blade has to go to a hotel and get a proper shower.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star, she sings . . .
Exactly, but now I have to go.
Wonder what you are.
Give me a hug.
No, please, she says.
I will come back tomorrow and see you, before I go to meet Lucy November.
Auntie Lucy, she says, her eyes big as the coconuts that fall randomly.
Tomorrow, I finally get to meet her.
No, please. Bring Auntie Lucy. Don’t go.
We hug each other,
and like a freight train, a huge bus screeches to a halt when an unmistakable voice yells.
Rock ’n’ Roll, Baby!
I look up and see a familiar face hanging
from the window like a shaggy dog dressed up
in glittered glam.
Like groupies at a concert, a motley crew— guy with video camera, biker woman with notebook, and UNCLE STEVIE— bounce
off the pimped-out bus, making room
for their leader to jump off
and tackle me with a gold—
and-jewel-laden bear hug.
Who is this? Sia asks.
Paapa, I answer in her language.
Paapa? she asks, looking at the strange man with the long hair and the big guitar.
Yep, that is my father.
We’re the Morrisons
Rutherford just stands there waving
at the children like he’s waiting for applause.
He takes
his guitar off his shoulder and starts jammin’ right there in the middle of the village.
The children, transfixed on the pimped-out bus, come running from school and swarm him like he’s the sweetest thing they’ve never seen.
Even little Sia, who hasn’t left my side
in days,
runs over to him.
Conversation
Rutherford, what are you doing here?!
Don’t act so surprised. We missed you, son!
You can’t be serious!
I’m clean. Got my sober coach, Birdie, who’s helping me stay on the straight and narrow, and my camera guy filming me and Stevie’s comeback.
He adjusts all his rings and bracelets and runs his hands through his unruly hair.
Comeback?
Kid, the band is getting back together, and we got a camera to document it. MTV, VH1, somebody’s gonna be all over this, son.
Don’t you think you should have called me before showing up?
We did. Storm was in charge of that.
Delayed
My phone is barely charged,
and after four days
of no electricity
and spotty service,
I turn it on
to find two days
of incoming text messages
from my sister,
the last four
in ALL CAPS.
Texts from Storm
7:45 pm
BLADE, DAD AND UNCLE
STEVIE ARE COMING TO
GHANA IN THREE DAYS.
7:45 pm
TRIED TO STOP HIM, BUT
HE’S GOT A BIG IDEA. BE
NICE, BLADE. HE’S DOING
7:45 pm
BETTER. I WOULD HAVE
COME, BUT RECORDING.
HE RENTED A LUXURY
7:45 pm
PARTY BUS. GOOD
LUCK. WHY AREN’T YOU
RESPONDING TO MY TEXTS?
Conversation Continued
Being here for me doesn’t mean being here for me in Ghana. Go back to your castle, Rutherford.
I want to be better. Now is my chance to grow and change.
Just like you. We have an opportunity to be better men, Blade.
Better men?
It’ll be a wild reunion, he says, throwing up the peace sign to the camera.
This is not cool. I put my hands in front of the camera lens.
We need to capture this for the masses. Fans need to see our new and improved life. The good we’re doing.
We’re doing?
The camera moves in closer.
GET THIS CAMERA OUT OF MY FACE.
This, if we do it right, will be a reality show. Not scripted.
Real time. Real life. Don’t worry if we look bad, they’ll edit it out.
YOU NEED TO CUT THIS OUT, RUTHERFORD.
You can’t just come here and interrupt these people’s lives.