I think it would be good for fans to see us helping these little village people in Ghana. Imagine that, Blade. The Morrisons saving lives. We can build something or buy something. Did you get that, he says to the camera guy.
That was authentic sh— Are you KIDDING me? You want to walk into this village like a rock ’n’ roll savior and call these people “little village people.” You are an insult to humanity. You don’t know them. Please leave.
NOW!
Rutherford puffs out
his chest, stands
two inches
from my face.
I flew all the way here for this. Don’t be ungrateful. Your mother would want us doing this. You and me together.
Oh, you’re going to bring up Mom now?
Don’t make the show start off with a brawl between me and you.
Why not? It’d be good for TV, right? Isn’t that what you want?
That actually wouldn’t be a bad thing, the camera guy says, adjusting his lens.
They’ll be none of that, Uncle Stevie says to him. Kid, your father— Look, I don’t care what y’all do, but you’re not going to— But before
I can finish,
Joy walks up
and wedges herself
between us.
Please, no fighting in front of the children, she says, shaking her head. Grown men want to wrangle like little boys. Let’s talk this out over coconut.
Introductions
I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Guitar Hero, Joy says, laughing and shaking his hand.
She hands us each
a coconut half
with a straw
inserted.
I am honored to be here to capture the untapped beauty and potential that is Ghana.
Don’t you mean to exploit the beauty and potential, like you do with everything else?
Blade, we are respectful of our elders.
Wait, I’m not an elder. I’m your super soul brother, he says, winking at Joy, who, for some reason, is egging him on. It’s lovely to meet you, Joy, he says, kissing her hand.
This glorious day is made even more enchanting by your obvious pulchritude.
I can see where your son’s charm comes from.
I can see why Blade is smitten with you.
What are you talking about?
It’s written all over your face.
Plain as a naked jailbird, Uncle Stevie chimes in.
Thank you, Mr. Morrison . . . It has been a blessing to meet your son. He has a lot he’s searching for.
So, where’s the mystery woman? He signals to the camera guy. Hey, make sure you get this. I’m about to meet my son’s mother.
That’s why you’re here? You’re a real piece of work, Rutherford. Well, you’re outta luck, ’cause she’s not here.
No worries, we’ll just shoot me interacting with the villagers. Ya know, you could really be a shining star for the camera, Joy.
You can’t bring a camera here to the village without permission.
It’s all right, Blade, we are used to Americans and their cameras. But you must meet the elders tomorrow, Mr.
Morrison. They will decide the fate of you and your camera.
Joy gathers
our empty
coconut halves.
You gentlemen behave, she says, leaving us
alone, unsure.
Way to go, Rutherford.
You can get us kicked
out of
an entire country now
instead of
a hotel.
Rutherford gives
a tour
of his air-conditioned satellite TV
pimped-out bus with bunk beds to anyone
who is interested, which is practically everyone
in the village, especially Sia, who jumps on
Rutherford’s bed and refuses
to leave.
Joy asks me
to pick Sia up and carry her out, but when I try she wails
like I’m
a monster
come to gobble her up.
I guess it’s a slumber party, he yells, picking Sia up and swinging her around.
Fine with me, if you’re okay, Blade, Joy says.
Do you really trust two foreigners with this innocent child?
Look how far you’ve come. Look where you both are.
Father and son. I trust that you are capable. Are you not?
. . . .
Do not worry, Blade. She will be fine. I will see you in the morning.
Twinkle, Twinkle
After playing
peek-a-boo,
hide-and-seek,
and Uno
with Rutherford,
she dozes off
on a bunk bed
in my arms
to the rock version
of her now favorite
song.
Luxury
I despise this bus.
Don’t want to be on this bus.
It’s everything I left.
But she’s here, sleeping
in the middle of his
corrupt,
unpredictable, ungodly excess.
Her breathing rises and falls like the cadence of soft music.
I crack open Track by Track, read it
by the light of my phone
for the umpteenth time because it brings me closer to Mom’s stardust, to a little bit of peace in the darkest of nights no matter where I am.
Track 9: It’s Only Love (LIVE)
ROCKERS: TINA TURNER AND BRYAN ADAMS / ALBUM: TINA LIVE IN EUROPE / LABEL: CAPITOL / RECORDING DATE: 1985–1987 / VENUE: VARIOUS CONCERTS
Mom always said “It’s Only Love”
is the greatest rock duet
of all time,
and if aliens
ever landed,
it would be
the song
she’d play
to greet them.
Why? I asked her.
Because of the energy.
The passion in it gets you
through the hard times
sad times
mad times.
Doesn’t matter if someone disappoints you, if they hurt you, it's never the end of the universe.
Remember that, Blade.
It’s only love, she’d say,
and give me
a bear hug and butterfly kisses.
But don’t forget, she’d also remind me, love is everything too.
Freak Show on Wheels
Uncle Stevie’s snoring sounds like
a garbage disposal and the camera guy wheezes.
Rutherford still talks in his sleep.
It’s like a nightmare band and I’m the audience wishing this freak show was over.
So I get up, stretch my legs, see if they’ve got any snacks around here.
The butter cookies are so good. But they’re addictive. I’m on number eleven.
. . . .
Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Birdie.
Blade.
Nice to meet you, Blade. Your father’s told me much about you.
You’re his new one.
I’m his new sober coach.
Of course you are.
Sober coaches
make a killing keeping rockers and movie stars alive
’round the clock.
Birdie claims she makes sure Rutherford stays centered, doesn’t get lit, go out on a bender.
Says she’s here to rip
the drugs or whiskey straight out of his mouth and hands if necessary.
Follow him around like a stalker and get paid beaucoup loot to listen,
offer advice, and just sit and stare
at him.
Conversation
Your father’s an alcoholic with a drug problem.
Duh?
I’m here to help him.
No disrespect, but been there, done that.
You have any questions for me?
Yeah, have you checked his boot?
And his socks, and his guitar case, and every inch of his suitcase.
. . . .
I watch. I wait. I listen.
And all the world watches and listens too, I say, pointing to the camera on the tripod, even recording his sleep.
Not my idea. They think the camera is their ticket back to glory.
They’re delusional.
Maybe, maybe not. I’ve seen worse come back.
Yeah, okay . . . How long’s he been clean?
I’m not really at liberty to discuss his treatment and recovery with anyone, not even his son.
So what, like a day?
I’m here because he’s serious about this road to recovery.