Parting
Happy Birthday, Blade, Joy says, handing me a red-black-and-gold hand-stitched bangle with my name on it.
Thank you, Joy. This is so cool! One of your many talents?
I suppose.
I will never take it off.
Remember me by it.
It’s not like I’m leaving forever. I’ve got to come back this way.
I know. I guess we’re just used to you. Are you packed?
Just a backpack.
You will not admit it, but you’re happy he’s here, she says.
I’m happy,
when he’s sober and clean
when he’s kind and generous
with the children when he’s a father and puts us before the addiction
of fame
when he shreds the guitar
like a madman and gives everything to the music.
When he belts out songs
in my mother’s honor and shows me
that quitting this life is not an option.
Yeah, that’s when I’m happy, I reply.
Words
Most of the children here speak better English than us,
and Sia really seems to be interested in learning as many words as she can consume.
I teach her
brave
and smart, then hug her goodbye
without saying it.
Rutherford teaches her reverb and rock and Fender.
She teaches us to count to ten in native tongue.
But what does your name mean, Sia? Rutherford asks, as she runs off with one of his bawdy gold chains.
And he chases her wildly, both of them
going nowhere in particular, and everywhere
at the same time.
What does her name mean, Joy?
It means “to help.”
They return
moments later with Birdie
cradling Rutherford in one arm
and holding Sia in the other.
He’s sweating, which is not unusual given that it’s 95 degrees,
but he’s shaking too, which is unusual given that it’s 95 degrees.
Let’s get him inside the bus, Birdie says.
Why? What’s happening?
Withdrawal
I’ve seen this before.
Many times.
Once the alcohol
and drugs
start leaving
the system,
the sweats
the sleeplessness
and dry heaves
kick in.
Rutherford craves,
rocks
back and forth,
fighting off
a demon
that lives
in his body
that whispers
temptation
in his mind.
Conversation
I’ve done this a million times. He just has to want it. But I’m working with him, Birdie says.
. . . .
He called me five days ago. He was really in a bad way.
. . . .
You’re not saying much.
Not much to say, is there . . . Looks like I’m still stuck here.
Detox
Only after Sia
falls asleep
is Joy able
to take her
off the bus
so Rutherford
can rest.
How long do you think it will be, Birdie?
He’ll hallucinate, he’ll vomit, he’ll have fitful sleep, if any at all. This could take several days. Hard to tell. He’s been through this a lot, I bet.
That’s an understatement.
I’ll make sure it sticks.
Don’t make promises you can’t keep.
We got his back, says Uncle Stevie.
How about we turn off the camera?
He told me to keep filming, no matter what.
Yeah, but, this is different— He’s right, Birdie says. Rutherford told him, keep shooting, or he won’t get paid.
Fine.
I’m catching some zzz’s, Uncle Stevie says, climbing into the bunk.
I watch Rutherford toss and turn,
restless as rain and wonder
if I’ll
ever get out of this squall that owns my life and if I’ll ever get to her.
Cursed
Each time
I get closer
to meeting
the woman who
brought me
into this world,
something stops me
dead in my tracks.
“Pick up a guitar
and you’ll be cursed,”
is the old joke
told in my house.
But, there’s nothing funny
about this truth.
I am.
I pluck
a few strings
at a time,
like a beginner
beginning again,
strumming
a few chords
here and there,
my fingers crawling
up and down
my new guitar
like I’m trying
to remember.
Diving Back In
After warming up a few long minutes, the pain creeps in.
It settles inside like an old friend, but so does the glory of knowing I’m good at something
that can’t die on me if I don’t let it.
So I dive in,
really dive into the strings like a skydiver freefalling into the music,
and it kinda feels like a new life could be beginning.
But I’m not sure.
A day later
he’s finally
asleep.
My fingers
start to cramp,
but it feels
like the right
kind of pain.
I’ve missed this.
Feeling
every fiber
in my body
vibrate
to the rhythm.
I miss this.
Freedom.
Over the next
three days Birdie comforts and feeds Rutherford.
I haven’t been this close to him
this long since . . .
never.
Storm calls and speaks to him,
which makes him smile through watery eyes in between the delirium tremens.
Joy checks on us periodically, brings us stews and soups and joy.
She gives me a message that sounds nice coming from her lips, even though it’s Sia’s words: Ma wifo. It means “I miss you.”
On the fourth day
I wake
to the laughter of Rutherford, Sia, and a dozen kids standing over me.
Sia holds
a mirror
to my face, which is painted like Gene Simmons from KISS.
Rutherford shouts out, Rock and Roll All Nite, BABY!
Very funny. Very funny, I shout, chasing them off the bus, relieved that things are back to normal.
Whatever normal is.
The Duo
Before Rutherford arrived
it was all about me.
Now Sia and Rutherford
are a band.
They play together.
They eat together.
They laugh together.
They crash together.
They prank together.
They are happy together.
Texts from Storm
5:19 am
Dad sounds better.
Please take care of him, Blade. He’s our only
5:19 am
father. Well, mine at
least. Just kidding! Seriously, though, when are you going 5:20 am
to meet your mother? Can you hurry up and do that, so y’all can come home?
5:20 am
I miss you two. Mick
and Jagger miss you
too. Chapel called me
5:20 am
yesterday. I told her
you met someone new.
A model from Africa. She 5:21 am
was JEALOUS! LOL!
Hey, you like the new guitar?
I helped him find it.
5:21 am
And, can you please tell me about Ghana, besides it’s beautiful and you’re 5:22 am in love. Like, try using an adjective or two.
And, send pics. Hugs!
Texts to Storm
1:21 pm
He’s doing better.
Back to his old antics.
Birdie definitely has him 1:21 pm
on a leash. She’s like a hawk. Uncle Stevie pretty much sleeps 1:21 pm
all the time. Stomach issues. He can’t handle the food. Haven’t seen 1:22 pm
the camera guy very much, which is really good or really bad. Not sure.
1:22 pm
She’s not a model, stupid.
But, we’re just friends.
Don’t mention C@#!? again.
1:22 pm
You want me to
describe Ghana, huh?
Fine, how’s this . . .
Konko