is a village of brown and green apron of Mother Earth gray, puffy sky— a temperamental sea that swallows that keeps me looking and laughing to the clouds— Today I saw a sign near a small lake that read: No Drowning.
Red and green buckets of
water travel miles
suspended
in air
to glorious rhythms of routine
under hidden sun of orange fiery promises.
The smiles here are abundant, a crest of waves across faces young and old that fly
with wings
of kings and queens in search of trees rooted in ancient ground history with arms that reach
and give and give crowns of flowers and coconut milk, the ambrosia feeding my
wandering soul—it’s brought the music back to me.
Most gatherings are here under the big coconut tree.
This place, covered in brilliant sun and humbling moon, captures joy in song and dance of women and men happy to be
singing
and
alive
with sounds
that never sleep, past the magic dust dreams.
Here, I can lift my hands
into sky
pull down
the promises, into my palms.
In other words, this place is beautiful, Storm . . .
Text from Storm
2:09 pm
Chills.
Conversation
How’s Storm?
She’s good. Says hello.
Can I join you?
Been a free country since 1957.
You like this place.
It’s cool. A lot realer than Hollywood.
Yeah, I like it too. It’s poor, though, kinda sad.
It’s rich in ways you and your camera can’t see.
You never gonna cut me any slack. That’s the Morrison in you. My dad was like that.
Thing is, I’m not a Morrison.
You are in my book, and I’m proud of you, son.
Save it. So proud you never told me I was adopted? Who lies to their child like that?
Sunny thought—
There you go, trying to bring Mom into it again.
She loved you like her own. We loved you like our own.
Blood or no blood. We were young and stupid. We just didn’t think— That’s the problem, you didn’t think.
. . . .
. . . .
We were gonna tell you. On your eighteenth birthday.
That’s why she wrote the letter. Did you read it?
No.
You should read it.
I don’t know.
There are some things in there she wanted you to know.
What about what I want? Did you ever consider that?
Always.
You’re lying. I WANTED to grow up in a house with a dad who didn’t leave a string of nannies to raise us.
Who didn’t come in wasted when he was in town. Who wasn’t plastered all over the tabloids for God knows what. What I WANTED was not having to spend every night worrying if you were gonna be arrested or end up in some hospital. Do you know how tough it was to not know whether your parent was gonna die? Do you know how many nights Storm cried herself to sleep?
. . . .
You know what, it doesn’t even matter. I just hope you can last until you bail on these folks. They don’t deserve any of it.
You’re right. I just never learned how to live, how to, uh, be without her, he says, then he gets all teary-eyed, and I feel like the bad guy. I’m trying to do the right thing, I really am, Blade. I just miss her.
Yeah, well, we all do, but I already lost one parent—I don’t want to lose another.
Now he’s full on crying,
and I probably should
hug him or something,
but before
I get the nerve
to do just that,
his ace,
our little princess
Sia,
comes running
up to him,
starts wiping his tears and winks at him,
repeatedly,
which, of course,
makes us both howl
with laughter.
I’m gonna make it, Blade. I’m gonna beat this. I promise you. And, if there’s anything I can do to prove to you that you mean more to me than anything, other than Storm and this little snickerdoodle, he says, picking Sia up and swinging her around. Just name it.
There is one favor I need . . .
While he teaches
Sia the words
to “Stairway to Heaven”
under the coconut tree, she begins to vomit, then cries
a helpless cry.
Rutherford throws down the guitar,
looks at me
with horror
in his eyes
like he’s never seen a kid puke.
Is she okay?
IS SHE OKAY?
Where is the nurse?
She is fine. We will take care of her, one of the nearby women in the village says, picking Sia up, and whisking her away.
What happened to her? he asks Joy.
I think you should teach her a different song the next time, she responds, laughing.
She’ll be okay?
She will, Mr. Morrison. She will rest from all the activity.
Like you probably should.
. . . .
Sunday Night
Rutherford calls a meeting.
Life is too short, he exclaims to me, Joy, Uncle Stevie, Birdie, and the camera dude. We gotta climb the highest mountain, swim the widest sea . . . before we turn to earth.
I wanna do something. Big. Memorable.
Yeah, because if we really think we have a shot at selling this reality show, we definitely need more OOOOHS
and AHHHHS, says the camera guy, smiling behind his camera.
Let’s bring the rock and the roll, but, uh, what exactly are you talking about, Morrison? says Uncle Stevie, whose stomach is back to normal—which everyone can appreciate, since the ventilation on the bus is a little limited.
Birdie insists I need to exercise, that it will help my body heal from all the toxins. So, we’re going with Blade.
With Blade? Where?
To find his mother. We’ll climb Kilimanjaro, if we have too.
Kilimanjaro is in East Africa, camera guy says.
No, you’re not. I’m doing this alone. I don’t ne— I don’t want you there.
It’s a seven-hour trek, Mr. Morrison, are you sure you can— Joy says.
You don’t think I can handle it. I may be fifty, but I feel nineteen, he says, winking at her. But, will there be a mountain for us to climb?
Yes, there is a mountain, plus canopies, plus forest, before we reach the village.
A canopy? Like a suspension bridge or something? asks the camera guy, who puts the camera down for the first time.
Yes, says Joy. A provisional bridge. It was built by the Dutch. Maybe four hundred feet above.
Above what? he asks, looking as frightened as I feel.
Look, you aren’t going. This is not happening. Birdie, he needs the rest. Tell ’em.
It is kind of long, Rutherford . . . On the other hand, a little workout will build the endorphins. To heck with it, let’s all sweat it out.
Then, it’s settled. We head out at first light. Oh, this is going to rock! Rutherford hollers.
And roll, Uncle Stevie chimes in.
Uh, I think I’m gonna be sick, says the camera guy.
I’ll double your pay for the day.
I think I’ll be just fine, he says, picking the camera back up.
Quick question, Joy. Can we bring Sia?
Worth the Chance
Wait up, please, she says, grabbing my arm.
Sorry. I can never get away from him fast enough.
You are very upset. I understand.
This is a disaster. He can’t be with me. This is not about him.
It is a little. It is about your whole family, is it not?
You’re taking his side? He’s the one who’s been lying to me.
Sometimes a lie is kinder than the truth.