I’m going to pick up Chapel and we’re going to make a run
for the highway
and get this adventure started.
Today is the day
that hope wins.
Conversation
I tell Storm
let’s Jumpin’ Jack Flash
this joint—a final hurrah.
Speak English, she says.
The party. I’m gonna stay, help you out. Then, I’m ghost.
Oh lucky me!
How to Throw a Sick Party (According to Storm)
Invite every guy you’ve ever met (including your exes, apparently) and every girl you hate.
Fly DJ Goldie in from Miami
and have her mix your music
with music
everyone actually likes.
Have bartenders and cocktail waitresses pop bottles
and tubs
of shrimp
and Doritos
and hootch
(the kegs are literally labeled hootch).
Show off
the $4000 statue that you replaced.
Bring out
Kid Cudi, then the dancers
you hired to perform Bharatanatyam: the “dance of bliss,”
which, actually, is pretty
sick.
After the Dance
Here I stand
in a random gallery barely noticed by the odd-shaped faces the loud conversations surrounding me.
My temples pulse like little drums my eyes paint scenes
each a masterpiece of Chapel.
I wish you were here, I text to no response, just as Cammie Wood, who’s been sweating me since sixth grade, comes up
in a shoestring bikini and smacks me on the butt.
Conversation
Hey, sexy.
Hello, Cammie.
How’s it hanging?
You tell me.
You and choir girl still together?
You mean the love of my life, Chapel?
Yadda, Yadda, Yadda!
Nice to see you.
Wait, don’t go. Let’s dance.
I’m good.
Your loyalty is cute. But where’s hers?
What are you talking about?
She’s not even here. She’s probably somewhere with someone else.
Whatever. Nice chattin' with ya.
Don’t be dense, Blade. Don’t let church girl fool ya.
Okay, thanks, Cammie. Later.
What she won’t know won’t hurt her.
But it’ll hurt me.
I promise to be gentle.
I have a girlfriend, Cammie. Bye!
She takes
my shades off, gets so close her breath tangos with mine.
She gently kisses my cheek,
moves around to my ear
whispers
tasteless things that get a rise out of me
then she nibbles on my earlobe.
I close my eyes.
Try not to think about the thrill growing.
Try to push her away out of my mind just before she kisses me so hard I’m kissing her back.
Bliss Interrupted
Van DeWish
crashes the mic and screams
MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION!
This hater
is a wack rapper, with rich parents and no record deal, who used to date my girl,
and thus
a hater.
Ever since Storm’s album flopped,
debuting at
the last Billboard spot, he’s dissed her on social media every chance he gets.
But tonight is, by far, the worst.
It’s live.
He gets everyone’s attention, mocking Storm’s song, then
roasts her
in front of
Her. Entire. Party.
What’s the difference between you and a lawn mower? You can tune a lawn mower. And your dad, Rutherford, is old news.
Storm stands there in shock,
ready to strike back. She looks at me,
like I’m supposed to do something.
I’m just glad Cammie’s tongue is no longer in my mouth.
Hey, Storm, Van hollers, going in for the kill, you should leave your band and sing solo . . . So low we don’t hear you!
The laughter erupts like a chorus of mad singers, and Storm runs . . .
she just runs, knocking over people and chairs
and hootch
to escape.
PARTY’S OVER
I scream
on the DJ’s mic.
I don’t care
where you go,
but you got
to get the heck outta here.
We came to par-tay! Van chants, and now everyone joins in.
WE CAME TO PARTY!
I pull the plug, and make my way over to him.
Get out.
It’s just jokes, Blade. It’s just jokes, dude.
Yeah, whatever. Party’s over, everyone, I turn and say to the posers.
I thought we was cool, Van says.
We’re not.
Your girl thought I was cool, he says, laughing.
C’mon, Van, Cammie says, pulling him away before I do something I won’t regret.
It’s a lame party anyway, he adds.
I clear everyone out, make my way to the front, where a mob
of partiers
are gawking at— Wait, this can’t—
A stretch limo pulls up
and out jumps
a scruffy
Rutherford Morrison
with two giddy girls
in matching
zebra-print
miniskirts,
whose combined ages
are less than
his.
His eyes look like
they’re swimming
in water.
When he comes up
for air, he waves
like everything’s cool.
And a hundred
kids snap
pictures
to post
anywhere and everywhere.
After he finishes signing autographs
the limo takes the giddy groupies away.
What are you doing here?
He holds up two fingers.
Well, son, see, that’s the thing.
One: it’s too cold in Denver.
Two: the rehab food was leftover prison grub. I think they tried to poison me.
But don’t worry, I have everything under control. They said I was doing fantastic.
. . . .
Blade . . . Blade. He stumbles around, grabs
for my shoulder so he can balance his wasted
soul.
Blade. Listen to me, son. I’m not gonna miss your sister’s big party. It’s going to be vicious.
The party’s over. You’re high. This is insane.
Insane in the membrane, he says, strolling into the house just in time for Storm to come running down the stairs crying
a river
and pouring
the whole sordid mess out for him
to drink.
Erase Me
He pushes me
up against the wall because I didn’t defend her honor
against Van DeWish, who he says
should have met your DeFIST!
I cleared the party.
Cleared the party? We’re Morrisons, we don’t clear parties.
We rock parties, and we knock the blocks off of any joker who messes with us. What kind of weakling doesn’t protect his sister? You better wake up. The world ain’t sugarcoated!
It’s real out here. And if you wanna survive it, you better learn to PULL THE TRIGGER! We don’t mess around.
Yeah, and we don’t quote from a comic book movie either, is what I want to say, but he’s lit, and he’s not listening to anyone but himself anyway.
Why didn’t you show up?
Show up? Show Up!
You haven’t shown up in my life
since I can remember.
What do you know
about showing up?
These are things
I want to say
to him, but
all that comes out is I’m tired of fighting.
Have you forgotten how many times
I’ve defended our name
with punches
and body slams?
He comes back with You’re not made of rough edges
like the rest of us.
You’re soft
and you’ve become selfish.
It’s all about Blade now, isn’t it?
You’re wasted talent.
I peel myself
off the wall,
start to walk away, but I just can’t let this go.
You want to talk about selfish.
How about all the masses of women you parade around with no care or respect.
Or your stupid addiction to anything and everything that kills reality.
Weak? Weak is YOU
not being strong enough to say no.