him.
Nope, Mom counters, but where is my vintage brass Asian
elephant?
Dad follows with, And where is your grandmother?
Consequence
I don’t snitch on Granny, but I’m so troubled, I don’t
deny that Mom’s coveted elephant from Thailand
is missing its tusks, and that I hid the elephant away
because Moses knocked it over . . . that I had a party . . .
that Junior Wilson jumped from our balcony and fell
hard, but that he and his pinky toe will survive . . . I
tell them how the party was all to impress Sam . . .
That I confessed my love to her, for her . . . I tell them
how she loved me back . . . and now she doesn’t . . . I
tell them how prom is never going to be in the cards
for me . . . How Walt is going . . . How Walt made the
baseball team . . . How life sucks . . . and they end up
not punishing me . . . because I guess my parents have
decided my life is punishment enough.
Kind of Blue
I heard the news today
that my life is over.
Destroyed
in one afternoon.
I watch the record
spin round and round
to the sound
of my love drowning.
You don’t matter
to her anymore.
Freddie Freeloader
is who she really wants,
and you were just
a rebound.
The sax, trumpet,
piano, and drums
taunt me,
haunt me,
scream at me.
Keep listening,
they holler.
We know you.
These songs were
composed from
my pain.
Blue in Green—
everything will
turn to frozen blue.
The bass says,
You’re a fool,
as it keeps the rhythm
of my tears.
Flamenco Sketches
of her in my mind.
I heard the news today.
She’s over.
We’re over,
and it’s All Blues.
All Blues
for the rest
of my sorry days.
Part 6
Three O’clock in The Morning
Text from Walt
1:32 pm
You coming to the game?
I’m feeling lucky, like
it’s gonna be epic.
Two Strikes
Walt swings
at two fastballs
like he’s swatting
flies at a picnic,
wondering
if he connected,
the crashing pop
of ball
in leather
telling us all
he didn’t.
Walt at Bat
The outlook is dismal for Walt Disney Jones today:
two strikes and three balls, I doubt he makes the play.
Divya clings to hope: If only he could get a whack at
that—
It’s do or die for my Swing at bat.
All eyes on Walt as he digs his hands in dirt;
two tongues holler when he wipes them on his shirt;
and now the pitcher launches a nightmare
and Baby “Swing” Bonds misses everything but air.
“Strike one!” the umpire roars.
With a sneer, Walt assures he’s got something in store.
The second Mercury moon comes spinning through;
he swings . . . and the umpire yells, “Strike two!”
The smile is gone from Walt’s lip;
upon his cocky shoulder, a chip.
And now the pitcher winds for the throw;
and now the air is crushed by my best friend’s blow.
Oh, somewhere jazz is playing, and love is in full flight.
And in this tiny town, a flag is flying bright.
And somewhere men are fighting, living in combat.
But there is joy today at Westside—because Walt’s at bat.
Unfortunately
When the next pitch
comes,
Walt smacks it
into the outfield!
Me and Divya—with
HUG LIFE tattoo—
jump up as if
it’s a miracle.
She starts
snapping pics
like a proud parent.
Swing jumps
for joy,
kicking dirt,
running
for first base,
and that’s when
I realize,
and I’m sure he does too,
that he should have been
practicing
running
as much as batting,
because as fast
as he swung
and hit that ball,
he gets thrown out.
Independence Day
Yo, I got a hit. Did you see it? I killed it. I go up to bat. I
miss the first pitch, the second, then BAM.
I know, Swing. I was there. Remember?
I don’t even care that I didn’t get on base. I hit.
Indeed, you did.
It’s happening, Noah. Right now.
What?
I’ve hit my stride.
Oh, really? How’s that?
I’ve discovered the secret to success.
Yeah, what’s that?
Life is not easy for any of us. But what of that? We must
have perseverance and be arrogant in our self-love. We
must believe that we are gifted for something and that this
thing must be attained.
That’s actually deep, Swing.
It was deep when Marie Curie said it too, Divya says,
kissing him on the cheek.
First woman to win a Nobel Prize, first person to win
twice, he says, turning his cheek and catching her on the
lips.
For inventing radiation, right?
For developing the theory of radioactivity that allowed
us to actually understand how radiation works.
Unfortunately, she got exposed to too much radiation, and
BAM. July 4, 1934.
At least she died doing what she loved, Divya says, and
they both laugh and link arms, like they were meant to
be, like nothing else matters, like they own the world.
Hey, was Sam here?
Didn’t see her, Divya says. Did you, Noah?
No, I say nonchalantly, trying to act like I didn’t notice,
when I most definitely did.
Texts with Walt
5:14 pm
Yo, since you’re not going
to prom, and I am,
can I borrow your car?
5:14 pm
Uh, no.
5:18 pm
I’ll knock that interest off
your IOU.
Future Plans
On the way
to get Granny
detailed,
’cause he says
my car is appallingly
filthy,
he casually mentions
that he might graduate early,
this summer,
then travel
around the world
before heading to
his dream school,
Grinnell College—
Because they had a black graduate
in eighteen freakin’ seventy-nine.
That’s where I need to be. Right
in the middle of an institution
that reeks of social justice
and progress
.
You feel me, Noah?
Yeah, I feel you.
Also, because Herbie Hancock went there.
I’m assuming he’s still alive.
At the Stoplight
Hey, isn’t that—
It is. Don’t look.
Just drive then.
I can’t—the light’s red, dude.
She’s rolling down her window. She’s— Hey,
guys!
Ignore her. Act like we don’t hear her.
My window’s down, Noah.
GUYS! Pull over.
Oh, hey, Sam, Walt says.
Hey, yourself. Pull over, I need to talk to Noah.
Sure thing.
Why’d you say okay?
What was I supposed to say, Noah? She was literally right
next to us.
Conversation with Sam
Are we okay?
It is what it is.
What does that mean?
It means sure, we’re friends, okay?
Then why’ve you been ignoring me?
Not ignoring, just busy.
All day and night.
Homework. Parents are back. Everything’s not about you,
you know.
You’re still mad.
. . . .
Talk to me.
What do you want me to say?
I want you to say we’re still friends. That you’re mad, but
you’ll get over it. That we really don’t have anything in
common. We don’t like the same music, the same food. It
was nice and fun and a little mysterious, but you gotta
admit, we really didn’t gel.
. . . .
Say something, Noah.
So you’re gonna be with him now?
I don’t know. No, maybe. It’s complicated. But I know what
I’m not gonna be.
What’s that?
One of those girls who makes a dumb decision ’cause she
thinks a boy won’t like her anymore and the rest of her life
is screwed up.
. . . .
I’m not gonna be the girl that’s known a boy forever and
ruins that relationship because she thought that they were
lovers who were friends, instead of best friends who loved
each other. I don’t wanna lose you, Noah.
Then why’d you do that to me—why’d you lie?
I didn’t know what to do. It was stupid. I’m sorry I hurt
you, Noah. I’m still trying to figure out what love is.
You should listen to jazz.
. . . .
So, you think we’re gonna be better being friendly
instead of romantic?
We were for eight years.
What about our kisses?
What about them?
Were they okay?
They were more than okay. I liked kissing you.
Well, you could use a little work keeping your teeth to
yourself, I say, with a smirk.
Oh, you got jokes, do you? she says, plucking me.
. . . .
I’m sorry, Noah.
You didn’t have to throw it in my face, Sam.
I didn’t mean to. Cruz just showed up. We talked a few
times and he wanted to get back with me, but I wasn’t
ready. He just came over with some flowers, like that was
gonna work.
Did it?
I don’t know. I mean no.
Well, I just want you to be happy, for real.
That’s why I love you.
A lot of good that does me now.
. . . .
I’m just kidding. We’re good.
You sure?
Yep, just don’t tell Walt that you broke up with me. Tell
him it was mutual. I gotta protect my street cred.
Your street cred? That’s funny.
We gotta finish cleaning the car. Walt’s taking it to prom.
You going?
Yeah.
With Cruz.
Not with him, but yeah.
That sounds real suspect.
. . . .
Well, goodbye, Sam.
Don’t say it like that—it sounds so final.
Have fun tonight.
It’s definitely over
I tell Walt, but we’re cool.
You sure, yo?
Wasn’t meant to be, but it hurts a little. A lot more than a
little, actually.
Sorry, dude. I guess she wasn’t your soulmate after all.
At least you found yours.
True, and I need to get home so I can practice.
Practice?
Cooking.
Huh?
I’m cooking her dinner for prom.
No way.
Tandoori chicken, this chickpea dish I saw on Top Chef,
and samosas.
You know how to make all that stuff?
I want to be a full human. I love new ideas. And new
people. I want her to know I respect and honor her culture.
Real diversity begins at the dinner table. Our humanity,
Noah, will rise with our breaking of daily bread. You
must—
Okay, okay, I get it.
It’s about to go down, Noah.
Just don’t mush up all your food in front of her, yo.
My uncle’s band is gonna serenade her.
Uncle Stanley Stanley is back in effect.
I got a playlist and everything. Watch out, world, Swing is
coming through like gangbusters.
All the Things You Are, Divya: A Playlist by Swing
Come Rain or Come Shine
You Go to My Head
All of You
You and the Night and the Music
The Way You Look Tonight
I Don’t Stand a Ghost of a Chance
There is No Greater Love
It Had to Be You
You’re My Thrill
Someday Sweetheart
Over the Rainbow
East of the Sun and West of the Moon
Let’s Fall in Love
Just You, Just Me
Bumpin’ on Sunset
A Love Supreme
Slowly Coming Alive
For the next
few days
I catch up
with Mom,
do extra credit
for physics class,
practice writing essays
for the SATs,
even make it to
the batting cage,
just to hit
some frustration
into the air.
But the best
part of my week
is taking
the fifty dollars
Mom gave me
to the thrift store,
to buy a couple
Coltrane albums,
ephemera of all kinds,
and an art kit
that’s never
been opened.
What Being Alone Looks Like
There are hundreds
if not thousands
of photos
and videos
being plastered
online.
Everybody’s got a date.
There’s Walt and Divya
shutting down
the dance floor.
Cruz and Sam
laughing
like everything’s
back to normal.
Everyone’s either
smiling or smirking,
twirling or twerking,
posing or posturing,
kissing or wanting.
And I’m here
playing solitaire.
Best Thing I Never Had
I stop
torturing myself,
get offline,
and fall asleep
listening
to Beyoncé
’cause even though
it is what it is,
I still miss
what isn’t.
Why is my alarm
going off
at three o’clock
in the morning?
Because it’s not—
it’s my phone
buzzing.
Who’s calling me
this late?
Stranded
Hello?
Yo, wake up.
Who is this?
It’s me, Swing.
Who?
It’s me, Walt.
Walt, what are you doing?
Your car stopped.
What do you mean, it stopped?
Dude, it won’t move. It won’t start.
Did you put gas in it?
Of course I put gas in it. Can you come get me? It’s cold
and dark out here.
Where are you?
Alaska, maybe, I don’t know. I dropped Divya off. She lives
way out.
. . . .
You there, Noah?
Yeah, I’m here.
I’ll drop you the pin on Google Maps.
Walt, you have my car. How am I supposed to get there?
Take your parents’ car. They won’t mind, it’s an emergency.
Help a brother out.
. . . .