I’m not the loser here.
As for being made like you, you’re right, I’M. NOT. LIKE. YOU!
I want nothing more than to wipe this Morrison stench from my body.
Clean its muddy glum from my existence.
I’m not like
any of you.
Family Secret
You have no idea
how right you are, Storm says, getting in my face.
Storm, be quiet, Rutherford says.
No, Dad, I’m sick of his holier-than-thou-we’re-all-bad-and-he’s-a-saint attitude.
He benefits from our lifestyle, and pisses on us.
Storm, I’ve told you, THAT’S ENOUGH!
It’s not enough. Does he even know you got arrested for almost knocking Chapel’s father’s lights out?
What are you talking about?
Yeah, I figured as much. You think everybody’s against you, but Dad told him that you could date whomever you wanted and that he better not ever threaten you again.
Storm, this isn’t necessary.
Yes, it is, Dad.
You’re the reason Dad had to go to spend the weekend in jail. Or what about the time you took Dad’s car for a spin and got yourself arrested ’cause you didn’t have a license?
Who do you think got you off?
Well, thank you for doing what fathers are supposed to do.
You ungrateful little—
You’re right, you aren’t like any of us, Storm yells.
AGREED!
You ever wonder why
you’re a shade darker
than everybody in this family?
Why your hair is curly and ours isn’t.
Why you play that soft stuff,
and we’re Hard Rockers?
STORM! Rutherford screams. Don’t listen to her, Blade.
You don’t want to be a Morrison, little brother? Well, here’s the kicker, you’re not. You never were one of us, and you never will be . . . You’re adopted!
White Noise
I storm
out the door
buried
in silence
as if music itself
has died.
Be careful
what you ask for.
I get in the car and drive
like a mannequin vacant and numb to the bone.
I call her number five times. And again.
No answer. Just her voice saying, You’ve reached Chapel.
Sorry I missed you.
Leave me a confession.
I drive a little too fast down Topanga Canyon wishing my car could turn
into a boat
and float
across the Pacific.
My phone lights up
dozens of times.
Missed calls from
Storm
Rutherford
Storm
Rutherford
Storm
Rutherford
Storm
Storm
Storm . . .
nothing from Chapel.
Text from Chapel
10:52 pm
Sorry, Blade. I’ve
been at church all night for
revival. What’s up?
Texts from Storm
11:01 pm
I know you’re pissed. I shouldn’t have kirked off like that.
You’re STILL my brother.
11:35 pm
I’m sorry. Please answer your phone. Or call us back. Dad’s really worried, Blade.
12:16 am
Blade, it’s been 2 hours.
Where r u? Please don’t do something stupid.
Text from Rutherford
12:22 am
We may not be blood, but we
are family. Sister Sledge
’til the end. Come home!
Texts from Chapel
1:00 am
Blade, call me
so we can talk
about what happened.
1:00 am
Storm called me,
told me everything.
And that you
1:01 am
freaked out a little.
I would
too.
1:01 am
Come on, babe.
We need to talk.
You shouldn’t be alone.
1:01 am
I’m getting sad
and could use
one of your hugs 1:01 am
an arm scratch
and a back rub.
A sweet song?
Under the Cherry Moon
Too shaken up to drive,
I call a taxi, which drops me off a block from her house,
in front of blind, old Mrs. Burns, who hasn’t been seen since 1997.
I ninja walk down Chapel’s street where everyone is asleep where every light is out except for the one in her bedroom flickering
like a lightning bug.
Her shadow floats across the room, a signal
that she’s still awake and can save my life.
Text to Chapel
1:17 am
I’m out front.
Basement window in three minutes.
Make sure they’re asleep.
When the Levee Breaks
When I get to the backyard she’s already outside waiting to hug me like she’s never letting go.
She cradles my face
in her chest.
And for the first time since the bomb dropped I can’t keep it together.
A geyser
of tears
explodes
and the weight of my sad, sad world bursts forth, floods my vision.
Conversation
They didn’t love me.
They gave me away
like a donation
to Goodwill.
Don’t say that.
I never felt like a Morrison.
Now I know why.
Stop it. You are loved, Blade.
Am I?
Before
The sky beams as I search
for comfort.
She wraps
her arms around my waist.
We hug so tight, the Milky Way spins on our axis.
Our kiss
could save
a planet.
This is where I want to be.
This is where I need to be.
Swaying softly together
toward the stars.
Until . . .
An earthquake
thunders toward us with an anger so fierce it’d make ten thousand horses fall and never get up.
Chapel’s father is a 6.5 on the Richter.
He stomps up to me in an ominous black robe and practically moves the ground beneath us.
THIS. IS. IT. he roars.
And he tears us completely apart.
Aftershock
The one time
I did go to church
I don’t remember
the preacher
dropping bombs
like Chapel’s pastor father does
when he tells me to
GET THE—
Taking a Stand
Sir, I have been underwater my entire life.
Your daughter pulls me up, gives me new breath, strange and familiar this is all I know now.
This is where I want to be, between the moon and her gaze,
inside her arms carefully inhaling tomorrow,
is what I want to say.
What I actually say is: SIR, I LOVE YOUR DAUGHTER!
Devastation
Chapel doesn’t say, I love him too, but I know she feels it, as she squeezes
my hand so tight
the blood
hurries.
And the volcano
in his eyes
is ready to erupt.
If her mom
wasn’t holding
his arm,
he’d quickly abandon his religion.
You can try to break us up, but you can’t break our bond.
You can try to keep us apart now, but when we go to college next month, we’ll be together, I say, standing up like I should have done to Van DeWish.
That so? he answers. You love her? I bet you’re a drunk like your father.
I get in his face.
What, are you going to hit me, like your father did? Like thug, like son. We will see how strong your bond is three thousand miles apart.
What are you talking about? Chapel screams.
This won’t continue on my dime. You’re going to community college. Right here in LA.
Mom, that’s not fair.
Life’s not fair, young lady. Get used to it. And, son, if I were you I’d get off my property before I call the police.
NOW, he screams, like I’m a common criminal
whose only crime is being in love
and alone.
Shelter
I sit under an
enormous palm tree,
a block away
from Chapel’s house
in the pitch dark,
wishing I had
my guitar
to write
a song
about the second-worst
day of my life