. . . .
The Loan
Payment is due
the first Friday of every month.
Car rides
whenever I desire.
Missed payments
mean a penalty fee
of five dollars.
And there’s interest:
twenty-five cents
on the dollar.
Sign
Here.
I walk outside
the thrift store
with the Keepall
in hand, wondering
if I’ve signed a deal
with the devil’s
accountant,
when I see Sam
put away her phone,
and wipe away
her tears.
Everything okay?
Yeah, he just told me the reason he didn’t get the bracelet is
because he wanted to surprise me.
And you believed him? Walt asks.
He’s gonna come back and get it for me. He really is
thoughtful, guys.
Yeah, and forgetful, Walt says, shaking his head.
You got the bag?! Nice! Smart move, Noah. Y’all want ice
cream? she says, yawning.
Somebody needs a nap, Walt says.
I’m good. Let’s hit DQ?
NO, we both say, immediately.
I’m kinda in the mood for frozen yogurt today, I add.
By the way, Sam says to Walt, the tattoo is dope, but I
think they left a letter off.
After dessert
I drop Walt off
and take Sam
home.
My hands grip the wheel
like I’m barreling
through a storm.
She leans her head
on my shoulder,
her face against
my body,
giving me
chills
and a warmth that
snakes around
in my stomach.
She makes me
want to
tell her
how good
it feels to . . .
how much
I really want to
let her know
I love
the way she
has me coiled,
completely
tongue-tied,
all the way down
to the gas pedal.
Conversation with Walt
I didn’t sleep at all last night.
Why?
I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Who?
Divya.
Who is that?
Seriously, yo. Divya from the thrift shop.
Oh.
I’m captivated. She was quite pleasant.
Apparently ambrosial too. Whatever that means.
I think she’s into me.
I didn’t get that at all.
I need to come up with a plan.
. . . .
And you do too. You gotta step up your game.
I will.
Noah, the universe is conspiring to give you everything,
but you gotta do your part. This isn’t a game of Yankees
versus Orioles. This is a game of love and war.
I will.
You said that today, yesterday. And the day before that.
And last week. And last summer, and the summer before
that. And the five summers before that. When you two
went to the same Jesus camp . . . and when she saved your
butt in third grade.
I SAID I WILL!
Just write her, like Floyd said, if you’re too afraid to tell her
to her face. Pour out your heart completely so she has no
choice but to fill it.
Well, I did kinda write her something last night, after I
got home.
Share
Okay, but don’t laugh.
No judgments here.
It’s a song or something. It’s called A Song for Sam.
Bwahahaha . . .
Nah, never mind.
Sorry, man. I’m sorry. I’m not laughing AT you, I’m
laughing WITH you.
I’m not laughing.
Oh, right, well, my bad. It’s just you can probably come
up with a more original title. Okay, I’m listening, I’m
listening.
First Draft
I want you
to be
my symphony.
My own
private symphony.
Your moist lips
the oboe
my tender mouth
sings through.
Your legs
two piccolo trumpets
blazing through
the air.
Your hips—
Whoa, WHOA, BOY! Noah, maybe we should go see
Floyd again. You can’t send her THAT.
Why, what’s wrong with it?
For starters, it’s mildly stalkerish, and you use the word
moist. For seconds, it’s just vulgar. C’mon, yo, turn off the
Showtime and HBO. Don’t go all Netflix on me. PBS with
a splash of Lifetime, maybe. Women are much more than
legs and lips. You really need to listen to more Woohoo
Woman.
Maybe I’ll work on it.
Maybe, uh, start over.
Yeah.
But first, let’s hit the library.
Why?
There’s gotta be a book that can help you with this.
What kind of book?
Writing for Dummies.
Woohoo Woman Podcast #3: Training Wheels
Do you want better? Better friends? Better jobs? Better
kids? Better Love? Better you? Better YES? And less NO
in your life? Then you’ve tuned in to the right place. I’m
Jackie, and I’m Marj, and this is The Woohoo Woman
Podcast.
JACKIE: Welcome, welcome, loyal Woohoo listeners. Today,
we are talking about taking those training wheels off and
popping wheelies. What do you say, Marj?
MARJ: So, I’m trying to get my son to pop off those
training wheels, but he’s a little afraid. I keep telling him
he’s ready. He just needs a little faith. Easy for Mama to
say, right?
JACKIE: It’s a highway out there, and no one’s breaking for
ya. You must be ready to put your foot to the metal . . . give
it a little gas and GO!
MARJ: Leave it to Jackie to mix the metaphors in a jiffy.
From bicycles to Corvettes.
JACKIE: Either way, we’re spinning. Going round and
round, trying to get from can’t to can, from no to yes. And
sometimes we can wait too long, and our “training wheels,”
as it were, become a crutch. Know what I’m saying? “Life
is a highway . . .”
MARJ: WOOHOO!
JACKIE: I was a little off-key.
MARJ: Maybe a little. But I love that song. Hey, Floyd,
crank up Rascal Flatts for us.
JACKIE: When do we know we’re ready to take that chance
in life and go for what we want?
MARJ: New career. Follow those dreams we’ve been hiding
in our hearts for years. New man. New move. A trip
around the world. We must take risks to gain, and we must
have faith that, even if we have to slam on the brakes, we’ll
get back on the road and drive.
JACKIE: That’s the problem for me. Knowing when to brake
and when to accelerate.
MARJ: And sometimes I wonder if I pass on those anxieties
to my son.
JACKIE: No time like the present to give it your all, Marj,
> and show your little man that you’re his hero. You are a
wondrous woman. A Woohoo Woman full of potential.
MARJ: Thanks, Jackie. And that’s why we’re friends. You
are full of metaphors and encouragement. I feel like now’s
a good time to tell you something.
JACKIE: What?!
MARJ: I’ve been dreaming of becoming a . . .
Next time on The Woohoo Woman Podcast, find out
what Marj has been dreaming of “becoming,” and then
we’ll be interviewing love expert from Cupid’s Corner, Amy
J, who has advice on how to find and keep lasting love in a
world that feels like Where’s Waldo.
What Matters
As soon as I drop Walt off
at Sluggerville,
I turn off the dreadful podcast
and focus my attention
on the only Woohoo Woman
who matters right now: my mom.
Inspection
Except for a
a tear
and spots
of blue ink
on the bottom,
her gift
is in good condition.
It smells
like must
and nostalgia,
so I dust it out,
clean it gently
with a damp rag.
I feel something
at the bottom,
lumpy, thick,
beneath
a tear
in the fabric.
So I lift it,
and discover
postcard-sized,
fading envelopes
scattered
underneath,
faintly addressed
to someone
named Annemarie
in Pennsylvania.
I count
five envelopes.
Lucky Day?
I’ve heard stories
of people
finding big bucks
in books
and trunks,
between sofa cushions,
behind paintings,
inside old purses.
Maybe today is my lucky day.
I carefully open
the first envelope,
and shake it.
Nothing comes out
but dust.
And a letter.
7 september 1966
dear love,
five minutes after we met, my smile exploded. when i told you i wanted to paint u from floor to ceiling, a masterpiece, u laughed like a river. or volcano. and then u walked away with ur friends & my whole life stopped.
i couldn’t breathe, until u turned around, came back over & gave me the note.
i remember the way ur auburn hair fell down ur back, i remember ur laugh dancin up my spine, i remember it all, even fats waller playing on the record player when you walked in. i’ve got a feeling i’m falling, an ocean floor, a buried treasure. i want to discover you again!
remember me to harlem,
corinthian c. Jones.
p.s. annemarie, excuse my misspellings & the failures of my new typewriter. i am still learning to type & it seems that only “J” will capitalize.
27 october 1966
dear love,
thank u for coming to see me once again. it means everything. i have known u for mere months, but it feels like u have been a part of me since creation. when u were here last, u were sweeter than the wine we drank, more lovelier than the trumpets blazing through sugr hill. it has felt like more than two thousand seasons since we laughed up in our magical place.
i have busied myself with ur portrait, which i hope to finish by summer, as i have finagled my way into a summer teaching gig at lincoln. yet, i’ll be 30 miles from where my heart resides, where each and every breath is always with u. the bad is that i’ll have less time to ponder, less time to paint at will & whimsy. but regardless of what i’m doing, or where i stand, i see you—everywhere. it’s love that fills my eyes. u are my first thought at first sight.
there is a Jazz showcase coming up in a month’s time. will u come? u can bring your friends again, if it is easier. if we are to keep up appearances. i Just need to carry you in my arms like a wave carries ships to faraway lands. i Just need to kiss u inside the daze of my dreams, inside the blue Jazz. i Just need u and your loyalty, ur truth, and your abundance of light. i am not picky how we manage. ur pure essence may be both blessing and curse, but how do i not love wholly & solely when the mere parting of ur lips swallows me whole. takes all
that is in the chambers of my heart, and soul, captures my breath? i beg you . . .
come, swim with me in this deep blue unknown.
corinthian.
Text to Walt
8:52 pm
I just called you.
You still at batting cages?
Hit me back when you finish.
My world just got ROCKED.
Tonight, after reading the love letters
I decide I’m ready
to come alive,
to write love
on the page
like it’s a new language.
Tonight, I’m ready
to tear courage
out of the book of dares
and make it mine.
Tonight, I’m ready
to draw her lines,
tempt her to walk across
the Grand Canyon
of my love
and not look down
in fear.
Tonight, I’m ready
to capture her heart
like a monarch,
set her free
to come back to me.
Tonight, I’m ready
to build a fortress
of promises
that can be ours,
our castle of dreams.
After reading
the love letters
from Corinthian
to Annemarie,
I think
I’m ready
to take the chance
and go for what
I want.
I think.
Bon Voyage
My parents’ flight
leaves at 11:00 pm,
so the official birthday party
with French vanilla ice cream
and Oreo cheesecake,
Mom’s faves,
is quick and
sweet.
Dad gives her
another elephant—this
one from South Africa—to add
to her prized collection
of elephant statues
from around the world
that have overtaken
our whole freakin’ house.
She smiles
when I give her
the bag,
devoid of dust
and letters,
and filled
with all kinds of
travel accessories:
sleep goggles,
romance novels,
and a penciled mélange
of self-portrait styles
so I can carry you near my heart, she says, crying like
I imagine
all moms do.
I kiss her goodbye,
Dad kisses me,
then she grabs me
like she’s never
going to see me
again.
Noah, be good. Be careful. Use good judgment, and . . .
Mom, you act like you’re flying to Pluto. It’s just Spain.
Try to have fun and not worry.
It’s just that we’ve never left you for this long.
I left you. Fourth grade. Wizards and Warriors Camp.
But, it wasn’t a month.
Felt like it.
He’ll be fine, honey, Dad says. My mother will be here
with him for a few weeks.
Guys, I’m a grown m
an now. I’ll be fine. Now, go.
And with that,
I shove them
out the door
to their taxi,
so I can get back
to the old letters,
to my new life.
Text from Walt
7:30 am
I’m intrigued. Fill
me in Monday, yo.
Mom’s freaking out
over the wedding. Got
me on lockdown
all weekend: cake tastings,
invitations. I’m planning
my escape, though . . .
Star Spangled
On Monday,
school explodes
when the admin finds
a ginormous flag
wrapped around
the big tree
out front,
and a dozen smaller ones
graffitied
on the sidewalk.
People mull around,
not sure
if they should be scared,
or proud.
The school is locked down.
Nobody in
or out,
so we sit
in the car
and wait.
And wait.
And I show Walt
two letters.
He reads
them, and
I swear
I see a tear
sneaking from
Swing Page 6
