Well, not really pray,
but hope
he’s moved on.
This is my time.
This is our time.
Olive Garden
I wanted to take Sam
to Ruth’s Chris steakhouse,
but I’ve decided I don’t do
red meat anymore, she says,
plus it would have depleted
the cash my parents left
for me, and I already owe Walt,
so we hit
Olive Garden.
We eat bottomless salad
and breadsticks,
drink tap water,
and split a chicken parm.
I can’t stop staring
at the cute way
she chews her food,
and how she
looks up at me
with those eyes
when she takes a sip
of water.
I feel like we
could do this
for a very long time,
maybe forever.
Give-and-Take
I don’t care
that she doesn’t do
jazz or
beef,
that she doesn’t like
the way I drive
or dance, and
quite a few
other things
that I do.
All that matters
is that we
own Venus.
Are You Kidding Me?
Move over! I hear.
I look up
and see
Swing and Divya.
What are you guys doing here? You follow us?
Ha! Thought you were strapped for cash. Didn’t you beg
for me to buy you salt and vinegar chips just yesterday?
Play nice, boys, Sam says. Hi, Divya, nice to see you again.
Hey, Sam. We’re celebrating the big news, Divya says, as
Walt, uninvited, slides in next to me.
Celebrating what?
And next up to bat is . . .
In Full Swing
Junior Wilson,
the star outfielder,
is out
for four weeks
because he sprained
his pinky toe
trying to be Superman.
After seeing him
for the tenth time
in a row
at the batting cages,
Coach called Swing
to sub,
so now
he’s playing varsity
for the rest
of the season,
and he can’t stop grinning,
and he can’t stop yapping
about how great
he’s gonna be
way out
in left field.
After I congratulate Walt
for finally making the team,
I sit back and study
his chirpy grin
as he stuffs his face
with my breadsticks.
I’m annoyed.
Annoyed like gnats
needling my soul.
I should be excited for him,
proud of him,
celebrating him.
But, I’m annoyed.
Not salty and jealous annoyed, though.
Why couldn’t I have
worked harder,
said yes more,
made the team
like Swing,
have Sam see me
as something
other than
a lovelorn artist?
I want to tell Walt
how I feel
insecure and unsettled,
share my frustration
and defeatist attitude
with my greatest counselor,
but since he’s the root cause,
The Offender,
I can’t tell him jack.
Plus, he’d just tell me
to embrace all the feels
and hug life.
I didn’t get a call
to join the team,
but I’ve got her.
I’ve got her crimson-brown eyes
that sparkle when
I make her laugh.
I have her billion-dollar smile
she gives me
right before we kiss.
I have her soft hand
that caresses mine
when we walk.
I have her whole being
that fits
perfectly inside
my embrace
at the end of the day.
I’ve got my own home run.
Her.
Boundaries
What a perfect night.
It was nice, she says, putting her head on my shoulder.
I’m sleepy though.
The light turns red,
and I turn
to kiss her.
Turn right, she says.
I thought we were going to my house.
I should go home.
Why?
Noah, let’s take this slow. I know that sounds cliché . . . I
don’t want this to be a Lifetime movie.
Okay. How slow?
The Anatomy of a Kiss
It starts in a car
parked on her street
under lamplight,
the urge
to move closer.
The engine off,
windows cracked,
our shadows overlapping.
Our noses touch.
Our breath quickens.
We’ve kissed
at least a dozen times,
but this feels
like the first,
the only.
I’ll see you next week.
You don’t want to get together this weekend?
Going to see colleges with my mom.
Oh.
You’re cute when you’re sad. Bye, Noah, she says, leaving
me
bewitched,
bothered,
and bewildered.
Caught in a Love Haze
I’m definitely in love,
I think
as I drive
in a daze,
changing lanes
without signaling,
getting lost
on streets
I’ve known
for years.
I’m definitely in love,
I say
to the wind
as I slam
on brakes,
almost hitting
something—
no, someone—
running
across the street
holding a large flag.
When I get home
sitting on my front stoop,
now wearing a baseball cap
and brand-new Rams jersey,
looking beaten
and dismal
with both hands
holding up
his head,
is Baby Bonds.
I got the blues, Noah, and I got ’em bad, he says.
The Blues
You’re back.
Back? What do you mean?
You haven’t really been here in days.
Oh, did you miss me?
. . . .
Look, you and Sam have been doing your thing, and me
and Divya have been doing our thing. We both needed our
space to be in the place. But now, I got the blues.
Things with Divya good?
They were. Until, they weren’t.
What happened?
I think I’m in trouble.
Why?
’Cause she kissed me.
Isn’t that what you wanted?
On my neck.
Oh.
Yeah!
. . . .
. . . .
But, wait, what does that mean?
It doesn’t mean she wa
nts to engage in witty conversation
and occasional verbal sparring.
She wants to—
EXACTLY! And I don’t know what to do.
Well, don’t ask me. My world just got rocked by a six-
second kiss that felt like sixty.
I know what we need.
Please, no more Woohoo Woman!
I know exactly who we need.
Don’t say what I think you’re gonna say.
Let’s gas up the truck and go for some dipped cones.
Seriously?
No Fries, Just More . . . Floyd
Hey, fellas, Floyd’s closing. Whatcha need? Already threw
the fries out.
No fries, just advice, cuz.
Floyd can do that, he says. Heard you’re playing ball.
Yeah. And Mo’s back.
Yeah, he came by. He was looking rough.
Just tired.
Nah, man, tattered, disheveled. Talked like he had heavy-
ish things on his mind.
Really? Walt says.
Floyd thinks he got a little shocked over there.
. . . .
You know we were tight back in the day. We used to run
things at Westside High. Floyd’ll come by and holla at
him. He staying with y’all?
Actually, I’m not sure where he’s staying.
Cool. Anyway, what can Floyd do for you?
I got an older woman.
How old?
By two years.
That’s like a dozen dog years.
Actually, it’s not, I say.
Makes no never mind. So, what’s the problem?
She’s moving too fast for me.
Oh.
So what should I do, Floyd?
Where Floyd Tells Walt What to Do
and It Makes No Sense Whatsoever
1.Don’t take her to dinner on Mondays. Everybody’s in a bad mood on Mondays.
2.When you massage her feet, use lavender oil, not peppermint (that could be risky).
3.Leave her love notes on Wednesdays, but not every Wednesday, because she’ll become accustomed to receiving love notes every single Wednesday, and if you ever forget, Lord, you’ll be in trouble. Trust Floyd on that one.
4.Spring her a surprise now and again, but make sure the surprise has tickets in them. Tickets to somewhere. Or lottery tickets. Everybody needs tickets in life to feel like something special is about to happen.
5.Take her to the movies on Fridays, but don’t buy popcorn or slushies. That’s cliché and you might get bloated and gas her outta the car on the ride home.
6.Always keep her on her toes, switch things up, be a gentleman, and sing her songs that’ll make her cry.
7.Eat the pizza she likes.
But, what about how fast she’s moving? Walt says.
No idea, little cousin, he says. Floyd never had to deal
with that. Gotta run. Good luck, though.
Special Something
Walt is definitely unsettled,
’cause he doesn’t stay up
watching movies
or listening
to music
all night.
He just plops
himself down
on the couch
and passes out,
but not before
he says,
Oh, I forgot to give you something.
What?
Sam told me to hide it in your room or somewhere, but I’m
too exhausted. Here, he says, handing me an envelope.
Good night. Gotta be ready for the big game Tuesday.
We’re tied for first place.
Thanks, I say, taking the envelope.
Did you hear what I said, yo? We’re. In. First. Place.
Yay.
Phone Conversation
Whatchu doing?
Thinking of you.
Awww, that’s sweet.
. . . .
How’d you like my masterpiece?
I give you a B+
WHAT! I put a lot of work into that!
Just kidding.
It’s like a recipe for love.
Yeah, I got that.
You’re mean.
Seriously, thank you for it. I love it. You don’t know how
much I love it.
Well, you made me feel special when I wasn’t feeling so
great, and I wanted to thank you for showing me how
much you care.
Care . . . you’re more than someone I care about.
Sam . . . I love you. I love you so much.
She’s silent.
Just long enough
for me
to feel awkward.
Hey, Walt’s big game is next week. You coming with me?
Of course, wouldn’t miss it for anything.
What about this weekend? What should we do?
Do you even listen to me? Remember, my mom’s taking me
to some colleges.
Oh, yeah.
Talk tomorrow, Noah. Bye.
Don’t go yet.
. . . .
Click.
The Big Game
As we wait
on the bleachers
for the game
to start, it’s
an unbelievable feeling
to have
my girl
by my side when
I’m getting ready
to cheer my
best friend.
Feels like
rebirth.
Smells like
her wild orchid perfume
and tastes like
salted pretzels,
popcorn, soda,
Skittles.
I can’t believe this is Walt’s first high school game. He’s
been dreaming of this day since I met him, I say, pouring
Skittles into my mouth.
It’s incredible. A testament of his perseverance. It’s a good
quality to have. We all could use a little more of what
Walt’s got.
Yeah. I guess you’re right, I say, inching closer and
throwing my arm around her.
I really care about you, Noah. Your friendship has meant
the world to me all these years.
She takes a handful
of popcorn,
shoves it
into her mouth,
and chomps
like she didn’t just say that.
Friendship?
I thought
we moved past
the friendzone
when we kissed
for the eightieth time
this morning,
is what I’m thinking.
But I don’t say a word.
Instead, I ride out
the awkwardness,
hold her tight.
Realization
In our silence,
with the sound of
the baseball team gathering,
it occurs to me she might sense
that there’s something about all of this
that’s a fraud,
and that might be
what’s holding her back
from loving me too.
Caught in the Truth
Sam, there’s something I’ve got to tell you.
Okay.
Walt gave you the first one.
The first what?
The first love letter.
WALT WROTE THEM?
NO! He just gave it to you. It was his idea.
Oh.
I’m sorry. I was just a little scared.
But, you wrote it, so—
So, those first few letters I gave you, I didn’t exactly write
them all by myself—I found letters from the sixties by a
guy named Corinthian, picked out the words that spoke
to me, then I created the art.
Wait. Wh
at? You didn’t write any of them? And who in the
world is Corinthian? How did you get his letters?
I wrote some of them, just not the first couple. I mean, I
borrowed—
I’m confused, Noah. Did you write them or not?
I found these love letters in the Keepall I gave my mom
for her birthday. They were hidden underneath a tear at
the bottom of the purse. So, mine were inspired by this
dude named Corinthian, who wrote love letters to his
girlfriend back in the 1960s.
. . . .
But all the latest ones, the ones I read you at the party,
the ones I read to you in front of everyone to express how
I feel . . . those were completely mine, Sam.
. . . .
I’m sorry, Sam.
I’m glad you told me.
You mad?
Just confused. If those weren’t your words, then—
But it was my art. My heart. My. Every. Word. Every
color. Every ounce of me was on those pages.
. . . .
You are mad.
I’m okay.
She says
she’s okay,
so why do I feel
like a child
who’s just been caught
cheating
or stealing?
Love is a many-splendored thing,
and there’s no going back
on the truth,
are the things
Swing Page 16
