I’m thinking
when Cruz comes up
to bat.
The Last Inning
Her eyes move
to the batter’s box,
where he stands
like some kind of baseball god.
I take her right hand into mine.
It feels cold.
I rub my thumb
over her knuckles.
I look at her face
as she watches his
every move.
Her faint smile
dances
across her lips
at him, just
in time
for him to
look our way
and wipe his brow,
the way he’s done
in every game
before, like
it’s a secret signal
between them.
She waves
with the hand
I held
inside mine
mere seconds ago.
The one
that I’ve loved
for seven summers.
Why does it feel
like I’m in the last inning
of a game
that hasn’t even started?
Debut
The game is slow.
The company, aloof.
It seems to take five
long, dreadful nights
before Walt actually
gets to bat.
He struts out wired,
lit like a firecracker
that’s about to go off.
Bopping his head
to the jazz
that’s undoubtedly playing
inside it.
He looks authentically
confident.
Sam and I both jump up,
applaud like
it’s his curtain call
and this is Hamilton.
He taps the bat
on the ground.
His swing looks good.
Then the ball comes
fast and furious
like a cannonball.
Not once.
Not twice.
But three times.
And he misses
each.
On his way back
to the dugout,
he looks up at me, and
I raise my fist
as if to say,
you got this,
but I’m not sure
he does.
The Ride from Antarctica
We don’t talk
or whisper
or even sigh.
Shivers come over me.
It’s the kind of silence that
makes you cold.
It’s just a painful void,
louder
than torture itself.
My mind races
with uncertainty.
Are we okay?
Is she sick?
Or just sick of me?
What do I say?
I pull up to her house,
and put the car
in park.
More silence.
I turn to face her,
to tell her
how I am
the sun to her moon,
when suddenly
she leans
and plants a kiss
on my cheek.
Forlorn
Mom and Dad
are coming home
early next week.
Walt is hanging out
with Divya, daily,
and I’m sitting here
feeling kinda lonely
and unsure, ’cause Sam
is on an overnight field trip.
And so is Cruz.
I start thinking
about my future,
and how maybe
I’ve got nothing
going on.
What if I end up
like Floyd,
dipping ice cream cones,
recording podcasts,
and pretending
to have
a life?
Texts with Granny
5:07 pm
Hey, Granny.
I need to talk,
can we hang?
5:07 pm
You can come over.
Or I can come over.
Pimento cheese sandwiches?
5:10 pm
We can binge watch
The Crown.
6:18 pm
SORRY, SUGAR.
I BEEN PLAYING POKER
WITH SOME SHYSTY FELLAS.
YOU NEED SOMETHING?
6:19 pm
I just missed you, Granny.
Figured we could get
together before Mom
and Dad get back home next week.
6:21 pm
AWFUL!
6:21 pm
Huh?
6:23 pm
i wrote aww! but it changed
my aww. noah, how do i
fidget . . . see it did it again. FIX!
6:24 pm
THIS ONE FELLA FLIRTS
WHENEVER HE’S BUFFING.
I’M ABOUT TO CALL HIS . . . MEAT
BLUFFING. MEANT. NOAH HELLLPPP!
6:25 pm
NOAH WALLACE HAS LEFT THE CONVERSATION.
WOOHOO WOMAN Podcast #6: Outro
MARJ: You crack me up, Jackie! But seriously, before we get
out of here, I want to run this by you. I read this quote in
a book: “To receive love, you have to give it, and in order
to give it, you have to have it.” Okay, maybe I’m a little
slow, but how can you give something you don’t have? Or
how can you have something you don’t have, or . . . see, I’m
confused, Jackie!
JACKIE: Hmmm. It sounds like a riddle for life. I think I
get it though. Receive, give . . . when I really think about
it, it means you have to love yourself first. If you don’t love
yourself, how can you possibly love others? You feel me?
MARJ: I DO. I DO. Without self-love, you have nothing to
offer others. Friends. Family. Lovers. A Woohoo Woman
knows this. It is her mantra.
JACKIE: Speaking of self-love, ladies. Get out there today
and do something nurturing for yourself, and then you can
go out into the world and love others.
MARJ: Here’s to a nap. Next week, we’re taking a surprise
road trip and dipping our toes into new waters.
JACKIE: Ooooh, are we podcasting from the beach?
Jamaica? Cancun?
MARJ: Floyd, you listening? We want the beach.
JACKIE: Loyal listeners, tune in next week to The Woohoo
Woman Podcast to find out where in the world Jackie and
Marj have landed.
Text from Sam
10:10 pm
Miss you, Noah. I’m
back tomorrow, but then gone
for weekend with Mom.
Let’s get together Sunday night.
Smooches.
Dear Sam
without u
i am lost
as in: isolated
unfin-
ished
broken
off
shipwrecked
on the shore
of solitude
ankle
deep
in
possibility
i have read the dictionary
twice
i. have. read. the. dictionary.
twice.
and still there r no words
to fill
my blank spaces
to punctuate
the way i feel
with yr smile
two-steps
across the stucco walls
of my memory
perhaps
i will open
a thesaurus now
and find
a little piece of hope
or something similar.
in other words
i miss you.
ps. All I’ve done since you left is write and draw. You
like the piece? I call it Hand to Hand. Walt says I should
submit it to this contest at a local gallery. If you’re okay
with it, I might.
Do not forget me.
Love, Noah.
Text to Walt
Swing, let’s hang out.
Go to the mall.
Hit the batting cage.
Have a lazy Saturday.
I need to get out
of my head
and this house.
Text from Walt
11:45 am
Yo, I can’t.
Divya and I
are out looking
for some hip glasses
and a tux,
’cause yeah,
I’m going
to the prom.
Guess who just found cool?
Something Is Coming
You know how things
are going great
and life feels easy
and joyful,
and then you get
that sensation
that something’s at your back,
but nobody’s there—an
empty feeling
hangs in the air
and everything looks gray,
even the sun?
When it feels like
something is about to
pull you under
and you’re afraid
to move
or breathe?
That’s where I stand.
Right now.
And, it’s not good.
It’s not good at all.
Part 5
Where Are You?
Conversation with Walt
Yo, my dad’s home.
For the wedding?
Heck no. Mo showed up at the house a few days back and
he slept over, and Mom said he had nightmares all night,
and when she went in to check on him, he was in fatigues
holding a bat and just staring at her. Through her.
Dang, yo!
Then he just left. She got scared and called my dad to
come find him.
Where is he?
I think Mo and Dad are at a hotel.
Oh.
He’ll be fine. He just needs rest. Mo will be back better
than ever!
. . . .
Hey, you like the tux? he asks, unzipping the garment bag
he’s carrying.
It’s fire.
Black pants, white jacket, red cummerbund. I’ll be the
dopest, flyest in the house.
. . . .
You know you can come with us.
Nah, I’m good. Plus, my parents are home on Tuesday.
Okay then, but can you stop looking so sad? Dang, you’re
killing my life high.
I miss her.
Dude, go see her then.
She’s out of town, until tonight.
Well, she must have a twin then, ’cause Divya and I saw
her earlier today after I left the weight room.
Where?
At the mall.
. . . .
Texts to Sam
Sunday, 2:00 pm
Sam, you home?
Walt says you’re back
in town.
How was your trip?
Miss you.
Call me.
Sunday, 2:45 pm
Where are you now?
Want me to come by?
Sunday, 3:15 pm
Hello?
Wanna come over here?
On the drive
to her house,
there’s bumper-to-bumper
traffic
on Main Street.
When I get out
to see the problem,
I see an empty grocery cart
on its side—trash, bags,
and countless flags
scattered—in
the middle
of the intersection,
and a bunch
of police officers.
When the traffic clears
I drive
to Sam’s house
to find her mom’s car
in the driveway,
and her little Brussels griffon
sitting
by the screen door,
on guard.
I’m relieved
she’s home,
then I’m not,
when I realize
she’s been home
and she hasn’t
acknowledged my texts,
called me,
or told me
she’s actually back.
And when I ring
the doorbell,
and Cruz opens
the door,
I’m pissed.
ROYALLY.
How Long Has This Been Going On?
What are you doing here, Cruz?!
The question is, what are you doing here, Noah? The
answer is, trying to steal my girl with your sappy little love
notes.
Give me those, Sam says, coming up behind him,
snatching the letters.
You can’t be me, kid. You’ll never be me, so why don’t you
go on home.
Sam? What’s going on? I ask.
I’LL TELL YOU WHAT’S GOING ON, NOAH, Cruz
yells at the top of his lungs, his hot breath an inch from
my face.
But I don’t hear
what he’s yelling,
as I plot
my next move:
Shove
my fist
in his face
and risk
being left the loser,
bloodied.
Or leave.
Walk away,
broken.
Escape
I run
back to my car,
almost stumbling.
Get in,
try to back out
of her driveway,
but she’s standing behind
blocking me,
with her arms folded
and her legs parted wide,
in a stance
that lets me know
she’s not moving.
Get out of the car, Noah!
Will not.
C’mon, I have your other shoe.
Not as long as he’s here.
Cruz, go. I’ll call you.
Okay, babe, but don’t be long, I hear him say.
I sit behind
the steering wheel
and close my eyes
for a moment
that feels
as raw
as an open wound,
wishing
I could be
someplace else,
someone else,
not having to deal
with the drama
that’s coming
or the pain
that’s here.
Another Reckoning
I finally get out
of the truck
after I hear Cruz
speed off.
I lean against
Granny,
who’s been more faithful
to me
than her.
Sam reaches out
for my arm,
like she’s trying
to pull me in
for a hug,
but I resist.
I pull back and stand
as still
and as cold
as a glacier.
Let’s go inside.
I’m fine out here.
I wan
t to talk someplace private, quiet.
Maybe I don’t want to talk. Period.
End
I open
my car door,
she shuts it.
I open it again,
push my way
inside.
If you leave— she says.
WHAT, YOU’RE GONNA BREAK UP WITH ME?
TOO LATE! YOU ALREADY DID THAT, I shout.
I’m not
going to stand
for betrayal.
I’m not going
to listen
to her lies,
to let her
talk about
how she feels
anymore.
What about how I feel?
I’ve had enough.
Got enough fumes
to fuel this car
for the rest
of its sorry life.
So, I speed off,
leaving her
standing there,
’cause there’s nothing else
to hear,
absolutely nothing else
to say, but
goodbye, Sam.
I’m done.
Early
The door
wide open
and suitcases
on the front porch
tell me
they’re back
from Spain,
and I’m gonna
have to act
like I’m happy,
which I’m just not
right now.
That instead
of wallowing
in despair,
which is what
I’d really like
to do,
I’ve got to act
like I’m ecstatic
they came home
two days early.
Hey, welcome back, I say, hugging Mom.
Hey, honey, Mom says, kissing me on the forehead.
We need to talk, Dad says.
Am I getting another car? I say sarcastically, hugging
Swing Page 17
