You coming?
I leave
my parents
a note,
take the keys
to Dad’s car,
and drive out
to the middle
of nowhere.
Let’s Face the Music and Dance
You’re listening to Diana Krall.
Huh?
The music. It’s a great song.
I just turned it on. I wasn’t really paying attention.
There may be trouble ahead/But while there’s music and
moonlight/And love and romance/Let’s face the music and
dance, he sings. She’s no Sarah Vaughn, but what a voice, yo.
Great, now let’s call a tow truck or something.
What took you so long?
Takes a minute to get to Alaska.
Dude, it’s not safe way out here.
Looks pretty safe to me. This is a nice neighborhood.
Yeah, pretty safe for YOU, but I’m a black kid walking up
and down the street with a baseball glove. At three am. In
the middle of nowhere. You do that math, Noah. A storm
is coming.
It’s not raining.
But it’s coming. Look at the halo around the moon.
You and your freakin’ superstitions.
Oh, the storm is coming, Noah. Let’s get out of here. We
can get it towed in the morning.
My parents are gonna freak.
I need some coffee, bad.
Why do you have your glove with you, by the way?
Gotta break it in. Doctors have stethoscopes, I got a glove.
. . . .
Noah?
Yeah?
I think I died tonight.
Huh?
Divya kissed me, really kissed me, and it was an out-of-body
experience. It was heaven, Noah, and she was an angel.
I see.
We danced all night, drenched in sweat and passion, then
went outside to cool off. I was in the middle of confessing
my endless love for her when she leaned in and kissed me,
and everything was LIT UP—the stars, my eyes. I literally
felt my soul leave my body and dance in the sky.
That’s pretty intense. What happened next?
. . . .
Walt, what happened next?
Noah, pull over.
Huh?
NOAH, PULL OVER NOW!
WHAT?
The Flag Bearer
Next to a park
on a baseball field,
swinging a bat
at an imaginary ball,
and surrounded by
flags staked
in the ground
like a shield,
is a guy
in army fatigues
screaming
“The Star-Spangled Banner.”
Wandering
in this desert
is Walt’s brother,
Moses.
MO!
Walt screams,
jumping out
of the car
before it even comes
to a complete stop.
MO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! Walt yells,
running the field,
picking up the flags
along the way.
I follow him.
IT’S ME, he screams
to Mo, who doesn’t see us,
just the sky
he’s still swinging at,
which is now
crying a river,
just as Walt predicted.
MO, IT’S ME. IT’S ME, WALT!
Haunting
We stand there
under hammering rain
face to face
with a ghost,
who doesn’t speak,
just stares
through us.
Hey, Mo, I say, you okay?
What are you doing out here? Walt says, taking the bat
from Mo.
He watches us
like we’re trespassing
on his life.
Walt goes to hug him,
but Mo starts
turning in circles,
yelling, mine, mine, MINE,
hopping
like there are bombs
beneath us.
I go back to the car,
to get the umbrella
I hope is in the trunk.
I see Walt
grabbing Mo,
embracing him.
Then, I hear sirens.
And, the explosion
comes fast
and hard
like a pitch
you never saw coming.
Out of nowhere
six cops out
of nowhere six
cops erupt out
of nowhere six cops
erupt with
out of
nowhere six cops erupt
with commands out
of nowhere
six cops erupt
with commands and out
of nowhere six
cops erupt with
commands and
guns out
of nowhere.
BOOM!
I
hear
blue
lights
Mo
screams
Panics
Runs
Walt
follows
Too
late
Mo
ghost
STOP
NOW
COP
YELLS
HANDS
UP
Walt
freezes
I
stare
at
Walt
then
cop
looks
scared
DON’T
MOVE
they
say
Rain
fast
Hits
ground
Six
Cops
White
noise
Point
guns
at
Walt
ON
GROUND
RIGHT
NOW
He
drops
bat
first
One
shoots
two
shoot
three
shots
slice
through
rain
drops
Walt
drops
blood
drops
I
run
I
run
to
Walt.
War Zone
Before I can get
to him
before I can save him
before I can let them know
that they’ve made a mistake
that he’s Walt Disney Jones,
The King of Swing,
the Sultan of Smooth,
the Count of Cool,
a cop
tackles me
like I’m a running back
and he’s a linebacker,
only this isn’t a game,
and there is no referee
to keep my face
out of the dirt
and my ears from ringing
from the bomb
that just dropped
on my life.
Witness
I sit
in the police station
staring at a checkered wall,
each block
a different memory.
The policemen,
slow, yet anxious
in their approach.
The wind
bouncing
the rain
fr
om tree to dirt.
The bat falling
from Walt’s hands,
suspended
for too long.
The sound
of gunshot
piercing air
and flesh.
The way Walt wobbled,
the way his legs gave,
the way he dropped
like falling leaves
from a soaring tree.
One of them who fired.
The blond crewcut one,
whose cap fell
to the ground, after.
The one who rushed Walt,
then cuffed him.
After.
I sit
in the police station
waiting for my parents,
trying not to remember
before.
Interrogation
I sit
with my dad
until it’s almost daylight,
answering questions
about a crime
committed
by the people
asking the questions.
What were you doing out there?
He was my friend.
What was he doing in the park?
Why’d you shoot him?
Why’d he have the weapon?
He had a bat. A BAT!
That’s a weapon.
NOT ON A BASEBALL FIELD.
. . . .
Don’t say anything else, my dad says, holding back
the tears.
I think we’re good here, says the police officer.
Says Me
We are not
good here, no
good. We are not
good. You are not
good here. You are not
God. Here. You are
not God. You
are no God. You
are no good. Here.
You are not good
here. We are not.
Good.
After
Dad wants to
take me home
to shower
to eat
to not remember
the sorrow,
to begin
to climb
the volcano
of mourning, but
there is only one place
I want to go.
Need to be.
Critical Care
I walk in,
see tubes.
Lots of them.
A muted television.
Cards from classmates.
His mother and father
and future stepfather
in and out
of the room.
A record player
that Divya brought in
sitting in the corner
playing Birth of the Cool
over and over.
And, Swing.
Barely smiling.
Barely here.
My tears collecting
on my shirt,
falling on Swing’s
hospital bed.
Autumn Leaves
You never paid me back, yo, are the first words out of his
mouth.
I’m going to. I promise. I’m going to pay you back double
someday.
It was Moses . . . The flags.
I know. I was there, I was with you, I say.
Sam was here. Crying. Like you.
I’m sorry, Walt. I’m so—
Everything is copacetic, he says, like he really believes it.
I grab his hand.
There is blood between us,
inside our grip.
Are you my best friend?
Ride or die.
Ride AND die, apparently, he says, trying to laugh, but
coughing. You still owe me, for the loan.
A nurse comes in
to keep
what’s left
of the river
in his veins
from pouring out.
My tributaries are in a mad rush, yo, he says, each word
sounding fainter. They can’t stop the bleeding inside.
. . . .
Hey, Noah?
Yeah?
What’s today?
Monday.
Monday? That sucks.
What? What’s wrong.
I was hoping it was Friday. All the good ones go on Friday.
Chet Baker, Duke Ellington.
. . . .
It’s okay, Noah.
No, it’s not. It’s not okay. Those cops are gonna pay. All
of them are gonna pay. I prom—
Are you my best friend, Noah?
Yeah.
Then do me a favor.
A favor. Yeah, what? Anything!
Keep the training wheels off. Go to a museum. Hug life.
Walt, what are you saying?
Choose yes, he says, each new breath coming
slower and slower.
He jerks, squinches,
and a beeping sound
goes off.
Another nurse comes in
and does something
with his tubes.
This will help with the pain, she says.
Are you in pain?
I just got shot in the chest nine times, yo, he says, his eyes
rolling a little.
Actually, it was three.
Now’s not the time to joke, Noah, he says, and then
squeezes
my hand tight,
and laughs heartily
like it’s his last time
doing it.
For the first time
in our lives,
I see fear in
his eyes.
It’s unmistakable.
Don’t go, Walt. PLEASE! DON’T GO!
Walt Disney Jones listened to some good music, found cool, fell in love, took a
hard swing at life, and then, because sometimes the world is not so beautiful,
BAM!
I, Too?
Swing was born
Walt Disney Jones
the sun
was shot
in the center
multiple times
exploding rays
by an officer
of hope
sworn
to protect
to keep peace in
the heart of
our country,
freedom
from sea to shining sea.
Epilogue
Rare air, he flew
above possibility.
And, even though I know
that there will never be forevers
for wild birds, hunted
like game,
that there will never be forevers
for strange fruit
swinging in the breeze,
and even though I know
that America is sometimes
not so beautiful
and right
and just,
I know that Walt believed
that all the good in the world
could equate to an inch,
and he was convinced
he could grow it
into twenty thousand miles,
and he ran
with his head high, and his smile full,
base by base,
to make sure
that the good stretched out,
and he never stopped
talking about it
all the way home.
And I listened.
And I heard you, Swing.
And I hope you do too.
There’s this dream
I’ve been having
about my mother
that scares
the holy night
out of me,
and each time I wake
from it
I’m afraid to open
my eyes
and face
the
world that awaits, the
fractured world
that used to make sense,
but now seems
disjointed—islands of possibility
that float by—like
a thousand puzzle pieces
that just don’t fit
together anymore.
So I think
of Chapel
and grab hold
of the only other thing
that matters.
My guitar.
Strings
Mom used to play
this game
on the tour bus
to help us
go to sleep:
Who’s the best?
We’d go through
every instrument:
piano, drums, horns.
Our favorite was guitar.
My sister, Storm, always said
Eddie Van Halen
was her favorite,
probably ’cause
he once made her
pancakes
at 4 am
in a Marriott kitchen.
Ask Rutherford and
he’d say,
I’m the best in the world,
I’m outta this world.
Electric soul brother interstellar man,
which is ironic
because he was trying
to quote
Lenny Kravitz, who
Mom would say
was in her top three
along with Jimi Hendrix
and me,
just to piss him off.
Chapel
is the great song
in my life.
The sweet arpeggio
in my solo.
Her lines bring
color and verve
to my otherwise
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