Chris Whitley recorded fifteen albums before he died:
1. Living with the Law
2. Din of Ecstasy
3. Terra Incognita
4. Dirt Floor
5. Live at Martyrs
6. Perfect Day
7. Rocket House
8. Long Way Around: Anthology
9. Pigs Will Fly soundtrack
10. Hotel Vast Horizon
11. Weed
12. War Crime Blues
13. Soft Dangerous Shores
14. Reiter In
15. Dislocation Blues
The mom and the dad dance to Chris Whitley’s hit “Big Sky Country.” The door of the room is closed. Please unlock this door, a boy asks from the hallway. White paint on the door starts to chip. The old red coat of paint begins to show through. The dad grabs the mom’s wrist. The dad leads. They continue to dance. The boy doesn’t know what dance they’re dancing. He speculates:
1. Tango
2. Foxtrot
3. Waltz
He doesn’t know any more dances. The mom yells at the dad. The dad’s voice is louder. He won’t let go. Police station gets a call. Can they hear “Big Sky Country” playing at fifty-nine decibels? Chris Whitley is dead now. The boy could stab the dad’s brain and he’d be dead, too.
* * *
I could break your back with my twelve-year-old hand. Police station gets a call. I cry and the tear water spoils Mom’s nice blanket. Mucus too. Please unlock this door. This isn’t funny anymore. Covered in sirens, I hear only red and blue.
Stare at me in a white tee and pajama bottoms. Me? I could blind you with my nail-bitten fingers. Men in navy uniforms walk in the screen door. They have hairy arms. Mom’s going to be so mad that they’re tracking mud through her kitchen. One hands me a pen. Tells me to write. I impress them with my perfect Gs. Letter Js like licorice. Greatest story ever written.
Watch as I finish the police report. Do you think Chris Whitley still sings after you leave us? He doesn’t.
* * *
“Shall we dance?” the dad asks the mom. She nods her head, meaning they shall. She follows her husband into the room. Royal purple carpet and lilac walls. The ballroom.
“Let me show you how to dance,” the dad says, all smiles.
The mom says, “Give me your hand. So big.”
“Does our son say ‘Please unlock this door?’” he says.
“Please. No more Chris Whitley,” says the mom. “Let’s dance to the rhythm of the silence instead.”
“But the jukebox is ready.”
The dad puts on a pair of boxing gloves. The mom grabs brass knuckles from her first dresser drawer. They exchange punches and kicks until their faces and bodies are bloody.
The mom teases, “I dare you to call the police.”
“9-1-1,” the dad says. “Coming right up.”
The police arrive and the dad leaves the home. His son and wife wave good-bye.
“What did you write, sweetie?” the mom asks her son.
The son says, “A story. Want to hear?”
He reads the story: ‘A long brown tube comes out of the ground in my backyard, surrounded by a square wooden pit. A cap loosely placed on top of the tube closes off the opening. A baby bluebird leaves its nest for the first time. Doesn’t know how to fly so well. Hits the tube, knocks the cap off, and falls inside. My mom and I are out for dinner. Some not-so-fancy restaurant. We return home to a bathtub full of our feces and urine. I point out Mom’s turkey sandwich. Dad’s chocolate-covered pretzels. I had never truly seen the color brown before. Oh, my cheesy hot dog.’
“Precious. Simply precious,” the mom says. “But darling, that happened years ago.”
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Balanced Breakfast
1. Whole grain guaranteed
2. Marshmallows
3. Vitamin B12
4. Sugar
5. Modified corn starch
6. Corn syrup
7. Dextrose
8. Gelatin
9. Selenium
10. Calcium carbonate
11. Yellow 5
12. Thiamine
13. Yellow 6
14. Blue 1
15. Artificial flavor
16. Vitamin E
17. Red 40
18. Mixed tocopherols
19. Added to preserve freshness
20. Calcium carbonate
21. Zinc
22. Iron
23. Glass bowl
24. Mineral nutrients
25. Magnesium
26. Vitamin C
27. Sodium ascorbate
28. Comments? Save entire package
29. A B Vitamin
30. Niacinamide
31. Vitamin B6
32. Pyridoxine hydrochloride
33. Vitamin B2
34. Riboflavin
35. Percent daily values based on a 2,000 calorie diet
36. Vitamin B1
37. Thiamin mononitrate
38. Vitamin A
39. Daily values higher or lower depending on your calorie needs
40. A B Vitamin
41. Folic acid
42. Vitamin D3
43. Metal spoon
44. Biotin
45. Pantothenic acid
46. Iodine
47. Potassium
48. Vitamin K
49. Distributed by General Mills Sales, Inc.
2. Marshmallows
3. Vitamin B12
4. Sugar
5. Modified corn starch
6. Corn syrup
7. Dextrose
8. Gelatin
9. Selenium
10. Calcium carbonate
11. Yellow 5
12. Thiamine
13. Yellow 6
14. Blue 1
15. Artificial flavor
16. Vitamin E
17. Red 40
18. Mixed tocopherols
19. Added to preserve freshness
20. Calcium carbonate
21. Zinc
22. Iron
23. Glass bowl
24. Mineral nutrients
25. Magnesium
26. Vitamin C
27. Sodium ascorbate
28. Comments? Save entire package
29. A B Vitamin
30. Niacinamide
31. Vitamin B6
32. Pyridoxine hydrochloride
33. Vitamin B2
34. Riboflavin
35. Percent daily values based on a 2,000 calorie diet
36. Vitamin B1
37. Thiamin mononitrate
38. Vitamin A
39. Daily values higher or lower depending on your calorie needs
40. A B Vitamin
41. Folic acid
42. Vitamin D3
43. Metal spoon
44. Biotin
45. Pantothenic acid
46. Iodine
47. Potassium
48. Vitamin K
49. Distributed by General Mills Sales, Inc.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Fourth Month
Red fingers grab a napkin to dab at red lips. A man in a tight black tee walks past me. His gait is faster than mine. A clear green cup spins and spins on a metal table. I hear childish songs. My legs are warm but my arms feel cold. I walk down a sidewalk. My hands rest in the pockets of my hooded sweatshirt. The bodies of dried worms slide across the pavement as I walk. The coiled bodies leave smeared stains like rust on the white cement. The next rainfall will clean the sidewalk. Living worms will surface. I was young—three or four, probably five years old—and I cut a worm in half with a garden hoe. The two halves wriggled separately and I smiled. I felt bad when they stopped wriggling. I returned the hoe to the shed and opened the door to my house.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Break the Ice
I stand in front of my house with Mark. He wears a beige coat. Scarf with his name. Find him on page three—four?—of a Kohl’s mag. There I am to his right, a packed ball of snow firm in hand.
We can knock them down—Mark and me—the strings of ice that hang from my roof like dead limbs. We can do it. Mark could push the smoke from his lips and melt them all. I bet he could if he tried.
He looks old with a lit cig in his mouth. It burns down like a fuse. He breathes in one last time. Throws it in the snow. I step on it with my boot to make sure it’s out. He grins at me and of course I smile back at him.
I’m stripped of the wait: Mark picks up two chunks of snow. Packs them in a ball. Hurls it toward the shards of ice. A slab breaks and falls from the roof. Could have struck him in the head and he would have been dead. Would have called it death by ice. Bound for the morgue.
I say to Mark, “Move back. You scare me. You’re so close to the ice.” Ten more fall, but none close enough to strike his head and kill him. I smile at the sound of their crash, a gun shot shock in my brain. “Don’t be lame. Knock them down with me. It’s fun,” Mark says to me with that grin.
And then there’s no ice left to fall which means we are done. I hold the door for Mark and he steps in my house. We watch a show on my couch. Take off our shoes. Coats. Scarves. When Mark leaves, I hug him and he smells like smoke. His car looks bright red when he drives down the street.
We can knock them down—Mark and me—the strings of ice that hang from my roof like dead limbs. We can do it. Mark could push the smoke from his lips and melt them all. I bet he could if he tried.
He looks old with a lit cig in his mouth. It burns down like a fuse. He breathes in one last time. Throws it in the snow. I step on it with my boot to make sure it’s out. He grins at me and of course I smile back at him.
I’m stripped of the wait: Mark picks up two chunks of snow. Packs them in a ball. Hurls it toward the shards of ice. A slab breaks and falls from the roof. Could have struck him in the head and he would have been dead. Would have called it death by ice. Bound for the morgue.
I say to Mark, “Move back. You scare me. You’re so close to the ice.” Ten more fall, but none close enough to strike his head and kill him. I smile at the sound of their crash, a gun shot shock in my brain. “Don’t be lame. Knock them down with me. It’s fun,” Mark says to me with that grin.
And then there’s no ice left to fall which means we are done. I hold the door for Mark and he steps in my house. We watch a show on my couch. Take off our shoes. Coats. Scarves. When Mark leaves, I hug him and he smells like smoke. His car looks bright red when he drives down the street.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Underwear
My friend asked me about the hole in men’s underwear. I told her it existed so guys could pee at a urinal.
One time I went to a urinal, unzipped my pants, and felt around for the hole. I realized there wasn’t a hole in this pair. I couldn’t turn back, so I pulled the briefs down and peed through the zipper hole of my jeans.
There was a popular joke when I was young. One person would ask, “Do you see that thing under there?” and another person would say, “Under where?” Then they would both laugh because the word “underwear” is funny.
Sniffing panties is sexy but sniffing a man’s underwear is gross.
For underwear model stardom, have your uncle go through your bag and criticize the size of your boxers. He will be drunk and bring back a variety of boxers and briefs from his room. He will ask you to try them on in the bathroom. You will because you are tired and don’t want to make him angry.
You will put on tight sports briefs, bikini briefs, briefs that barely hug your thighs and show your uncle how they look so you can go to bed. But he will be so proud that you are growing up and he will take pictures of you in just a baggy shirt and underwear. He will tell you that he has connections and will get these pictures to Calvin Klein and Abercrombie and Fitch. You will nod your head ‘okay’ and fall asleep. The next day you will feel famous.
President Bill Clinton was asked, “Boxers or briefs?” He responded, “Usually briefs.” No wonder he was one of the country’s most well-liked presidents.
Everyone knows someone who wears granny panties or tighty whities.
A man on an episode of “CSI” played with himself through the pockets of his jeans and ejaculated in his underwear. I thought his desperation to get off wasn’t worth walking around with sticky underwear all day.
One time I went to a urinal, unzipped my pants, and felt around for the hole. I realized there wasn’t a hole in this pair. I couldn’t turn back, so I pulled the briefs down and peed through the zipper hole of my jeans.
There was a popular joke when I was young. One person would ask, “Do you see that thing under there?” and another person would say, “Under where?” Then they would both laugh because the word “underwear” is funny.
Sniffing panties is sexy but sniffing a man’s underwear is gross.
For underwear model stardom, have your uncle go through your bag and criticize the size of your boxers. He will be drunk and bring back a variety of boxers and briefs from his room. He will ask you to try them on in the bathroom. You will because you are tired and don’t want to make him angry.
You will put on tight sports briefs, bikini briefs, briefs that barely hug your thighs and show your uncle how they look so you can go to bed. But he will be so proud that you are growing up and he will take pictures of you in just a baggy shirt and underwear. He will tell you that he has connections and will get these pictures to Calvin Klein and Abercrombie and Fitch. You will nod your head ‘okay’ and fall asleep. The next day you will feel famous.
President Bill Clinton was asked, “Boxers or briefs?” He responded, “Usually briefs.” No wonder he was one of the country’s most well-liked presidents.
Everyone knows someone who wears granny panties or tighty whities.
A man on an episode of “CSI” played with himself through the pockets of his jeans and ejaculated in his underwear. I thought his desperation to get off wasn’t worth walking around with sticky underwear all day.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Where Did They Go?
I could break your back with my twelve year old hand. Police station gets a call. Can they hear Chris Whitley’s song at 59 decibels? Chris Whitley, he’s dead now. I could stab your brain and kill you too.
Among those brown-faced change chasers. On piss-stained cobblestone. Mis pantalones. Hanging from a rusty shower rod.
Water balloons in my eyes pop and spoil Mom’s nice blanket. Mucus too. Please unlock this door. This isn’t funny anymore or at all. Covered in sirens, I only hear red and blue.
A bluebird got stuck in the drain. Came home to a bathtub full of my family. Mom’s turkey sandwich, Dad’s chocolate-covered pretzels. I had never seen the color brown before. Oh, my cheesy hot dog.
My breath must have smelled like mustard and meat after Allison’s party but you grabbed my mouth anyway. Grabbed my mouth and didn’t let go. Didn’t matter that it was mine. Willing to steal anyone’s spit at 3 A.M. We’re graduating in five hours and I’m unbuttoning my pants in your basement. You haven’t done this in so long, I know, and I pretend you want me grabbing you like I am. Later your mom takes pictures in our blue caps. We fake smiles. Your mom was nice.
Stare at me in a white tee and underpants. I could blind you with my nail-bitten fingers. The men in navy with hairy arms hand me a pen. Mom’s going to be so mad that they’re tracking mud through her kitchen. They tell me to write so I impress them with my perfect G’s. Letter J’s like licorice. Greatest story ever written.
Is the blue ink dry? Eighty feet of metal for the wayward bluebird. Pushed out the drain by a plumbing snake. Mom cries. Bleaches so I can be clean for school this morning.
Watches as I finish the police report. Does he think Chris Whitley is singing when he leaves the home? She holds me. It’s going to be okay, baby, she cries. Don’t worry, it’ll be okay.
I know it’s going to be okay. But did they like my story?
Among those brown-faced change chasers. On piss-stained cobblestone. Mis pantalones. Hanging from a rusty shower rod.
Water balloons in my eyes pop and spoil Mom’s nice blanket. Mucus too. Please unlock this door. This isn’t funny anymore or at all. Covered in sirens, I only hear red and blue.
A bluebird got stuck in the drain. Came home to a bathtub full of my family. Mom’s turkey sandwich, Dad’s chocolate-covered pretzels. I had never seen the color brown before. Oh, my cheesy hot dog.
My breath must have smelled like mustard and meat after Allison’s party but you grabbed my mouth anyway. Grabbed my mouth and didn’t let go. Didn’t matter that it was mine. Willing to steal anyone’s spit at 3 A.M. We’re graduating in five hours and I’m unbuttoning my pants in your basement. You haven’t done this in so long, I know, and I pretend you want me grabbing you like I am. Later your mom takes pictures in our blue caps. We fake smiles. Your mom was nice.
Stare at me in a white tee and underpants. I could blind you with my nail-bitten fingers. The men in navy with hairy arms hand me a pen. Mom’s going to be so mad that they’re tracking mud through her kitchen. They tell me to write so I impress them with my perfect G’s. Letter J’s like licorice. Greatest story ever written.
Is the blue ink dry? Eighty feet of metal for the wayward bluebird. Pushed out the drain by a plumbing snake. Mom cries. Bleaches so I can be clean for school this morning.
Watches as I finish the police report. Does he think Chris Whitley is singing when he leaves the home? She holds me. It’s going to be okay, baby, she cries. Don’t worry, it’ll be okay.
I know it’s going to be okay. But did they like my story?
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