Solo by Kwame Alexander
Conversation Continued
Being here for me doesn’t mean being here for me in
Ghana. Go back to your castle, Rutherford.
I want to be better. Now is my chance to grow and change.
Just like you. We have an opportunity to be better men,
Blade.
Better men?
It’ll be a wild reunion, he says, throwing up the peace
sign to the camera.
This is not cool. I put my hands in front of the camera
lens.
We need to capture this for the masses. Fans need to see
our new and improved life. The good we’re doing.
We’re doing?
The camera moves in closer.
GET THIS CAMERA OUT OF MY FACE.
This, if we do it right, will be a reality show. Not scripted.
Real time. Real life. Don’t worry if we look bad, they’ll edit
it out.
YOU NEED TO CUT THIS OUT, RUTHERFORD.
You can’t just come here and interrupt these people’s
lives.
I think it would be good for fans to see us helping these
little village people in Ghana. Imagine that, Blade. The
Morrisons saving lives. We can build something or buy
something. Did you get that, he says to the camera guy.
That was authentic sh—
Are you KIDDING me? You want to walk into this
village like a rock ’n’ roll savior and call these people
“little village people.” You are an insult to humanity. You
don’t know them. Please leave.
NOW!
Rutherford puffs out
his chest, stands
two inches
from my face.
I flew all the way here for this. Don’t be ungrateful. Your
mother would want us doing this. You and me together.
Oh, you’re going to bring up Mom now?
Don’t make the show start off with a brawl between me
and you.
Why not? It’d be good for TV, right? Isn’t that what you
want?
That actually wouldn’t be a bad thing, the camera guy
says, adjusting his lens.
They’ll be none of that, Uncle Stevie says to him. Kid,
your father—
Look, I don’t care what y’all do, but you’re not going to—
But before
I can finish,
Joy walks up
and wedges herself
between us.
Please, no fighting in front of the children, she says,
shaking her head. Grown men want to wrangle like little
boys. Let’s talk this out over coconut.
Introductions
I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Guitar Hero, Joy says,
laughing and shaking his hand.
She hands us each
a coconut half
with a straw
inserted.
I am honored to be here to capture the untapped beauty
and potential that is Ghana.
Don’t you mean to exploit the beauty and potential, like
you do with everything else?
Blade, we are respectful of our elders.
Wait, I’m not an elder. I’m your super soul brother, he
says, winking at Joy, who, for some reason, is egging him
on. It’s lovely to meet you, Joy, he says, kissing her hand.
This glorious day is made even more enchanting by your
obvious pulchritude.
I can see where your son’s charm comes from.
I can see why Blade is smitten with you.
What are you talking about?
It’s written all over your face.
Plain as a naked jailbird, Uncle Stevie chimes in.
Thank you, Mr. Morrison . . . It has been a blessing to
meet your son. He has a lot he’s searching for.
So, where’s the mystery woman? He signals to the camera
guy. Hey, make sure you get this. I’m about to meet my
son’s mother.
That’s why you’re here? You’re a real piece of work,
Rutherford. Well, you’re outta luck, ’cause she’s not here.
No worries, we’ll just shoot me interacting with the
villagers. Ya know, you could really be a shining star for
the camera, Joy.
You can’t bring a camera here to the village without
permission.
It’s all right, Blade, we are used to Americans and their
cameras. But you must meet the elders tomorrow, Mr.
Morrison. They will decide the fate of you and your
camera.
Joy gathers
our empty
coconut halves.
You gentlemen behave, she says,
leaving us
alone, unsure.
Way to go, Rutherford.
You can get us kicked
out of
an entire country now
instead of
a hotel.
Rutherford gives
a tour
of his air-conditioned
satellite TV
pimped-out bus
with bunk beds
to anyone
who is interested,
which is practically
everyone
in the village,
especially Sia,
who jumps on
Rutherford’s bed
and refuses
to leave.
Joy asks me
to pick Sia up
and carry her out,
but when I try
she wails
like I’m
a monster
come to gobble her up.
I guess it’s a slumber party, he yells, picking Sia up and
swinging her around.
Fine with me, if you’re okay, Blade, Joy says.
Do you really trust two foreigners with this innocent
child?
Look how far you’ve come. Look where you both are.
Father and son. I trust that you are capable. Are you not?
. . . .
Do not worry, Blade. She will be fine. I will see you in the
morning.
Twinkle, Twinkle
After playing
peek-a-boo,
hide-and-seek,
and Uno
with Rutherford,
she dozes off
on a bunk bed
in my arms
to the rock version
of her now favorite
song.
Luxury
I despise this bus.
Don’t want to be on this bus.
It’s everything
I left.
But she’s here,
sleeping
in the middle
of his
corrupt,
unpredictable,
ungodly excess.
Her breathing
rises and falls
like the cadence
of soft music.
I crack open
Track by Track,
read it
by the light
of my phone
for the umpteenth time
because it brings me closer
to Mom’s stardust,
to a little bit of peace
in the darkest of nights
no matter where I am.
Track 9: It’s Only Love (LIVE)
ROCKERS: TINA TURNER AND BRYAN ADAMS / ALBUM: TINA LIVE IN EUROPE / LABEL: CAPITOL / RECORDING DATE: 1985–1987 / VENUE: VARIOUS CONCERTS
Mom always said
“It’s Only Love”
is the greatest
rock duet
of all time,
and if aliens
ever landed,
/>
it would be
the song
she’d play
to greet them.
Why? I asked her.
Because of the energy.
The passion in it
gets you
through the
hard times
sad times
mad times.
Doesn’t matter
if someone disappoints you,
if they hurt you,
it's never the end
of the universe.
Remember that, Blade.
It’s only love,
she’d say,
and give me
a bear hug
and butterfly kisses.
But don’t forget,
she’d also remind me,
love is everything too.
Freak Show on Wheels
Uncle Stevie’s snoring
sounds like
a garbage disposal
and the camera guy
wheezes.
Rutherford still talks
in his sleep.
It’s like a nightmare band
and I’m the audience
wishing this freak show
was over.
So I get up, stretch my legs, see if they’ve got any snacks
around here.
The butter cookies are so good. But they’re addictive. I’m
on number eleven.
. . . .
Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. We haven’t been formally
introduced. I’m Birdie.
Blade.
Nice to meet you, Blade. Your father’s told me much about
you.
You’re his new one.
I’m his new sober coach.
Of course you are.
Sober coaches
make a killing
keeping rockers
and movie stars
alive
’round the clock.
Birdie claims
she makes sure
Rutherford stays centered,
doesn’t get lit,
go out on a bender.
Says she’s here
to rip
the drugs or whiskey
straight out
of his mouth and hands
if necessary.
Follow him around
like a stalker
and get paid
beaucoup loot
to listen,
offer advice,
and just sit
and stare
at him.
Conversation
Your father’s an alcoholic with a drug problem.
Duh?
I’m here to help him.
No disrespect, but been there, done that.
You have any questions for me?
Yeah, have you checked his boot?
And his socks, and his guitar case, and every inch of his
suitcase.
. . . .
I watch. I wait. I listen.
And all the world watches and listens too, I say, pointing
to the camera on the tripod, even recording his sleep.
Not my idea. They think the camera is their ticket back to
glory.
They’re delusional.
Maybe, maybe not. I’ve seen worse come back.
Yeah, okay . . . How long’s he been clean?
I’m not really at liberty to discuss his treatment and
recovery with anyone, not even his son.
So what, like a day?
I’m here because he’s serious about this road to recovery.
He knows it’s his one last chance to make it up to you.
Sounds desperate.
I’ll tell you this; deep down, he’s a good guy.
They all are.
He is. He struggles every single day. He craves. Look at
him over there. All the sweating is not just from this heat.
. . . .
He’s got a lot of love for you and your sister.
Love?
Yes, Love. Love is complicated all around—twisted
humanness, flaws and scars so deep, it would take an
excavator to dig out the meaning of it all.
I guess.
You should rest.
I really don’t want to be here. This is just like him. All
this excess. I just want to be gone.
Then go.
. . . .
You love him, you’ll support him.
Who’s gonna support me? I’m a little sick and tired of
supporting him only to have him skip out on rehab, or
relapse. What’s the point? It never sticks.
I think if he has the will and the support of his loved ones
and a killer sober coach, he could be free.
I just don’t know if I believe it. I’ve been disappointed too
many times.
Give him a shot. In the meantime, I’ve eaten way too many
butter cookies. I’m going to sleep. You should too. But first,
hit the shower. You’re a little funky.
Shower?
Perplexed
How Rutherford got
a tour bus
in Ghana
with four bunk beds
a pullout sofa
a fish tank
and satellite TVs
I cannot begin
to fathom,
but the fact
that there’s a shower
makes my life
right now.
Texts to Storm
1:01 am
I’m pissed at you
because your warning came
a day late, and a dollar
1:01 am
short. Phone and Wi-Fi
service here sucks! I got
your messages after
1:02 am
the rolling stone had
already shown up. So,
I guess, thanks for nothing.
1:02 am
It’s a nightmare. And, I
haven’t even met her yet.
The whole reason I’m
1:02 am
even here, and I keep
getting these roadblocks.
I can’t get no flippin’ satisfaction.
Delayed
1:03 am
This is an auto-response.
The text message to Storm
Morrison was delayed.
The next morning
I look out
the window
and see Rutherford
and Uncle Stevie
kicking soccer balls
with the kids
as the camera
and Birdie
watch.
Unsettling
On the walk
to school
Sia suddenly
starts gagging,
then lets go of
my hand
and throws up
all over
my flip-flops.
I carry her
back to
the bus
to rest,
but halfway there
we hear
a pulsing wave
of music,
a loud, fast tremolo
coming
from the school,
so we turn around
and she jumps down,
leading me
back to
a very familiar sound.
Captured
The entire school
of students
and teachers
plus people
in the village
are gathered
in the church SLASH school
cheering
and watching
as Rutherford Morrison
drops electric bombs
in the air
like he’s Jimi Hendrix
and Konko r />
is Woodstock.
Track 10: The Star Spangled Banner (LIVE)
ROCKER: JIMI HENDRIX / DATE: AUGUST 18, 1969 / VENUE: WOODSTOCK MUSIC AND ART FAIR, WOODSTOCK, NY
Rutherford said
his dad
once saw Jimi
play the guitar
with his teeth,
and that he actually
set his guitar
on fire once,
which helped
set his career
on fire.
But most people agree
that the defining
moment
in Jimi Hendrix’s life
was when he
stood on stage
in a blue-beaded
leather jacket
with a red scarf
at the Woodstock Music
and Art Fair
in front of
40,000 people
after being awake
for three days,
and played
an amped-up,
distorted,
electric guitar solo
of “The Star Spangled Banner,”
which the editors of
Guitar World
called
the number one
greatest performance
ever.
EVER!
Music Lessons
When he finishes,
all the kids
want to know
how to play
the strings,
make the guitar sing
and reverb
like he just did.
Sia
climbs
into his lap
touches his face
and traces
the lines
on his forehead
and cheeks.
Old, she says.
He tickles her
in a way I remember
him doing to me
and Storm
a long time ago.
He allows Sia
to strum the guitar,
gets the kids
pumped up
with a hope
he’ll never
be able to fulfill.
This, I know.
Conversation
Are you jealous of your father? Joy asks.
No, I just don’t want him to get their hopes up.
That is what they need, to have their hopes up.
. . . .
You seem distracted.
I’m angry. It shouldn’t be this hard. I just want to meet
my mother. I JUST WANT TO GET OUT OF HERE
AND FIND HER.
I understand. I’m sorry that it’s not easier. Sometimes the
things that are good in life take work. And patience.
I’ve been patient. I’m almost eighteen years old, and I
have no idea what I’m doing. Being here doesn’t even
Being here for me doesn’t mean being here for me in
Ghana. Go back to your castle, Rutherford.
I want to be better. Now is my chance to grow and change.
Just like you. We have an opportunity to be better men,
Blade.
Better men?
It’ll be a wild reunion, he says, throwing up the peace
sign to the camera.
This is not cool. I put my hands in front of the camera
lens.
We need to capture this for the masses. Fans need to see
our new and improved life. The good we’re doing.
We’re doing?
The camera moves in closer.
GET THIS CAMERA OUT OF MY FACE.
This, if we do it right, will be a reality show. Not scripted.
Real time. Real life. Don’t worry if we look bad, they’ll edit
it out.
YOU NEED TO CUT THIS OUT, RUTHERFORD.
You can’t just come here and interrupt these people’s
lives.
I think it would be good for fans to see us helping these
little village people in Ghana. Imagine that, Blade. The
Morrisons saving lives. We can build something or buy
something. Did you get that, he says to the camera guy.
That was authentic sh—
Are you KIDDING me? You want to walk into this
village like a rock ’n’ roll savior and call these people
“little village people.” You are an insult to humanity. You
don’t know them. Please leave.
NOW!
Rutherford puffs out
his chest, stands
two inches
from my face.
I flew all the way here for this. Don’t be ungrateful. Your
mother would want us doing this. You and me together.
Oh, you’re going to bring up Mom now?
Don’t make the show start off with a brawl between me
and you.
Why not? It’d be good for TV, right? Isn’t that what you
want?
That actually wouldn’t be a bad thing, the camera guy
says, adjusting his lens.
They’ll be none of that, Uncle Stevie says to him. Kid,
your father—
Look, I don’t care what y’all do, but you’re not going to—
But before
I can finish,
Joy walks up
and wedges herself
between us.
Please, no fighting in front of the children, she says,
shaking her head. Grown men want to wrangle like little
boys. Let’s talk this out over coconut.
Introductions
I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Guitar Hero, Joy says,
laughing and shaking his hand.
She hands us each
a coconut half
with a straw
inserted.
I am honored to be here to capture the untapped beauty
and potential that is Ghana.
Don’t you mean to exploit the beauty and potential, like
you do with everything else?
Blade, we are respectful of our elders.
Wait, I’m not an elder. I’m your super soul brother, he
says, winking at Joy, who, for some reason, is egging him
on. It’s lovely to meet you, Joy, he says, kissing her hand.
This glorious day is made even more enchanting by your
obvious pulchritude.
I can see where your son’s charm comes from.
I can see why Blade is smitten with you.
What are you talking about?
It’s written all over your face.
Plain as a naked jailbird, Uncle Stevie chimes in.
Thank you, Mr. Morrison . . . It has been a blessing to
meet your son. He has a lot he’s searching for.
So, where’s the mystery woman? He signals to the camera
guy. Hey, make sure you get this. I’m about to meet my
son’s mother.
That’s why you’re here? You’re a real piece of work,
Rutherford. Well, you’re outta luck, ’cause she’s not here.
No worries, we’ll just shoot me interacting with the
villagers. Ya know, you could really be a shining star for
the camera, Joy.
You can’t bring a camera here to the village without
permission.
It’s all right, Blade, we are used to Americans and their
cameras. But you must meet the elders tomorrow, Mr.
Morrison. They will decide the fate of you and your
camera.
Joy gathers
our empty
coconut halves.
You gentlemen behave, she says,
leaving us
alone, unsure.
Way to go, Rutherford.
You can get us kicked
out of
an entire country now
instead of
a hotel.
Rutherford gives
a tour
of his air-conditioned
satellite TV
pimped-out bus
with bunk beds
to anyone
who is interested,
which is practically
everyone
in the village,
especially Sia,
who jumps on
Rutherford’s bed
and refuses
to leave.
Joy asks me
to pick Sia up
and carry her out,
but when I try
she wails
like I’m
a monster
come to gobble her up.
I guess it’s a slumber party, he yells, picking Sia up and
swinging her around.
Fine with me, if you’re okay, Blade, Joy says.
Do you really trust two foreigners with this innocent
child?
Look how far you’ve come. Look where you both are.
Father and son. I trust that you are capable. Are you not?
. . . .
Do not worry, Blade. She will be fine. I will see you in the
morning.
Twinkle, Twinkle
After playing
peek-a-boo,
hide-and-seek,
and Uno
with Rutherford,
she dozes off
on a bunk bed
in my arms
to the rock version
of her now favorite
song.
Luxury
I despise this bus.
Don’t want to be on this bus.
It’s everything
I left.
But she’s here,
sleeping
in the middle
of his
corrupt,
unpredictable,
ungodly excess.
Her breathing
rises and falls
like the cadence
of soft music.
I crack open
Track by Track,
read it
by the light
of my phone
for the umpteenth time
because it brings me closer
to Mom’s stardust,
to a little bit of peace
in the darkest of nights
no matter where I am.
Track 9: It’s Only Love (LIVE)
ROCKERS: TINA TURNER AND BRYAN ADAMS / ALBUM: TINA LIVE IN EUROPE / LABEL: CAPITOL / RECORDING DATE: 1985–1987 / VENUE: VARIOUS CONCERTS
Mom always said
“It’s Only Love”
is the greatest
rock duet
of all time,
and if aliens
ever landed,
it would be
the song
she’d play
to greet them.
Why? I asked her.
Because of the energy.
The passion in it
gets you
through the
hard times
sad times
mad times.
Doesn’t matter
if someone disappoints you,
if they hurt you,
it's never the end
of the universe.
Remember that, Blade.
It’s only love,
she’d say,
and give me
a bear hug
and butterfly kisses.
But don’t forget,
she’d also remind me,
love is everything too.
Freak Show on Wheels
Uncle Stevie’s snoring
sounds like
a garbage disposal
and the camera guy
wheezes.
Rutherford still talks
in his sleep.
It’s like a nightmare band
and I’m the audience
wishing this freak show
was over.
So I get up, stretch my legs, see if they’ve got any snacks
around here.
The butter cookies are so good. But they’re addictive. I’m
on number eleven.
. . . .
Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. We haven’t been formally
introduced. I’m Birdie.
Blade.
Nice to meet you, Blade. Your father’s told me much about
you.
You’re his new one.
I’m his new sober coach.
Of course you are.
Sober coaches
make a killing
keeping rockers
and movie stars
alive
’round the clock.
Birdie claims
she makes sure
Rutherford stays centered,
doesn’t get lit,
go out on a bender.
Says she’s here
to rip
the drugs or whiskey
straight out
of his mouth and hands
if necessary.
Follow him around
like a stalker
and get paid
beaucoup loot
to listen,
offer advice,
and just sit
and stare
at him.
Conversation
Your father’s an alcoholic with a drug problem.
Duh?
I’m here to help him.
No disrespect, but been there, done that.
You have any questions for me?
Yeah, have you checked his boot?
And his socks, and his guitar case, and every inch of his
suitcase.
. . . .
I watch. I wait. I listen.
And all the world watches and listens too, I say, pointing
to the camera on the tripod, even recording his sleep.
Not my idea. They think the camera is their ticket back to
glory.
They’re delusional.
Maybe, maybe not. I’ve seen worse come back.
Yeah, okay . . . How long’s he been clean?
I’m not really at liberty to discuss his treatment and
recovery with anyone, not even his son.
So what, like a day?
I’m here because he’s serious about this road to recovery.
He knows it’s his one last chance to make it up to you.
Sounds desperate.
I’ll tell you this; deep down, he’s a good guy.
They all are.
He is. He struggles every single day. He craves. Look at
him over there. All the sweating is not just from this heat.
. . . .
He’s got a lot of love for you and your sister.
Love?
Yes, Love. Love is complicated all around—twisted
humanness, flaws and scars so deep, it would take an
excavator to dig out the meaning of it all.
I guess.
You should rest.
I really don’t want to be here. This is just like him. All
this excess. I just want to be gone.
Then go.
. . . .
You love him, you’ll support him.
Who’s gonna support me? I’m a little sick and tired of
supporting him only to have him skip out on rehab, or
relapse. What’s the point? It never sticks.
I think if he has the will and the support of his loved ones
and a killer sober coach, he could be free.
I just don’t know if I believe it. I’ve been disappointed too
many times.
Give him a shot. In the meantime, I’ve eaten way too many
butter cookies. I’m going to sleep. You should too. But first,
hit the shower. You’re a little funky.
Shower?
Perplexed
How Rutherford got
a tour bus
in Ghana
with four bunk beds
a pullout sofa
a fish tank
and satellite TVs
I cannot begin
to fathom,
but the fact
that there’s a shower
makes my life
right now.
Texts to Storm
1:01 am
I’m pissed at you
because your warning came
a day late, and a dollar
1:01 am
short. Phone and Wi-Fi
service here sucks! I got
your messages after
1:02 am
the rolling stone had
already shown up. So,
I guess, thanks for nothing.
1:02 am
It’s a nightmare. And, I
haven’t even met her yet.
The whole reason I’m
1:02 am
even here, and I keep
getting these roadblocks.
I can’t get no flippin’ satisfaction.
Delayed
1:03 am
This is an auto-response.
The text message to Storm
Morrison was delayed.
The next morning
I look out
the window
and see Rutherford
and Uncle Stevie
kicking soccer balls
with the kids
as the camera
and Birdie
watch.
Unsettling
On the walk
to school
Sia suddenly
starts gagging,
then lets go of
my hand
and throws up
all over
my flip-flops.
I carry her
back to
the bus
to rest,
but halfway there
we hear
a pulsing wave
of music,
a loud, fast tremolo
coming
from the school,
so we turn around
and she jumps down,
leading me
back to
a very familiar sound.
Captured
The entire school
of students
and teachers
plus people
in the village
are gathered
in the church SLASH school
cheering
and watching
as Rutherford Morrison
drops electric bombs
in the air
like he’s Jimi Hendrix
and Konko
is Woodstock.
Track 10: The Star Spangled Banner (LIVE)
ROCKER: JIMI HENDRIX / DATE: AUGUST 18, 1969 / VENUE: WOODSTOCK MUSIC AND ART FAIR, WOODSTOCK, NY
Rutherford said
his dad
once saw Jimi
play the guitar
with his teeth,
and that he actually
set his guitar
on fire once,
which helped
set his career
on fire.
But most people agree
that the defining
moment
in Jimi Hendrix’s life
was when he
stood on stage
in a blue-beaded
leather jacket
with a red scarf
at the Woodstock Music
and Art Fair
in front of
40,000 people
after being awake
for three days,
and played
an amped-up,
distorted,
electric guitar solo
of “The Star Spangled Banner,”
which the editors of
Guitar World
called
the number one
greatest performance
ever.
EVER!
Music Lessons
When he finishes,
all the kids
want to know
how to play
the strings,
make the guitar sing
and reverb
like he just did.
Sia
climbs
into his lap
touches his face
and traces
the lines
on his forehead
and cheeks.
Old, she says.
He tickles her
in a way I remember
him doing to me
and Storm
a long time ago.
He allows Sia
to strum the guitar,
gets the kids
pumped up
with a hope
he’ll never
be able to fulfill.
This, I know.
Conversation
Are you jealous of your father? Joy asks.
No, I just don’t want him to get their hopes up.
That is what they need, to have their hopes up.
. . . .
You seem distracted.
I’m angry. It shouldn’t be this hard. I just want to meet
my mother. I JUST WANT TO GET OUT OF HERE
AND FIND HER.
I understand. I’m sorry that it’s not easier. Sometimes the
things that are good in life take work. And patience.
I’ve been patient. I’m almost eighteen years old, and I
have no idea what I’m doing. Being here doesn’t even