Solo by Kwame Alexander
trying to be better,
that she’s our
shining princess, and
when that doesn’t work,
one of the women
caring for her
scoops her up,
takes her
off the bus
kicking
and screaming.
Will she be okay? Rutherford asks.
She is being a child. You have spoiled her, Joy replies, but
there is some worry in her eyes.
She deserves to be spoiled, he answers. And there’ll be
more of it when we return. But right now, onwards. Let’s go
shout our names atop a mountain.
Yes. Elvis waits for us, Joy says. Onwards!
9:15 am
Rutherford loads
the Mercedes van
he’s rented
for the trip
He holds up his guitar
like he’s offering it
to the sun.
May the force be with us!
On the way,
Elvis listens
to talk radio
that features
nonstop
belligerent
banter
that only he
and Joy understand,
for the most part,
except every
few minutes
when an expletive
English word
is sprinkled in,
followed by
garish laughter.
So, the rest of us
try to sleep.
Anxiety
The van flies,
rattles across
heavily potholed roads
bringing me closer
to my mother,
but it can’t catch
up to my brain,
which is speeding
past me.
Running
running fast
running past
shadows and
blurred trees
and before
and now
and if I could catch up
to my thoughts,
wrestle them
to the ground,
tame them inside
the cage
of my head,
I could breathe.
I could breathe
I COULD
Breathe, Blade. Breathe, Rutherford says, rubbing my
head, and looking at me with eyes that care. It’s gonna be
okay. Just breathe.
11:09 am
A few hours into
the bumpy drive
we arrive at a
parking lot
where hundreds
of cars and vans
are in a standstill
traffic jam.
Thousands of women,
boys, and girls
peddle
toys, bags of water,
and bracelets
like the one
Joy made for
my birthday.
I glance over
at her, and notice
that she even smiles
when she sleeps.
Not polite to stare, she says, her ebony and ivory eyes still
closed.
How did you know? She continues to smile.
How could I not, she answers. Are you okay? How do you
feel, Blade?
Right now,
I feel scared
yet full
of Joy,
is what I want to
whisper in her ear.
Yep, I’m okay.
Track 12: Right Now
ROCKERS: VAN HALEN / ALBUM: BEST OF VAN HALEN, VOL. 1 / LABEL: WARNER BROS. / RECORDING DATE: MARCH 1990–APRIL 1991 / STUDIO: 5150 STUDIOS, HOLLYWOOD, CALIFORNIA
Live
the mystery
of the moment
right now.
Make a change
take a chance.
Dance today.
Grab those beats
let the rhythm
pulse through your veins.
Do what moves you
grooves you.
Right now
is what matters.
12:31 pm
When we get
to the point
where vehicles
can no longer
pass,
Elvis explains
that we will walk
a trail
then hike
a mountain,
cross three canopies,
above
the rainforest
and arrive
at the village.
He tells us
to leave behind
our failures,
broken promises,
lost love
and disappointments.
Kind of a corny script, I think,
but, when I look
at Rutherford
and Joy, I couldn’t agree more.
1:30 pm
At the mountain gap
we are
a moving portrait,
carrying dirt
and stones
in our shoes,
our voices
in the echoes,
the music
in our skin,
the sounds
of our
feet thumping,
and Rutherford’s
shrieks and screeches
as he starts
dancing around
like a mad man
with ants
in his pants.
HELP ME, he screams. THERE’S SOMETHING IN
MY PANTS!
1:37 pm
There is nothing
more humbling
and probably sobering
than your father
stripping
bare naked
on a mountain
and his son
helping him brush—
with his hands—
the army
of ants crawling
all over
his unmentionables.
Conversation
These critters are buggin’, Rutherford says. Let’s take a
break.
Only like three hours to go, let’s keep moving, I say.
Your father’s right. Let’s catch our breath, Joy says,
knowing I can’t refuse her.
Fine.
Blade, give your old man some of that bug spray.
Told you this wasn’t a good idea.
Of course it was. This is a big day for you. A big moment. I
had to be here.
Yeah, okay.
At least we’re spending time together.
. . . .
I thought we were cool again.
Again?
Look, I may not have been the best—
Save the “woe is me, Hollywood movie drama,”
Rutherford. I get it. You got dealt a bad hand, and you
folded.
The drinking let me deal, but it owned me too. It was the first
thing I thought about in the morning, last thing at bedtime.
Blame it on the alcohol.
It helped me deal with the worst. I’m not making excuses,
it’s just the game.
It was never a game for me and Storm.
That’s not what I meant. I just want us to be cool, Blade.
I’d give anything for that.
I hear ya. Just stay clean, and get your life together.
1:59 pm
When we resume,
Rutherford and Joy
tackle the mountain
like it’s a race
to the top.
It’s not a steep climb
but the heat taxes,
keeps me drenched
and even more anxious
to complete
this journey.
/> The trees are
old, thin giants
standing in formation
staring down
daring us to mount,
which is exactly
what Uncle Stevie attempts
before tumbling
to his feet.
Camera guy
tries his hardest
to capture all these
real moments,
but he runs
out of breath
every hundred yards,
so now Birdie films.
Travis
is his name.
He tells me
that his real passion
is making clay
animations.
I do this filming thing to take care of my three kids and my
wife. She’s in school.
That’s cool, man.
Sorry for intruding and for the names I called you behind
your back.
I turn to him,
hold out my hand
to say I’m sorry
because I have thought
about breaking
his nose,
and he grabs me
and hugs me like
a long-lost brother.
It’s as awkward
as things can get.
But I hear grace
can feel
that way
at first.
2:19 pm
I slip
like an idiot
and cut my leg
on a rock.
Rutherford suggests
someone should pee
on my wound
so it doesn’t infect.
Tell ’em, Birdie, it’s medicine, right?
Not yours, Uncle Stevie says, laughing.
But Joy has something. I brought it just in case. It’s good
medicine, she says.
Some good ole Ghana roots and herbs? Rutherford asks.
Actually, it’s Neosporin.
She rubs it on my leg,
and we all laugh,
even the guide.
We’re almost there I think, she says. Twenty more minutes
and then we tackle the last thirty meters.
2:22 pm
She could
wipe air
and pretend magic
on my wound.
It wouldn’t matter,
because she is medicine.
2:43 pm
We reach the top
amidst
a million degrees
of humidity
and are given
the gift
of the most
magnificent view
any of us
have ever seen.
Golden rays streaming
over us,
as waterfalls
below
fill our eyes,
the canopies
within
our reach.
2:51 pm
I have had two
panic attacks
in my life.
One, when I was twelve
and was left backstage
in Detroit
while the band
cruised down Interstate 75.
Then, at sixteen, when I
accidently drove
down a parade route
to escape paparazzi.
But, today I refuse to give in
to the acrophobia
or to any other fear.
So, I don’t look down.
But, everyone sees.
Come on, don’t let your old man show you up in front of
your girl, Rutherford, who has smoked up a million acres
of tobacco leaves, says, making his way across canopy
one.
Uncle Stevie and Travis
nudge each other
like they’re teammates
in some Hollywood
feel-good sports flick.
There are only three canopies, you will be fine, Joy says,
and I trust her, more than I’ve trusted anyone in this
world, including myself.
Let me just take a moment, or an hour, to catch my
breath, I answer, knowing full well that I’m at the
crossroads, and on the other side of this path is my
mother.
But it’s too late,
she’s pushing me
ahead of her,
onto this thing
that feels
more like a bunch
of quilted blankets,
any one of which
could unravel
at any second.
I close my eyes
let her hold
me around
my waist
and walk
the path
that’s been chosen
for me
never looking down
or back.
3:02 pm
I make it.
We make it.
I stand
on the other side
of three bridges.
On the other side
of the mountain.
I take off
my soaked shirt
see the vast horizon
with eyes
that have never been
so open.
I’m here.
At the top
of the moment
I think
I’ve been dreaming about
for a long, long time.
I think of Mom,
I think of Lucy
and close my eyes,
almost unable to form
the words.
I say it,
wishing
they could both hear me.
Thank you.
Rutherford’s Moment
Rutherford stands
on the edge
of the rainforest.
For a man who always had
PARENTAL ADVISORY EXPLICIT CONTENT
plastered on all his records,
this is what he shouts:
Maybe there is a God. He probably doesn’t like me much,
but he’s got my respect, that’s for damn sure!
Watching Joy
She’s as quiet as the clouds,
as wise as the mountain,
and as stellar as the sunrise,
and then she bows down
and speaks.
Everything is silent.
The fauna.
The birds.
The insects.
Everyone listens.
Joy’s Prayer
We are closer
than we’ve ever been
to the sun
to a star
a real star.
Light years away,
and yet illuminating
this very day––
our lives bearing
the mortal umbra
to be filled with
merciful light.
They say
we’re made
of stardust;
that would mean
we’re made of
eternal light.
I think
mountain rock
and heaven’s breath
too.
Amen.
Revelation
We are the sum
of moving parts
and adjustable hearts.
4:09 pm
I lead the pack
out of the rainforest
North, less than five kilometers, Elvis says.
Rutherford grabs me
from behind,
spins me around.
This is it. The last few miles of us. You'll be changed after
this, kid.
Maybe this is the end
and the beginning, I think.
The true beginning of all of us.
He puts his arm around me.
His guitar hits my head.
Why’d you bring that? I ask him.
You can never get lost with the music, Uncle Stevie, says,
proving that he does actually make sense sometimes.
Let’s do this, I yell,
and take off running
toward
the beginning.
Turn off the camera
Rutherford says, putting
his hands
in front of the lens.
This is about Blade.
Not about me.
This is what he’s come for.
Let’s respect that, he says,
almost as if he’s
reminding himself.
5:25 pm
Eight and a half hours later
we arrive
in a village
with colorful homes
made of mud
covered in straw
like life-sized works of art
I’ve seen in museums
back home.
Children in matching
red-and-orange uniforms
prance along the street
beside a skinny cow
and an even skinnier goat.
When they see us,
they stop. Joy waves.
A few return
the greeting.
Then they run.
A lone man
rides past us
on a rusty bicycle.
Akwaaba, he yells,
smiling.
We keep walking
toward
what looks like
a storefront,
where three women
sit, holding babies
and talking.
The sign out front
says:
Konko Health Post.
Joy speaks to them
in her native tongue,
and they talk back.
One of them gets up,
goes into the clinic,
and Joy’s eyes reveal
a truth
I’ve been waiting for,
but not sure
I’m ready for.
She’s here, Blade.
The Peak
Ever been
at the peak
of a grand mountain
where you can touch
the clouds
feel them moving
through you
bending sprightly
toward
the horizon
and you are overcome
unbound
and nearly
engulfed?
That is how I feel
When I see . . .
My mother
walks like
an angel,
literally;
her wings
are four girls—two
on each side—in
that she’s our
shining princess, and
when that doesn’t work,
one of the women
caring for her
scoops her up,
takes her
off the bus
kicking
and screaming.
Will she be okay? Rutherford asks.
She is being a child. You have spoiled her, Joy replies, but
there is some worry in her eyes.
She deserves to be spoiled, he answers. And there’ll be
more of it when we return. But right now, onwards. Let’s go
shout our names atop a mountain.
Yes. Elvis waits for us, Joy says. Onwards!
9:15 am
Rutherford loads
the Mercedes van
he’s rented
for the trip
He holds up his guitar
like he’s offering it
to the sun.
May the force be with us!
On the way,
Elvis listens
to talk radio
that features
nonstop
belligerent
banter
that only he
and Joy understand,
for the most part,
except every
few minutes
when an expletive
English word
is sprinkled in,
followed by
garish laughter.
So, the rest of us
try to sleep.
Anxiety
The van flies,
rattles across
heavily potholed roads
bringing me closer
to my mother,
but it can’t catch
up to my brain,
which is speeding
past me.
Running
running fast
running past
shadows and
blurred trees
and before
and now
and if I could catch up
to my thoughts,
wrestle them
to the ground,
tame them inside
the cage
of my head,
I could breathe.
I could breathe
I COULD
Breathe, Blade. Breathe, Rutherford says, rubbing my
head, and looking at me with eyes that care. It’s gonna be
okay. Just breathe.
11:09 am
A few hours into
the bumpy drive
we arrive at a
parking lot
where hundreds
of cars and vans
are in a standstill
traffic jam.
Thousands of women,
boys, and girls
peddle
toys, bags of water,
and bracelets
like the one
Joy made for
my birthday.
I glance over
at her, and notice
that she even smiles
when she sleeps.
Not polite to stare, she says, her ebony and ivory eyes still
closed.
How did you know? She continues to smile.
How could I not, she answers. Are you okay? How do you
feel, Blade?
Right now,
I feel scared
yet full
of Joy,
is what I want to
whisper in her ear.
Yep, I’m okay.
Track 12: Right Now
ROCKERS: VAN HALEN / ALBUM: BEST OF VAN HALEN, VOL. 1 / LABEL: WARNER BROS. / RECORDING DATE: MARCH 1990–APRIL 1991 / STUDIO: 5150 STUDIOS, HOLLYWOOD, CALIFORNIA
Live
the mystery
of the moment
right now.
Make a change
take a chance.
Dance today.
Grab those beats
let the rhythm
pulse through your veins.
Do what moves you
grooves you.
Right now
is what matters.
12:31 pm
When we get
to the point
where vehicles
can no longer
pass,
Elvis explains
that we will walk
a trail
then hike
a mountain,
cross three canopies,
above
the rainforest
and arrive
at the village.
He tells us
to leave behind
our failures,
broken promises,
lost love
and disappointments.
Kind of a corny script, I think,
but, when I look
at Rutherford
and Joy, I couldn’t agree more.
1:30 pm
At the mountain gap
we are
a moving portrait,
carrying dirt
and stones
in our shoes,
our voices
in the echoes,
the music
in our skin,
the sounds
of our
feet thumping,
and Rutherford’s
shrieks and screeches
as he starts
dancing around
like a mad man
with ants
in his pants.
HELP ME, he screams. THERE’S SOMETHING IN
MY PANTS!
1:37 pm
There is nothing
more humbling
and probably sobering
than your father
stripping
bare naked
on a mountain
and his son
helping him brush—
with his hands—
the army
of ants crawling
all over
his unmentionables.
Conversation
These critters are buggin’, Rutherford says. Let’s take a
break.
Only like three hours to go, let’s keep moving, I say.
Your father’s right. Let’s catch our breath, Joy says,
knowing I can’t refuse her.
Fine.
Blade, give your old man some of that bug spray.
Told you this wasn’t a good idea.
Of course it was. This is a big day for you. A big moment. I
had to be here.
Yeah, okay.
At least we’re spending time together.
. . . .
I thought we were cool again.
Again?
Look, I may not have been the best—
Save the “woe is me, Hollywood movie drama,”
Rutherford. I get it. You got dealt a bad hand, and you
folded.
The drinking let me deal, but it owned me too. It was the first
thing I thought about in the morning, last thing at bedtime.
Blame it on the alcohol.
It helped me deal with the worst. I’m not making excuses,
it’s just the game.
It was never a game for me and Storm.
That’s not what I meant. I just want us to be cool, Blade.
I’d give anything for that.
I hear ya. Just stay clean, and get your life together.
1:59 pm
When we resume,
Rutherford and Joy
tackle the mountain
like it’s a race
to the top.
It’s not a steep climb
but the heat taxes,
keeps me drenched
and even more anxious
to complete
this journey.
old, thin giants
standing in formation
staring down
daring us to mount,
which is exactly
what Uncle Stevie attempts
before tumbling
to his feet.
Camera guy
tries his hardest
to capture all these
real moments,
but he runs
out of breath
every hundred yards,
so now Birdie films.
Travis
is his name.
He tells me
that his real passion
is making clay
animations.
I do this filming thing to take care of my three kids and my
wife. She’s in school.
That’s cool, man.
Sorry for intruding and for the names I called you behind
your back.
I turn to him,
hold out my hand
to say I’m sorry
because I have thought
about breaking
his nose,
and he grabs me
and hugs me like
a long-lost brother.
It’s as awkward
as things can get.
But I hear grace
can feel
that way
at first.
2:19 pm
I slip
like an idiot
and cut my leg
on a rock.
Rutherford suggests
someone should pee
on my wound
so it doesn’t infect.
Tell ’em, Birdie, it’s medicine, right?
Not yours, Uncle Stevie says, laughing.
But Joy has something. I brought it just in case. It’s good
medicine, she says.
Some good ole Ghana roots and herbs? Rutherford asks.
Actually, it’s Neosporin.
She rubs it on my leg,
and we all laugh,
even the guide.
We’re almost there I think, she says. Twenty more minutes
and then we tackle the last thirty meters.
2:22 pm
She could
wipe air
and pretend magic
on my wound.
It wouldn’t matter,
because she is medicine.
2:43 pm
We reach the top
amidst
a million degrees
of humidity
and are given
the gift
of the most
magnificent view
any of us
have ever seen.
Golden rays streaming
over us,
as waterfalls
below
fill our eyes,
the canopies
within
our reach.
2:51 pm
I have had two
panic attacks
in my life.
One, when I was twelve
and was left backstage
in Detroit
while the band
cruised down Interstate 75.
Then, at sixteen, when I
accidently drove
down a parade route
to escape paparazzi.
But, today I refuse to give in
to the acrophobia
or to any other fear.
So, I don’t look down.
But, everyone sees.
Come on, don’t let your old man show you up in front of
your girl, Rutherford, who has smoked up a million acres
of tobacco leaves, says, making his way across canopy
one.
Uncle Stevie and Travis
nudge each other
like they’re teammates
in some Hollywood
feel-good sports flick.
There are only three canopies, you will be fine, Joy says,
and I trust her, more than I’ve trusted anyone in this
world, including myself.
Let me just take a moment, or an hour, to catch my
breath, I answer, knowing full well that I’m at the
crossroads, and on the other side of this path is my
mother.
But it’s too late,
she’s pushing me
ahead of her,
onto this thing
that feels
more like a bunch
of quilted blankets,
any one of which
could unravel
at any second.
I close my eyes
let her hold
me around
my waist
and walk
the path
that’s been chosen
for me
never looking down
or back.
3:02 pm
I make it.
We make it.
I stand
on the other side
of three bridges.
On the other side
of the mountain.
I take off
my soaked shirt
see the vast horizon
with eyes
that have never been
so open.
I’m here.
At the top
of the moment
I think
I’ve been dreaming about
for a long, long time.
I think of Mom,
I think of Lucy
and close my eyes,
almost unable to form
the words.
I say it,
wishing
they could both hear me.
Thank you.
Rutherford’s Moment
Rutherford stands
on the edge
of the rainforest.
For a man who always had
PARENTAL ADVISORY EXPLICIT CONTENT
plastered on all his records,
this is what he shouts:
Maybe there is a God. He probably doesn’t like me much,
but he’s got my respect, that’s for damn sure!
Watching Joy
She’s as quiet as the clouds,
as wise as the mountain,
and as stellar as the sunrise,
and then she bows down
and speaks.
Everything is silent.
The fauna.
The birds.
The insects.
Everyone listens.
Joy’s Prayer
We are closer
than we’ve ever been
to the sun
to a star
a real star.
Light years away,
and yet illuminating
this very day––
our lives bearing
the mortal umbra
to be filled with
merciful light.
They say
we’re made
of stardust;
that would mean
we’re made of
eternal light.
I think
mountain rock
and heaven’s breath
too.
Amen.
Revelation
We are the sum
of moving parts
and adjustable hearts.
4:09 pm
I lead the pack
out of the rainforest
North, less than five kilometers, Elvis says.
Rutherford grabs me
from behind,
spins me around.
This is it. The last few miles of us. You'll be changed after
this, kid.
Maybe this is the end
and the beginning, I think.
The true beginning of all of us.
He puts his arm around me.
His guitar hits my head.
Why’d you bring that? I ask him.
You can never get lost with the music, Uncle Stevie, says,
proving that he does actually make sense sometimes.
Let’s do this, I yell,
and take off running
toward
the beginning.
Turn off the camera
Rutherford says, putting
his hands
in front of the lens.
This is about Blade.
Not about me.
This is what he’s come for.
Let’s respect that, he says,
almost as if he’s
reminding himself.
5:25 pm
Eight and a half hours later
we arrive
in a village
with colorful homes
made of mud
covered in straw
like life-sized works of art
I’ve seen in museums
back home.
Children in matching
red-and-orange uniforms
prance along the street
beside a skinny cow
and an even skinnier goat.
When they see us,
they stop. Joy waves.
A few return
the greeting.
Then they run.
A lone man
rides past us
on a rusty bicycle.
Akwaaba, he yells,
smiling.
We keep walking
toward
what looks like
a storefront,
where three women
sit, holding babies
and talking.
The sign out front
says:
Konko Health Post.
Joy speaks to them
in her native tongue,
and they talk back.
One of them gets up,
goes into the clinic,
and Joy’s eyes reveal
a truth
I’ve been waiting for,
but not sure
I’m ready for.
She’s here, Blade.
The Peak
Ever been
at the peak
of a grand mountain
where you can touch
the clouds
feel them moving
through you
bending sprightly
toward
the horizon
and you are overcome
unbound
and nearly
engulfed?
That is how I feel
When I see . . .
My mother
walks like
an angel,
literally;
her wings
are four girls—two
on each side—in