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    Solo

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    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

     
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