Swing Page 17

  I’m thinking

  when Cruz comes up

  to bat.

  The Last Inning

  Her eyes move

  to the batter’s box,

  where he stands

  like some kind of baseball god.

  I take her right hand into mine.

  It feels cold.

  I rub my thumb

  over her knuckles.

  I look at her face

  as she watches his

  every move.

  Her faint smile

  dances

  across her lips

  at him, just

  in time

  for him to

  look our way

  and wipe his brow,

  the way he’s done

  in every game

  before, like

  it’s a secret signal

  between them.

  She waves

  with the hand

  I held

  inside mine

  mere seconds ago.

  The one

  that I’ve loved

  for seven summers.

  Why does it feel

  like I’m in the last inning

  of a game

  that hasn’t even started?

  Debut

  The game is slow.

  The company, aloof.

  It seems to take five

  long, dreadful nights

  before Walt actually

  gets to bat.

  He struts out wired,

  lit like a firecracker

  that’s about to go off.

  Bopping his head

  to the jazz

  that’s undoubtedly playing

  inside it.

  He looks authentically

  confident.

  Sam and I both jump up,

  applaud like

  it’s his curtain call

  and this is Hamilton.

  He taps the bat

  on the ground.

  His swing looks good.

  Then the ball comes

  fast and furious

  like a cannonball.

  Not once.

  Not twice.

  But three times.

  And he misses

  each.

  On his way back

  to the dugout,

  he looks up at me, and

  I raise my fist

  as if to say,

  you got this,

  but I’m not sure

  he does.

  The Ride from Antarctica

  We don’t talk

  or whisper

  or even sigh.

  Shivers come over me.

  It’s the kind of silence that

  makes you cold.

  It’s just a painful void,

  louder

  than torture itself.

  My mind races

  with uncertainty.

  Are we okay?

  Is she sick?

  Or just sick of me?

  What do I say?

  I pull up to her house,

  and put the car

  in park.

  More silence.

  I turn to face her,

  to tell her

  how I am

  the sun to her moon,

  when suddenly

  she leans

  and plants a kiss

  on my cheek.

  Forlorn

  Mom and Dad

  are coming home

  early next week.

  Walt is hanging out

  with Divya, daily,

  and I’m sitting here

  feeling kinda lonely

  and unsure, ’cause Sam

  is on an overnight field trip.

  And so is Cruz.

  I start thinking

  about my future,

  and how maybe

  I’ve got nothing

  going on.

  What if I end up

  like Floyd,

  dipping ice cream cones,

  recording podcasts,

  and pretending

  to have

  a life?

  Texts with Granny

  5:07 pm

  Hey, Granny.

  I need to talk,

  can we hang?

  5:07 pm

  You can come over.

  Or I can come over.

  Pimento cheese sandwiches?

  5:10 pm

  We can binge watch

  The Crown.

  6:18 pm

  SORRY, SUGAR.

  I BEEN PLAYING POKER

  WITH SOME SHYSTY FELLAS.

  YOU NEED SOMETHING?

  6:19 pm

  I just missed you, Granny.

  Figured we could get

  together before Mom

  and Dad get back home next week.

  6:21 pm

  AWFUL!

  6:21 pm

  Huh?

  6:23 pm

  i wrote aww! but it changed

  my aww. noah, how do i

  fidget . . . see it did it again. FIX!

  6:24 pm

  THIS ONE FELLA FLIRTS

  WHENEVER HE’S BUFFING.

  I’M ABOUT TO CALL HIS . . . MEAT

  BLUFFING. MEANT. NOAH HELLLPPP!

  6:25 pm

  NOAH WALLACE HAS LEFT THE CONVERSATION.

  WOOHOO WOMAN Podcast #6: Outro

  MARJ: You crack me up, Jackie! But seriously, before we get

  out of here, I want to run this by you. I read this quote in

  a book: “To receive love, you have to give it, and in order

  to give it, you have to have it.” Okay, maybe I’m a little

  slow, but how can you give something you don’t have? Or

  how can you have something you don’t have, or . . . see, I’m

  confused, Jackie!

  JACKIE: Hmmm. It sounds like a riddle for life. I think I

  get it though. Receive, give . . . when I really think about

  it, it means you have to love yourself first. If you don’t love

  yourself, how can you possibly love others? You feel me?

  MARJ: I DO. I DO. Without self-love, you have nothing to

  offer others. Friends. Family. Lovers. A Woohoo Woman

  knows this. It is her mantra.

  JACKIE: Speaking of self-love, ladies. Get out there today

  and do something nurturing for yourself, and then you can

  go out into the world and love others.

  MARJ: Here’s to a nap. Next week, we’re taking a surprise

  road trip and dipping our toes into new waters.

  JACKIE: Ooooh, are we podcasting from the beach?

  Jamaica? Cancun?

  MARJ: Floyd, you listening? We want the beach.

  JACKIE: Loyal listeners, tune in next week to The Woohoo

  Woman Podcast to find out where in the world Jackie and

  Marj have landed.

  Text from Sam

  10:10 pm

  Miss you, Noah. I’m

  back tomorrow, but then gone

  for weekend with Mom.

  Let’s get together Sunday night.

  Smooches.

  Dear Sam

  without u

  i am lost

  as in: isolated

  unfin-

  ished

  broken

  off

  shipwrecked

  on the shore

  of solitude

  ankle

  deep

  in

  possibility

  i have read the dictionary

  twice

  i. have. read. the. dictionary.

  twice.

  and still there r no words

  to fill

  my blank spaces

  to punctuate

  the way i feel

  with yr smile

  two-steps

  across the stucco walls

  of my memory

 
perhaps

  i will open

  a thesaurus now

  and find

  a little piece of hope

  or something similar.

  in other words

  i miss you.

  ps. All I’ve done since you left is write and draw. You

  like the piece? I call it Hand to Hand. Walt says I should

  submit it to this contest at a local gallery. If you’re okay

  with it, I might.

  Do not forget me.

  Love, Noah.

  Text to Walt

  Swing, let’s hang out.

  Go to the mall.

  Hit the batting cage.

  Have a lazy Saturday.

  I need to get out

  of my head

  and this house.

  Text from Walt

  11:45 am

  Yo, I can’t.

  Divya and I

  are out looking

  for some hip glasses

  and a tux,

  ’cause yeah,

  I’m going

  to the prom.

  Guess who just found cool?

  Something Is Coming

  You know how things

  are going great

  and life feels easy

  and joyful,

  and then you get

  that sensation

  that something’s at your back,

  but nobody’s there—an

  empty feeling

  hangs in the air

  and everything looks gray,

  even the sun?

  When it feels like

  something is about to

  pull you under

  and you’re afraid

  to move

  or breathe?

  That’s where I stand.

  Right now.

  And, it’s not good.

  It’s not good at all.

  Part 5

  Where Are You?

  Conversation with Walt

  Yo, my dad’s home.

  For the wedding?

  Heck no. Mo showed up at the house a few days back and

  he slept over, and Mom said he had nightmares all night,

  and when she went in to check on him, he was in fatigues

  holding a bat and just staring at her. Through her.

  Dang, yo!

  Then he just left. She got scared and called my dad to

  come find him.

  Where is he?

  I think Mo and Dad are at a hotel.

  Oh.

  He’ll be fine. He just needs rest. Mo will be back better

  than ever!

  . . . .

  Hey, you like the tux? he asks, unzipping the garment bag

  he’s carrying.

  It’s fire.

  Black pants, white jacket, red cummerbund. I’ll be the

  dopest, flyest in the house.

  . . . .

  You know you can come with us.

  Nah, I’m good. Plus, my parents are home on Tuesday.

  Okay then, but can you stop looking so sad? Dang, you’re

  killing my life high.

  I miss her.

  Dude, go see her then.

  She’s out of town, until tonight.

  Well, she must have a twin then, ’cause Divya and I saw

  her earlier today after I left the weight room.

  Where?

  At the mall.

  . . . .

  Texts to Sam

  Sunday, 2:00 pm

  Sam, you home?

  Walt says you’re back

  in town.

  How was your trip?

  Miss you.

  Call me.

  Sunday, 2:45 pm

  Where are you now?

  Want me to come by?

  Sunday, 3:15 pm

  Hello?

  Wanna come over here?

  On the drive

  to her house,

  there’s bumper-to-bumper

  traffic

  on Main Street.

  When I get out

  to see the problem,

  I see an empty grocery cart

  on its side—trash, bags,

  and countless flags

  scattered—in

  the middle

  of the intersection,

  and a bunch

  of police officers.

  When the traffic clears

  I drive

  to Sam’s house

  to find her mom’s car

  in the driveway,

  and her little Brussels griffon

  sitting

  by the screen door,

  on guard.

  I’m relieved

  she’s home,

  then I’m not,

  when I realize

  she’s been home

  and she hasn’t

  acknowledged my texts,

  called me,

  or told me

  she’s actually back.

  And when I ring

  the doorbell,

  and Cruz opens

  the door,

  I’m pissed.

  ROYALLY.

  How Long Has This Been Going On?

  What are you doing here, Cruz?!

  The question is, what are you doing here, Noah? The

  answer is, trying to steal my girl with your sappy little love

  notes.

  Give me those, Sam says, coming up behind him,

  snatching the letters.

  You can’t be me, kid. You’ll never be me, so why don’t you

  go on home.

  Sam? What’s going on? I ask.

  I’LL TELL YOU WHAT’S GOING ON, NOAH, Cruz

  yells at the top of his lungs, his hot breath an inch from

  my face.

  But I don’t hear

  what he’s yelling,

  as I plot

  my next move:

  Shove

  my fist

  in his face

  and risk

  being left the loser,

  bloodied.

  Or leave.

  Walk away,

  broken.

  Escape

  I run

  back to my car,

  almost stumbling.

  Get in,

  try to back out

  of her driveway,

  but she’s standing behind

  blocking me,

  with her arms folded

  and her legs parted wide,

  in a stance

  that lets me know

  she’s not moving.

  Get out of the car, Noah!

  Will not.

  C’mon, I have your other shoe.

  Not as long as he’s here.

  Cruz, go. I’ll call you.

  Okay, babe, but don’t be long, I hear him say.

  I sit behind

  the steering wheel

  and close my eyes

  for a moment

  that feels

  as raw

  as an open wound,

  wishing

  I could be

  someplace else,

  someone else,

  not having to deal

  with the drama

  that’s coming

  or the pain

  that’s here.

  Another Reckoning

  I finally get out

  of the truck

  after I hear Cruz

  speed off.

  I lean against

  Granny,

  who’s been more faithful

  to me

  than her.

  Sam reaches out

  for my arm,

  like she’s trying

  to pull me in

  for a hug,

  but I resist.

  I pull back and stand

  as still

  and as cold

  as a glacier.

  Let’s go inside.

  I’m fine out here.

  I wan
t to talk someplace private, quiet.

  Maybe I don’t want to talk. Period.

  End

  I open

  my car door,

  she shuts it.

  I open it again,

  push my way

  inside.

  If you leave— she says.

  WHAT, YOU’RE GONNA BREAK UP WITH ME?

  TOO LATE! YOU ALREADY DID THAT, I shout.

  I’m not

  going to stand

  for betrayal.

  I’m not going

  to listen

  to her lies,

  to let her

  talk about

  how she feels

  anymore.

  What about how I feel?

  I’ve had enough.

  Got enough fumes

  to fuel this car

  for the rest

  of its sorry life.

  So, I speed off,

  leaving her

  standing there,

  ’cause there’s nothing else

  to hear,

  absolutely nothing else

  to say, but

  goodbye, Sam.

  I’m done.

  Early

  The door

  wide open

  and suitcases

  on the front porch

  tell me

  they’re back

  from Spain,

  and I’m gonna

  have to act

  like I’m happy,

  which I’m just not

  right now.

  That instead

  of wallowing

  in despair,

  which is what

  I’d really like

  to do,

  I’ve got to act

  like I’m ecstatic

  they came home

  two days early.

  Hey, welcome back, I say, hugging Mom.

  Hey, honey, Mom says, kissing me on the forehead.

  We need to talk, Dad says.

  Am I getting another car? I say sarcastically, hugging