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    Solo
    Solo
    Solo
    Ebook535 pages3 hours

    Solo

    By Kwame Alexander and Mary Rand Hess

    3.5/5

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Solo by Kwame Alexander and Mary Rand Hess is a New York Times bestseller! Kirkus Reviews said Solo is, “A contemporary hero’s journey, brilliantly told.” Through the story of a young Black man searching for answers about his life, Solo empowers, engages, and encourages teenagers to move from heartache to healing, burden to blessings, depression to deliverance, and trials to triumphs.

    Blade never asked for a life of the rich and famous. In fact, he’d give anything not to be the son of Rutherford Morrison, a washed-up rock star and drug addict with delusions of a comeback. Or to no longer be part of a family known most for lost potential, failure, and tragedy, including the loss of his mother. The one true light is his girlfriend, Chapel, but her parents have forbidden their relationship, assuming Blade will become just like his father.

    In reality, the only thing Blade and Rutherford have in common is the music that lives inside them. And songwriting is all Blade has left after Rutherford, while drunk, crashes his high school graduation speech and effectively rips Chapel away forever. But when a long-held family secret comes to light, the music disappears. In its place is a letter, one that could bring Blade the freedom and love he’s been searching for, or leave him feeling even more adrift.

    Solo:

    • Is written by New York Times bestselling author and Newbery Medal and Coretta Scott King Book Award-winner Kwame Alexander
    • Showcases Kwame’s signature intricacy, intimacy, and poetic style, by exploring what it means to finally go home
    • An #OwnVoices novel that features a BIPOC protagonist on a search for his roots and identity
    • Received great reviews from Publishers Weekly, School Library Journal, Booklist, and Kirkus.

    If you enjoy Solo, check out Swing by Kwame Alexander and Mary Rand Hess.

     

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherZondervan
    Release dateAug 1, 2017
    ISBN9780310761907
    Solo
    Author

    Kwame Alexander

    Kwame Alexander is a poet, an educator, and the New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty-five books, including his Newbery Medal–winning middle grade novel The Crossover. Some of his other works include Booked, which was longlisted for the National Book Award; The Playbook: 52 Rules to Aim, Shoot, and Score in This Game Called Life; Swing; the picture books How to Read a Book and How to Write a Poem (coauthored with Deanna Nikaido), both illustrated by Melissa Sweet; and The Undefeated, illustrated by Kadir Nelson, which was longlisted for the National Book Award and won the Caldecott Medal, a Newbery Honor, and the Coretta Scott King Illustrator Award. He is a regular contributor to NPR’s Morning Edition, currently serving as their poet ambassador. He lives in Virginia with his family. Visit his website at kwamealexander.com. 

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    Reviews for Solo

    3.5/5

    157 ratings28 reviews

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    • 4/5

      Jan 16, 2019

      A highly enjoyable read featuring many references to tock and roll.Blade, who believes he is the son of a rock ‘n’ roll guitarist, finds out that he is adopted and sets out to meet his biological mother. At that time she is in Ghana helping villagers. He travels there and is surprised when his father who is both an alcoholic and a drug addict ttavels there determined to publically reunite with his son (he brings a camera crew with him) and kick his alcoholic habit. While there they both fall for a tiny five-year-old girl Sia who ends up dying and Blade sings a song that honours all the people who have left his life.
    • 3/5

      Jan 16, 2019

      A novel in verse, Kwame Alexander will feed your ears with a beautiful, lyrically written book.Blade is the son of a rockstar and has been raised knowing the most famous rockstars. The problem is that after his mother died, his father has been unable to control his addictions. He goes in and out of treatment facilities, which makes Blade angry that he has to deal with his father and angry that he can’t focus on just his life. Because I would like you to experience the novel, I have to stop there with any information or it will spoil the book for you. Basically, Blade makes a discovery that sends him on a journey that he’d like to make his own, but will his father let him?For me, the book was okay. I listened to Kwame read it and I felt like the intensity was almost overwhelming. I found Blade’s romances naive. I also didn’t see the point to the whole book or the abrupt ending that left many plot points unresolved. Is it well-written? Absolutely. He is a master with words and metaphor. Was I sucked in wanting to only listen to this book and forget everything else. Absolutely not. If you listen to it, a man performs the songs Blade writes. I fast-forwarded past them because they were long and I wasn’t a fan. I’m sure there’s more analysis that I missed by not listening to the words. The novel is divided by famous songs, but they aren’t performed on the audio. If you know a lot about music, you’ll find that organization clever, adding depth for you.
    • 4/5

      Jan 16, 2019

      Blade Morrison is the son of a rock musician. His mother died when he was 8, and his father is an alcoholic with a drug problem and an embarrassment. The bright spot in his life is his girlfriend, who he sees in spite of her father's prohibition. Then, the summer after he graduates high school, everything turns upside down, and nobody, not even himself, is who they seemed to be.
    • 5/5

      Jan 16, 2019

      I'm not a fan of spoken-word poetry. I held that against this book far longer than it deserved. Once I could get over the spoken-word poetry format of this book it became...It was...It defies words. The words swirled around inside my skin, choked my heart, stole my breath. It was so amazing.
    • 4/5

      Jan 16, 2019

      When Blade finds out that he was adopted he set out for Ghana to find his birth mother.
    • 4/5

      Jan 16, 2019

      Blade has had enough with his dad and his rock-star largess, addition, tabloid fodder. When Rutherford ruins Blade's graduation he feels like it is the last straw, and that is before Blake finds out he is adoption and his girlfriend's love isn't as true as he thought. Blade finds himself on an unexpected journey to Ghana to find his birth mother. The audiobooks includes music which adds a richness to the experience. Blade, petulant and unforgiving at times, has music in his soul and poetry in his heart. During his trip he finds a way to heal, grieve, forgive.
    • 5/5

      Feb 15, 2018

      Spoiler Alert. My admiration for Kwame Alexander's work continues to grow. This book was written with Mary Rand Hess, so I need to check out more of her books as well. Many stories are told from the point of view of characters living in poverty, but Solo is a YA novel in verse about a teen who is the son of a famous rock star. They live in Hollywood and have everything money can buy. But his father can't manage to finish any rehab he enters and humiliates his son, Blade, over and over. His mother was his constant in a world of chaos, but she died when he was ten. After his father ruins his graduation, he finds out he is adopted and that his girlfriend is cheating on him. It's all too much. Part two of the book takes place in Ghana when Blade sets out to find his birth mother. Mr. Alexander has experience there and it's evident in his authentic descriptions. (He is the co-founder of a literacy program: LEAP for Ghana.) At the heart of the story is music, woven throughout and tying everything together. It is a heartening read not only for teens feeling alone with their problems, but for everyone.
    • 5/5

      Nov 27, 2020

      It was amazing it aw inspired me to be able to do anything
    • 5/5

      Jul 21, 2020

      GREATEST BOOK OF ALL TIME!!! Recommend this book to everyone
    • 4/5

      May 23, 2020

      This is quite a good book, actually. It is not a real travelogue, in which you read all about the travel, and also about the various people and cultures you meet on such a journey. It is a socio-political discourse of sorts, with a journey as an enabler. Having said that, it is a good book, and one well worth reading. While I do love North East India, this book serves to open my eyes to a lot about that part of our country, and gives a brief introduction to some of the issues facing people who live there. Well written, reading the book is a breeze. She takes you along on her journey.
    • 4/5

      Feb 24, 2020

      This is decidedly not Fleming, but Boyd is especially adept at describing Africa (fictional though it is, it seems real enough). His style is distinctly his and I would not have it any other way. We find a Bond that is sensual in his enjoyment of life's pleasures and cynical when it comes to geopolitics.
    • 4/5

      Nov 11, 2024

      Well crafted and faithful to the original Bond stories, as far as I recall them.
    • 4/5

      Oct 6, 2016

      This is a 3 and a half star book, but I cannot round it up to 4 stars because that would over praise it. You know it is not an Ian Fleming James Bond on the first page where "real writing" appears and throughout the book William Boyd displays flashes of his normal quality writing, whilst staying within the template of a Bond book. There is lots of drinking, smoking, sex, food and guns as one would expect. I was amused by the gun buying sequence in Washington. This was supposed to be 1969 and, sure enough, little has changed, a Beretta and a highpowered hunting rifle over the counter with no identity checks!
      I noticed a few editing issues, e.g. also buying binoculars before the main purchase and did he really intend to use sodality rather than solidarity, I think not.
      I think it is probably the best of the Bond Redux novels I have read, the word is fun!
    • 4/5

      Aug 19, 2016

      I haven't read many post-Ian Fleming Bond novels, but I enjoyed this one. It was especially an improvement over the last 007 outing, written by Jeffrey Deaver, which updated Bond to our times and made him so "p.c." that he wasn't even recognizable at James Bond anymore. Denver's 007 didn't smoke, was moderate with the booze, had a healthy respect for women, and seemed more "licensed to wound" than "licensed to kill." He was a "company man" through-and-through who was prone to ask himself "what would M do" in any particular situation. Ugh! The character could have just as easily been called Malcolm Goodwright, for all the resemblance he had toward Bond.

      The new novel, "Solo," brings back a creditable Bond. We're back in the 1960s, with Bond being 45 years old. He loves his martinis, his fast cars, and his women. But what I liked about this novel is that it took Bond out of his element. Rather than traveling to the world's exotic spots to battle megalomaniacs seeking global domination, he is sent to a dismal West African country in the midst of civil war. On top of that, he isn't even allowed to pack a gun!

      To be sure, there will be plenty of gunplay before the book is over, along with other nastiness, but along the way, Bond is also exposed to some of the ugly truths about colonialism and the role he plays as a government agent in realpolitick. These lessons aren't dealt to the reader heavy-handedly, but it is significant that the novel takes place in 1969, just as a new administration has begun in Washington whose entire foreign policy was based on realpolitick. As Bond says at the end of the book, "Realpolitick isn't just a German word anymore."

      William Boyd, the novel's author, knows Africa, having spent much of his life there, making the African scenes particularly compelling. I'd enjoy having him write a sequel.
    • 3/5

      Dec 3, 2015

      It wasn't bad, but it left me with the same vague feeling of disappointment that all non-Fleming Bond novels do.
    • 3/5

      Jan 24, 2015

      Entertaining, but ultimately uninspired, addition to official Bond canon.
    • 3/5

      Oct 28, 2014

      This is moderately successful, better in some parts than in others, much like the Ian Fleming originals. There's a certain pleasure in ticking off all the generic conventions as they're duly called into service: fast girls, faster cars, particular - and often peculiar - dietary requirements, the right weapon, characters' bizarre names (Sunday, Blessing, Christmas), inventive death, etc, etc: yes, they're all here. Boyd even remembers the story of Fleming learning that in real life one always vomits when recovering consciousness. Fleming included the detail in his next novel, and here it is in Boyd, too. Twice.

      While all of this may indeed 'A James Bond Novel' make, it doesn't in itself add up to an effective thriller. Solo is exciting in places, but drags in others, which I suppose is not unusual, but one has come to expect more from James Bond, perhaps unreasonably, especially as I think I remember the same being true of at least some of Fleming's efforts, though they at least had the benefit of originality, a luxury not enjoyed by Boyd.

      Boyd has famously chosen to set the novel in 1969, so here we have a historical novel, too: while period detail is dutifully included and anachronism doesn't exactly abound, neither is it wholly absent, and it grates. I don't for a moment believe that she had a 'day from hell', and I'm suspicious of a hospital that was 'state of the art', or that Bond appreciates 'effective PR'.

      A generally enjoyable literary exercise: well done. Now, put your money away, Mr Boyd, and write something much better.
    • 2/5

      Sep 17, 2014

      Quite possibly the most disappointing work by William Boyd. His attempt at the iconic James Bond was rather flat and not terribly thrilling. A far, far cry from the quality he's known for in his other works.
    • 2/5

      Jul 30, 2014

      Boyd has done a good job at replicating Fleming here. Bond pontificates, eats and relates to the world just as Fleming wrote bond. But where was the fun plot? Yes a couple of twists are here but by the end it was difficult to care about the story.
    • 3/5

      Jun 17, 2014

      A quick read, helped by breakfast in bed on Saturday morning.... a bit 'nice' as I remembered James Bond as being nastier - but it's so long since I read the Flemming books that I might well be quite wrong. Enjoyed the African bits especially.
    • 2/5

      Mar 21, 2014

      I hate to say that I didn't like, let alone love, a James Bond book, but Solo just didn't work for me. The early, London-based sequences were an intersting view into Bond's life that felt true to the character. However, once he is sent on his mission to Africa, things turned progressively ... boring. That's really the only way to describe it. Sure there were a few action sequences, but none that stood out or were reminiscent of traditional Bond-esque action scenes. Too much sitting around drinking waiting for something to happen. And the final third of the book just felt as if the author needed to find some way to make this an Bondian thriller and wrap the story up, neither of which was he able to do successfully.
    • 3/5

      Feb 26, 2014

      Always a difficult job to come after a trend setting author who has created an icon. William Boyd does a fair job but a little like Jeffery Deaver before him, he gives his Bond characteristics that jar with those familiar with Flemings Bond. Bonds new car, his attitude when investigating a character in the first third of the novel, all seemed to be forced. This is Bond as a Wilbur Smith African adventurer. He has some characteristics of Flemings creation: darkly intelligent, ruthless but loyal, resourceful but in this setting, with these fictional African locales, it all seems like a need to put a favourite of the authors into his own fictional locations. This isn't Fleming pastiche, like Faulks recent effort, & it shows. It doesn't feel like Bond. Read as an adventure in its own right, it's enjoyable. Just don't expect things to be the way a purist would like.
    • 4/5

      Jan 9, 2014

      Boyd was always a good storyteller. He doesn't disappoint here in the continuing James Bond sags.
    • 4/5

      Nov 7, 2013

      Good one! It starts off in 1969, on James Bond's 45th birthday. In classic Fleming style, Bond dines on fine cuisine, drinks only the best, and dresses, well, like James Bond! The whole opening part of the book reminded me of the classic Bond! The middle of the book is James' mission - to end a civil war in Africa. Not terribly interesting, but full of action and extremely fast paced! And the end is again classic. The drink, the girl, and the job. I really think this book captured the Bond that I loved as a kid, and I'm glad I read it! I also liked that it had a "classic" villain too! Welcome Kobus Breed to the Bond villain wall of fame!
    • 3/5

      Nov 5, 2013

      The Good Stuff

      Will appeal to Bond fans, especially fans of those early Fleming novels
      This Bond felt like a Daniel Craig style Bond - but than again maybe that is just how I imagined him to be.
      Nice addition to the back story of Bond
      Bond Girl was fabulous, really enjoyed her personality and how she dealt with Bond.
      Well written, Boyd does a fabulous job of setting the scene and the mood of the story. The African setting is a nice change of pace
      Author obviously has done some thorough research on Bond, he really has a true understanding of his character
      I have a feeling this will appeal mostly to the older Bond enthusiast as the slow paced style of the story will probably turn off the younger reader - this would be my Dad's Bond type of story (This isn't a negative comment)
      Nice to read about Moneypenny again, I have missed her (though would have liked to have more of her)

      The Not So Good Stuff

      Rather dull at times and quite frankly, couldn't wait to be done so I could pick up something a little more exciting. This has nothing to do with Boyd's ability to write (his talent is very evident) but this particular story was not my cup of tea
      Must we always kill off the women that Bond sleeps with. Than again I would risk death to have one night with Daniel Craig's Bond (But I would get the hell out of whatever country we were in once I left his bed & would have a big ferocious dog with me too (not to mention a full body bullet proof suit)
      I think Cory is going to be mad at me since I didn't love this book as much as he did (FYI he is young and loved it so maybe my observation about how this will appeal to older readers might be inaccurate)

      Favorite Quotes/Passages



      "Sometimes, Bond thought, Moneypenny's banter could verge on the annoyingly self-satisfied. He was vaguely irritated that she must know how old he is."

      "Bond found he rather admired the Captain's tireless ability to lie so fluently and with manifest conviction. He was good at his job, but no one was fooled."

      "They had seen everything, these nurses, Bond realized. Words like prudish, embarrassed, shocked, disgusted or ashamed simply weren't in their vocabulary. Perhaps that was why people - why men - found them so attractive."

      3 Dewey's

      I received this from William Morrow (HarperCollins) in exchange for an honest review
    • 5/5

      Oct 14, 2013

      Just finished reading Solo by William Boyd. This is the latest James Bond by an author picking up after Ian Fleming. I really enjoyed this book. This book seems to be the most faithful to Fleming's James Bond character. The book is set in 1969. The descriptions of the period seem to be very accurate from my recollections.

      The story is about James Bond being sent to a fictitious west African country in the midst of a civil war with the mission of enabling the defeat of the rebels. Bond has run ins with several strange characters along the likes of Jaws, Blofeld, etc. Bond also has a dalliance with an agent who turns out not to be who he thinks she is. He also has a relationship with another woman. The sex with the beautiful women is described in a similar manner to the way Fleming handled it and in the early Bond films.

      The title Solo is about Bond's actions after returning from the end of the civil war in the west African country. He is plotting revenge outside of MI6 over what happened while in Africa.

      If you enjoyed Ian Fleming's Bond books, you should enjoy this book.
    • 4/5

      Oct 6, 2013

      When i was about 13 or 14 I read Ian Fleming's James Bond novels quite avidly, even though they were by then already rather dated and, at least to an adolescent's boy's taste, rather anodyne compared with the films that they had spawned. However, as one of my old drinking buddies was a huge fan of them I tried to re-read a couple of them just a few years back and found them very hard going, almost to the point of being utterly impenetrable.

      However, ever since reading his first novel, "A Good Man in Africa", I have been, and avowedly remain, a huge fan of William Boyd, whom I consider incapable of writing an inelegant sentence. I was, therefore, intrigued to hear that he had accepted a commission from the Fleming Estate to write the latest "official" James Bond story.

      Boyd's recent novels have followed espionage-related themes, though operating on a far more elevated plane than Fleming's shockers, but he rises to the challenge of continuing Bond's career with great gusto. The book is set in 1969, and opens on Bond's 45th birthday. To celebrate he book the day off and arranges to spend the previous night in The Dorchester Hotel. We get chapter and verse on his meals, even down to the number of eggs scrambled for his breakfast, though this attention to detail isn't at all intrusive. Having met a beautiful woman in the hotel lift, he then heads off for a day of intense self-indulgence for his birthday, including a test drive of the legendary Jensen FF. This all works very well, and Boyd paints an appealing picture of the swinging sixties in west London.

      Indeed, the plot only really gets properly started some four or five chapters in when Bond eventually makes it to his office and is briefed by M for his mission which is, basically, to go to West Africa and bring an end to a vicious post-colonial civil war that is besetting the state of Zanzarim.. Bond is flown out to Africa masquerading as a reporter for a French news agency. The story proceeds true to the tried and tested James Bond model.

      I think this was an interesting experiment but I am not sure that it worked - basically William Boyd is just too good a writer and it seems a dreadful waste to have his ability reined in to match the weaker template set by Fleming. Still, I did enjoy it, and I might even try some of the originals again.
    • 5/5

      Oct 6, 2013

      This is a book about resourcefulness. Boyd's Bond is a pared down sixties version but with a reasonably rich interior life drawn straight from the liberalism of later years. He does not act without compunction and he generally considers and weighs up each situation as a human being, rather than a super-construct-hero. The story is engaging and well plotted. Though it does dip occasionally into the realms of disbelief it provides remarkably easy and entertaining escapism for a day or so.

    Book preview

    Solo - Kwame Alexander

    Part One:

    Part One ,

    Hollywood

    There’s this dream

    I’ve been having

    about my mother

    that scares

    the holy night

    out of me,

    and each time I wake

    from it

    I’m afraid to open

    my eyes

    and face

    the world that awaits, the

    fractured world

    that used to make sense,

    but now seems

    disjointed—islands of possibility

    that float by—like

    a thousand puzzle pieces

    that just don’t fit

    together anymore.

    So I think

    of Chapel

    and grab hold

    of the only other thing

    that matters.

    My guitar.

    Strings

    Mom used to play

    this game

    on the tour bus

    to help us

    go to sleep:

    Who’s the best?

    We’d go through

    every instrument:

    piano, drums, horns.

    Our favorite was guitar.

    My sister, Storm, always said

    Eddie Van Halen

    was her favorite,

    probably ’cause

    he once made her

    pancakes

    at 4 am

    in a Marriott kitchen.

    Ask Rutherford and

    he’d say,

    I’m the best in the world,

    I’m outta this world.

    Electric soul brother interstellar man,

    which is ironic

    because he was trying

    to quote

    Lenny Kravitz, who

    Mom would say

    was in her top three

    along with Jimi Hendrix

    and me,

    just to piss him off.

    Chapel

    is the great song

    in my life.

    The sweet arpeggio

    in my solo.

    Her lines bring

    color and verve

    to my otherwise

    crazy life.

    Without her

    I’d be a one-man band,

    with a played-out sound

    and no audience.

    The magic

    we compose

    is endless,

    immortal.

    We could play

    together

    for centuries.

    If I’m lucky.

    And I love

    the music

    our bodies

    make

    when we’re dancing.

    But there is one thing

    about my girlfriend

    I don’t understand.

    She says

    she doesn’t believe

    in sex

    before marriage,

    but she never

    wants to get married.

    When I ask her, Where is this all going, then?

    she likes to

    get real close,

    eyelash close,

    and say things like

    Let’s live in the moment, babe

    or we don’t need labels,

    and then

    she kisses me

    like we own the world

    and nothing else matters.

    It’s funny how

    going nowhere

    feels like it’s

    going someplace

    fast.

    Texts from Chapel

    7:37 pm

    On your way stop by

    Best Buy pls. Headphones broke.

    Red or purple. K?

    7:47 pm

    They finally left. I

    hate hiding. Wish my dad

    wasn’t so CRAY. He

    7:48 pm

    thinks all the things

    the tabloids say

    about your family

    7:48 pm

    are true. He doesn’t know

    you’re different, Blade.

    He says

    7:48 pm

    you’re going to

    drag me into sex

    and drugs.

    7:49 pm

    Hurry up and get here.

    They’re at Bible study

    ’til 10 …

    Leaving in ten minutes

    Sorry. Working on a song.

    Beats or Bose?

    And tell the Reverend I

    only did drugs once.

    The Show

    My father,

    Rutherford Morrison,

    can’t stand

    to be away

    from the stage.

    He has always craved

    the spotlight,

    needs it

    like a drug,

    posing, posturing, profiling

    before millions—

    an electric prophet, or so he thinks,

    capturing concert worshipers

    in the vapors

    of his breath,

    as if his voice

    was preparing them

    for rapture.

    My sister and I

    have always lived

    under the stage,

    beside it,

    behind it.

    The After-Party

    There was always

    another party.

    More loud music.

    More loud groupies.

    Booze

    and still more groupies.

    I was nine.

    He grabbed me

    and held

    a sizzling cig

    in front

    of my face.

    Only it wasn’t a cig.

    He blew smoke

    circles around me

    and laughed.

    My boy.

    The band uncles got

    in on the joke too,

    and I stuck my tongue

    in a shot glass

    full of whiskey,

    soaked it up

    like a dirty sponge.

    I loved making them laugh.

    The whiskey hurt

    my throat and

    stung my eyes.

    But the laughs

    were epic.

    Before I knew it

    I was taking my finger

    and dragging it

    across powdered

    sugar that looked

    like ant snow trails

    on the table.

    Rutherford was too busy

    kissing his ego

    to notice.

    I tasted it once,

    twice, and

    a few more times,

    trying to find

    that sugar sweet.

    But, it wasn’t sweet.

    It was salty

    bitter

    and it coated

    my mouth

    in numbness.

    I woke up

    in the ICU

    frightened

    and embarrassed

    by my father,

    who sat by

    my bedside

    crying

    in handcuffs.

    Hollywood Report

    Rutherford Morrison has kept rock alive for twenty-five years.

    His band, The Great Whatever, is credited with

    introducing a new flavor of

    Hard Rock to America with the release of their triple-

    platinum album,

    The History of Headaches. Even after an acrimonious

    band breakup,

    Morrison continued to have an illustrious solo career,

    selling thirty million albums worldwide.

    His music has lasted the test of time … until now.

    Eight years ago, he was arrested for reckless

    endangerment of his child,

    and he hasn’t released an album since.

    Most recently he’s managed three DUIs, and a drug

    overdose

    that almost sent him to a rock-star reunion with

    Kurt Cobain and Amy Winehouse.

    Rutherford may not have much time left before

    he falls flat on 12:00. Midnight can be so cruel.

    Who doesn’t feel sorry for his kids,

    left answering the hard questions, like

    How does it feel

    to be the daughter

    to be the son

    of a fallen rock star?

    Who Am I?

    I am

    the wretched son

    of a poor

    rich man.

    I do not hate

    my life.

    I am not like

    Sebastian Carter,

    who found

    his father kissing

    his girlfriend

    and now hates

    his life.

    My life is, hmmm,

    inconvenient.

    But

    if it weren’t for Chapel …

    Are You Sure They Aren’t Coming Home?

    Chapel and I are about to take flight,

    two souls on fire

    burning through sacred mounds of

    fresh desire.

    Our lips are in the process

    of becoming

    one

    in her hammock,

    like two blue jays nesting.

    Feeding each other

    kisses of wonder.

    I’m sure, she answers.

    Hands of curiosity.

    What are you doing?

    Kissing you.

    Slow down, Blade.

    Why?

    Woo me.

    Woo you?

    A song.

    Come on, babe, we don’t have time for that.

    But we have time for this? she says,

    puckering her lips, and

    hypnotizing me

    with eyes blue

    as the deep blue sea.

    Those Eyes Will Be the Death of Me

    My gravestone will read:

    Here lies a young man

    who died inside

    the gaze of a woman.

    I watch the river

    in her eyes gallop forth

    fall into them

    dive into them.

    She smiles.

    Those eyes.

    I can’t escape

    the depth of them.

    The song has ended,

    but the melody still rings

    from her mouth.

    I can’t hear a word.

    I’m lost

    in these two comets

    that move across

    my universe.

    I remember

    the first time

    she looked at me

    like this.

    Two years ago

    before he hit

    an all-time low,

    Rutherford threw

    one of his

    Hollywood Rocker House Parties

    which became Storm’s

    pool party

    SLASH sweet sixteen

    SLASH get-all-the-kids-at-our-school-drunk-so-they-

    could-listen-to-Storm’s-mixtape-and-think-it-is-hot

    party.

    While they dove deep

    in shallowness,

    I found a quiet corner,

    a vintage Rutherford Morrison guitar

    took it off the wall

    and started playing

    American Woman

    and any tune

    with a hard groove

    to soften

    the dull.

    Minutes

    or an hour

    went by

    before I looked up,

    and there she was

    sitting

    in the chair

    across from me,

    her legs

    with dancer calves

    entwined

    like twin yellow flowers.

    Her skin, amber sun.

    And those pretty blue eyes

    just watching me

    like she cared.

    Amazing. Keep playing, she said. Don’t let me interrupt

    you. And

    then she got up,

    sauntered off

    glancing over her shoulder,

    leaving me

    thunderstruck.

    Those eyes.

    Those blue eyes.

    Later, I bumped into Storm

    in the kitchen,

    making grapefruit

    and vodka smoothies

    for her already drunk friends,

    and she introduced me

    to the new girl

    in school.

    Those eyes.

    My name’s Chapel, but you can call me American

    Woman, she said, winking

    at me.

    Your brother’s a musical genius, she continued, at which

    Storm laughed.

    Yeah, he’s a legend in his own mind!

    Chapel winked

    at me again,

    and just as I was

    about to turn

    and leave,

    she reached

    in my pocket,

    grabbed my phone,

    and took a selfie

    then texted

    herself

    the photo.

    That was the moment

    I knew.

    And I stayed up

    all night

    writing a song

    about it.

    Trance

    Well?

    Huh?

    Where’d you go?

    Just thinking.

    About what?

    I don’t know—everything, graduation, family. I’m just

    worried.

    Family sucks.

    So true.

    Is he coming to graduation?

    Yep. He says he’s been clean for nine days.

    That’s great.

    Yup.

    Tomorrow, this time, you’ll be a college freshman.

    Actually, I’ll be in-between. No longer high school, not

    yet college.

    No longer, not yet.

    At least we’ll be together every day then.

    You’ll have me whenever you want.

    That’s why I love you.

    Okay then, sing my favorite song, please.

    Chapel, I really don’t feel like—

    Blade, are you my heart?

    Uh, yeah!

    Then sing to me … Van would have.

    Let’s not talk about your untalented, nefarious, wack

    ex-lover.

    Chambers

    if I am your heart

    imagine me inside

    beating, pumping, loving

    Relentless

    Don’t haiku me, Blade. I want an epic.

    I don’t have my guitar.

    You always have your guitar.

    It’s in the car, but I—

    I’ll get it, she interrupts, jumping

    off the hammock so fast,

    I tumble and eat dirt.

    Excuse Me

    Excuse me

    I mean, what did you say?

    I’m sorry

    I’m just a little blown away

    ’Cause your eyes … Oh, your eyes.

    Excuse me,

    Didn’t quite get that

    You talking to me?

    I just gotta get my breath

    ’Cause your eyes …

    Your eyes, they mesmerize me

    Yes, your eyes hypnotize me

    Your eyes are …

    Bluer than the deepest part of the deep blue sea

    Excuse me

    I don’t mean to intrude

    I’m sorry

    Your eyes are too blue

    Forgive me

    I just wanted to be sure

    Your eyes, that shade.

    Isn’t that what they call azure?

    ’Cause your eyes …

    Your eyes, they mesmerize me

    Yes, your eyes hypnotize me

    Your eyes are …

    Bluer than the deepest part of the deep blue sea

    I’m sorry

    I don’t wanna take your time

    I have to say this

    And I hope that you don’t mind

    Your eyes, they mesmerize me

    Yes, your eyes hypnotize me

    Your eyes are …

    Bluer than the deepest part of the deep blue sea

    Excuse me

    I don’t mean to intrude

    I’m sorry

    Your eyes are too blue

    Forgive me

    I just wanted to be sure

    Your eyes, that shade,

    Don’t they call that azure?

    ’Cause your eyes are mesmerizing

    Your eyes are hypnotizing,

    Your eyes are truly drowning me

    I’m drowning in a blue that’s way bluer than the deep blue sea

    ’Cause your eyes …

    Your eyes are mesmerizing

    Your eyes are hypnotizing

    Your eyes are drawing me to you

    © BLADE MORRISON

    She Melts Right in Front of Me

    That was beautiful.

    Thanks.

    It really makes me feel special when you play for me.

    You are special.

    Here’s your phone. Come kiss me.

    What are you doing with my phone?

    You left it in your car.

    Oh. Thanks.

    Why is Principal Campbell blowing your phone up?

    Huh?

    Come here, babe.

    Let me ask you a question.

    Enough talking. Hurry up and kiss me. They’ll be home

    soon.

    Aren’t you sick of sneaking around?

    The alternative sucks.

    True.

    We should just run away.

    I would do that in an LA second. I love you, Chapel.

    Then come over here and let me mesmerize you.

    First, let me check my phone. Dude left me like five

    messages.

    Seriously, Blade. Now you’re all patient.

    Just gimme a sec.

    Voice Mail

    Blade, this is

    Principal Campbell calling

    you

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