this is a title
don’t close your eyes
don’t let them fall
don’t let them fall or slump slump slump slump
carry them
catch them
catch them
carry them
stretch them wide and jump jump jump jump
Once upon a time, in a far off land, Heather met James, James met Heather. James says he sees a light around Heather. They kiss. They marry. They conceive. Heather and James lay an egg—they name their egg Jeannine. And read their egg books by her dear Uncle Jimmy.
This is a fastforward. Jeannine hatches. She goes to university. “Yay! Jeannine.” Jeannine was supposed to come to France before her graduation, but the airport turned her away. A short finger pointing lady marked Jeannine’s passport with a lime green sticker, looked Jeannine up and down, and waved that finger no.
No. No. No.
“Don't pee yourself, Jeannine. Don’t pee yourself, Jeannine,” Jeannine hummed under her breath to the tune of the shaking finger.
Jeannine’s bladder is a pussy. When it is scared, it runs.
At gate 53, Jeannine begs her bladder AND the finger pointing lady and the world to let her fly. “Please, please please let me fly,” she says, through her injured beak. “Please.”
They deny her pleas. Jeannine stands by the window soaking and sulking and watching the others fly by. “Auvoir, Jeannine,” they wave. “Auvoir.”
This is a flashback, in this flashback, snake ass fancy pants motherfuckers with deep wallets, and large apples and no faces invite Jeannine to apply for a so-called prestigious award that may help her fly. The fancy pants motherfuckers require Jeannine drop out of Drexel University to apply for their prestigious award. But it’s Jeannine’s last semester of her MFA program. The fancy pants award is almost $100,000 –enough to keep her book businesses and feed her baby chicks and pay for the damn MFA. Jeannine tells delightful Nomi, head of MFA, about the prestigious award.
Delightful Nomi says Jeannine, don't be a small bird in a snake's garden.
Jeannine—still tempted by the snake with his fancy pants and deep wallet, drinks the nectar from the snake’s morherfucking apple. She compiles all her writings—her essays and articles, columns and stories, poems and prayers. Jeannine flutters through this garden of fancy pants motherfucking snakes and you know what?
of course you know what!
snakes eat small birds!
So they opened their mouths and tried to swallow Jeannine whole. “Unfortunately after careful consideration you were not chosen for this fancy pants prestigious award we tempted you into applying for and made you drop out of school for and clipped your wings for.” So no degree. No award. Just a half eaten apple and half broken wings.
Are you sad for Jeannine? Don’t be sad for Jeannine. Remember Jeannine is the protagonist.
In this story, someone finds wounded Jeannine. Wraps her wings in twine. Sprinkles them with fairy dust.
In this flashback, Jeannine goes back to school.
“Yay, Jeannine.”
See Jeannine graduate.
See Jeannine give graduation speech.
But, Jeannine still cannot fly.
All she does is flap her wings.
This is a dialogue called when James Baldwin is your Uncle Jimmy. Every good story has dialogue, right? Can you say dialogue? Yes. Dialogue. Very good. Here is this story’s dialogue.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“Hey, Uncle Jimmy.”
“Hey Neice. How ya been?“
“Been ok, Uncle Jimmy.”
“What ya been up to?”
“Well Uncle, I Did Kelly, Did Oprah, Did Google, Did Vogue, Did New York Times. PBS. NBC. BBC. just like you said.”
“Uhh huh and…?“
“Hmm. Well I still don’t know how to fly?”
“Flying is simple, Neice. Once you have wings. You use them.”
“Uncle it is anything but easy,” Jeannine’s heart beat at 1260 beats per minute.
“How bout this? You come to my house for the
summer? I have a bed for you and will teach you everything you need to know to fly.”
“But Uncle Jimmy…”
“We’ll discuss it when you get here, Niece.”
Jeannine arrives at the airport a second time and gets on her flight this time. Smiles at the finger pointing lady as she struts to seat 24 F this time. In just a few hours, Jeannine lands in a nest in Nice.
But Uncle Jimmy is not there they say. Uncle Jimmy is DEAD they say. He’s been dead for sometime. All he’s left behind for Jeannine are his books.
“How can this be? Uncle Jimmy, this cannot be?”
Jeannine calls James. No answer.
Jeannine calls Heather. No answer.
Jeannine calls Nomi. No answer.
Jeannine calls those snake ass fancy pants motherfucking snakes. No answer.
Jeannine calls Uncle Jimmy. No answer.
This is a plot twist.
Crying now as Jeannine sometimes does at the end of a story. She perches in a cafe window staring out at the Mediterranean Sea. A wind blows her book open to a note in the margin of the front page. “My dearest Jeannine, Go see Karen Karbo in Catalonia.”
This is an alliteration.
“There you will find a group on an inexplicable concrete slab. Ask them to repeat after you and then you will fly to Paris.” -Signed Your Uncle Jimmy.
this is call and response. so please repeat after me.
don’t close your eyes
don’t let them fall
don’t let them fall or slump slump slump slump
carry them
catch them
catch them
carry them
stretch them wide and jump jump jump jump
And so she did.
This is the end.
Jeannine A. Cook
