Alternative Lifestyle

The same trunk chest from the poem ‘My Hitchcock Moment’ now drawn on a piece of lined paper. The trunk has lined edges, two latches, and a lock.

With the morning sun

I call my new-improved

zero-percent-alcohol father

reinstate his Dad license.

Thrilled, he decides

I should live with him

despite Crystal’s protest

I’m being silly

risking everything

should stay

at the fun house.

She gets home from work

as we are about to pull away

in a borrowed van,

my reloaded, black

steamer trunk in back.

I owe Crystal so much,

love her so much, she

who saw something special in me,

who helped me

become a New Yorker,

taught me style is a mindset,

convinced me I’m cool,

and that guys acting shitty

doesn’t mean we deserve it.

We wallow

we cry

we gossip

we laugh

and then

we fix our hair and move on.

She’s helped me

believe

I’m strong enough to start over

even without her support.

I hop out,

tackle hug Crystal.

Tell her, “I have to figure

some stuff out, want to

give my dad

a second chance.

We both need this.”

She looks me in the eye

both of us with so much still left to say

too much.

Silence stretches between us.

I turn,

crawl back beside my dad

call, “Take good care of the Guy Jar!”

With a smirk and a head shake

she is gone.