Joey Cloudy online

Excerpt from novel Tramp the chapter

TRAMP:

‘Trying to be the Shepherd: New Year’s Day 2001’

“The truth is, you’re the weak and I am the tyranny of evil men.

But I’m tryin’, Ringo. I’m tryin’ real hard to be the shepherd.”

-Jules Winfield

Wake up, Son, we gotta get back to the room to get changed, then I gotta go cash my check so we can catch a movie this afternoon.

Do you have to work today, Dad?

No, but we’ve got to get back to the room to get cleaned up, and my check is stashed in the room inside a book of Chinese poetry. They both smiled, “

You want some coffee?

Yeah, I like the way you make it, Dad, with the Nestlés hot chocolate packets, it’s like Starbucks.

Aaron smiled as he mussed his son’s hair before heading into the kitchen.

Ahmaad grinned

Still braided, Dad, ya can’t mess it up!

Aaron laughed as he pulled his own hair back, revealing the shaved sides and back of his skull, and tied the now shoulder-length dreads in a short ponytail held in place with the thick black rubber band he kept around his left wrist beneath the sandalwood Tibetan prayer beads. He carefully maneuvered through the junk-filled living room, only once stumbling over ‘The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’ on his way to the kitchen while their host Mona and Nathan remained asleep in the upstairs bedroom. Their black and white cat, Queequeg, descended the carpeted steps following Aaron into the kitchen.

Ahmaad stood up, laid the cat hair-covered Afghan on the Lazy Boy recliner he’d slept in, before He padded barefoot towards the half bath at the foot of the stairs, stretching and yawning as he walked.

Happy New Year, Dad! He said, Yawning. 2001.

Happy New Year, Son. Happy New Year, HAL, Aaron said, addressing the aged MAC resting atop the narrow antique maple secretarial desk in the opposite corner of the living room.

Who’s Hal? Ahmaad asked.

The psycho computer from an old sci-fi movie by Stanley Kubrick’s ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’. Aaron replied from the kitchen.

Who did your hair? He asked as Ahmaad returned to the living room.

Mom.

Wow.

Yeah, I know, right, not bad for a white girl.

They both laughed.

“You know yo Momma grew up right down the street in Little Egypt, right down the street from here, just off of Forrest Lane. That was a long time before we were married. Before we even met.”

A sublime wave of melancholic longing swept over him as he thought about his ex-wife and was overwhelmed with thoughts of what might have been. He shook his head as if the motion could dislodge him from sinking into a pit of nostalgia and remorse. Finding his words again, he spoke after an awkward pause.

“I like it.”

“Thanks, me too,” Ahmaad said as he casually picked up one of Nathanial’s old schoolbooks from where it lay partially buried beneath the clutter of dirty clothes, discarded take-out containers, and dungeons and dragon paraphernalia, underneath a scattered pile of comics on the floor.

“The Odyssey,” he said, reading the title aloud as he picked up the weighty tome and sat down on the futon to read.

“Homer, 8th century Greek, English translation 15th century.”

Aaron offered from the kitchen as he poured them both a half cup of coffee each, adding an entire packet of Nestles instant coco mix to each cup, he added a half teaspoon of sugar and cinnamon as he stirred the slurry with a fork until all the chocolate powder dissolved in the coffee before filling the other half of the cup with milk then topping the concoction off with a delicate sprinkle sugar and of cinnamon.

“You see, Ahmaad, Aaron said as he gently thumped the edge of the sugar and cinnamon-loaded teaspoon while holding it a few inches above the coffee cups; it’s important to study the greats…I am preparing to do a deep dive into Milton myself, after I finish my pilgrimage through the 9 circles, as it were, Dante, in translation, of course. I lack the formal education to break my tongue and savor it in its original, I presume Italian, but the ancients often wrote in Latin. Either way, it’s all Greek to me.”

“I’ll muddle through a good English translation with the rest of the Philistines. Finished Blake first, bad idea skipping Hobbs, they reference each other across time, so chronological is the logical sequence to study their work. Still gathering my research materials: Oxford companion, Cambridge reader, Norton anthology, Notes, biographies, etc… In order to understand the poem in its proper setting. You need to know not only who the poet was but who the audience for the Divine Comedy was. Without context, that rather voluminous tome you have there may as well still be in Greek.”

Aaron squatted down and poured a little milk into the cat’s bowl as he spoke, and Queequeg stopped circling his feet to lap the milk from his bowl. Aaron stood and returned the half-gallon plastic jug of milk to the fridge before he carried their mugs filled with chocolate coffee into the living room, carefully handing a mug to Ahmaad, who sat on the edge of the futon in Mona’s normal spot, pulling on his plaid converse sneakers before he continued reading.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Hummmm!”

Aaron replied, sipping his chocolate coffee and taking the seat next to Ahmaad on the futon.

“This is some good coffee, Dad.”

Aaron looked up from his cup at Ahmaad as he replied without missing a beat, doing the worst impersonation of Tarantino’s voice in history:

“I don’t need you to tell me how fucking good my coffee is, okay? I’m the one who buys it. I know how good it is. When ‘Mona’ goes shopping she buys SHIT. I buy the gourmet expensive stuff because when I drink it, I want to taste it. But you know what’s on my mind right now? It AIN’T the coffee in my kitchen…” launching into Pulp Fiction’s Dead Nigga’ Storage’ from memory as his 12-year-old son howled with laughter…

-About the author

JD Cloudy’s poetry has disappeared in the literary journals: Fatfizz, Mad Swirl, Texas Beat Anthology, Danse Macabre, Du Jour, and Death List Five. He has won no literary awards, entered no slam competitions, and never completed college. He lives to write in Dallas, TX.