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by Daniel Romo
We called Tommy Jordan T-man
He was so cool;
It made him sound like a black dude.
Because there was nothing cooler
Than a black dude in ‘88,
And Tommy was the frostiest
White boy in the school.So for that Saturday night
I was feelin’ pretty fresh myself
In the back seat of Tommy’s ride,
Along with Marty. Brian shotgun.
Cherry IROQ bumpin’ through Buena Park
Broadcasting to all traffic on Beach Blvd.
“Beware of Gahr High baseball badasses.”We took turns freestylin’ creating credibility
Like we knew what
We were doing.--Chillin’ after dark
Crusin’ Buena Park
Heads bob and sway
Listen to what I say…Windows down and boom boom sound,
No one knew I was 98 pounds of awkwardness. Diffidence.
A pinch-running, sacrifice bunting role player,
And this was the closest to cool and stardom I’d get.But that didn’t matter.
Because it was after midnight,
Our hardcore hip-hop mantra
Leading us into gangstahood of tomorrow.Marty warned me, “Don’t look back,”
Referring to the Monte Carlo behind us, full,
Like a six-pack of bald Mexicans.
He liked to be in control, so I often humored him.
And now looking back years later,
I see he was talking to himself,
Foreshadowing his future failed marriage.
But I did look back,
Because I didn’t hear him.
Eardrums flirting with bursting.
And because I wanted to always picture
The best times of teenhood.Today, when my wife asks me to take out the trash
Or feed the cat,
I pretend I don’t hear her the first time.
And maybe I actually don’t.
But it’s worth it.
Eventually replying, “Yes Dear,”
Talking under my breath…Boom boom sound
Badass on the town
Buena Park night
Everything aight.
Daniel Romo teaches high school creative writing, and lives in Long Beach, CA. He has been recently published in Monkeybicycle, The Northville Review, and Verdad. He is an MFA candidate at Antioch University, and thinks gray sky the utmost inspiration. More of his writing can be found at Peyote Soliloquies.
