Before the Ever After(11)

You’re a natural, my daddy said.

Then I strummed it again, moved my fingers along the frets.

Back then I didn’t know they were called frets, didn’t know how to tighten the strings to adjust the sound.

Didn’t know the difference between

picking and strumming.

Didn’t know the difference between

a soundboard and a saddle,

an electric and an acoustic guitar.

But I know now.

And in the late afternoon when my daddy sinks into his chair, asks me to play something pretty, play something soft, I do.





E String


The sweetest sound comes

after the string breaks

and after you complain cuz the string broke.

Then you have to find the right one, an E-1st string still in its wrapping at the bottom of your drawer

or in your guitar case, ready and waiting.

I wish this thing was as easy as an E string breaking, a new one getting found.

The sweetest sound comes after you push your string into the bridge, curl it around the post, twist it, and turn the tuning key back and forth, strumming, then listening, then back and forth, more strumming until

the sound throughout the house is right and everything and everyone is in tune again.





How to Write a Song for My Daddy


The first time I remember you calling me little man, I was real little. You said Yeah, I know your name is Zachariah Jr.

But to me, as long as I live, you’ll always be my little man.

The first time I said Daddy, that sounds like a song, you told me to go write one for you.

But I didn’t know the first thing about how to make a song.

Look it up, little man, you said. You know how to read.

And so I did. And I found out how to put parts together.

There’s usually a chorus—some words repeating themselves

over and over again.

And maybe the chorus to this song is Little man . . .

Little man,

little man,

as long as I live,

even if you get taller than me, you’ll always be

my little man.





Used to Be


Used to be that my mom would make these little lemon cakes that looked like tiny loaves of bread. And me and my boys would each get our own and a glass of milk.

The glasses had football teams on them.

Giants. Jets. Packers. Steelers. Seahawks. Raiders. Broncos. Bears. Even the 49ers.

Even the Patriots.

Used to be ten of those glasses. And four of us friends.

So we always had our choice.

Used to be the Patriots and 49ers never got chosen by any of us.

Used to make us laugh.

Used to be that we’d all sit in the kitchen and talk about stuff like why

we didn’t like the Patriots but loved the Giants.

And on days when my dad was home, he’d come in, grab the 49ers or Patriots glass and fill it with milk.

Stare us down while he gulped it.

Used to be he’d always burp real loud, then say Now, that’s the best milk I ever tasted.

Grow and know, he’d say. Grow and know.

Used to be we’d laugh and defend our own glasses, argue about what teams were trash and what teams weren’t.

Used to be we agreed on one thing, though: My dad’s team was the best in the NFL and my dad was the best tight end any of us had ever known.

Used to be we’d recite his stats over and over, the four of us just sitting at the table with my mom’s cake in our bellies and our football glasses getting empty. My boys around me as we laughed our way from

Friday afternoon into Friday night and a whole lot of weekends too.

But how’d it get to be Used to Be?

Wasn’t even a long time ago.

Just feels like that.

Just. Feels. Like. That.





Bird


Yesterday, I saw the reddest cardinal ever.

Sitting in the oak tree we named Maple.

Watching me.

And it was such a perfect, perfect moment.

Then the bird blinked once, spread its wings, flew away.

As though it was saying ZJ, remember this.

As though it was saying Remember me.





When It Feels like the Whole World Is Screaming


The cops came to our house last night because somebody complained

about my daddy.

I don’t know who, though.

Sometimes it feels like the whole world is screaming.

Last night my daddy’s head was hurting and nothing was helping it.

Not pills.

Not ice.

Not my mom making everything quiet in the house and turning the lights down low.

So my mom said to my dad Just lie down and close your eyes.

She patted their bed with her hand while I stood in their doorway.

Come on, Zachariah, Mom said.

Do it for me and ZJ.

Just rest awhile.

But my daddy started yelling again, saying It hurts so bad. Saying I don’t know where I am anymore.

You’re home, Zachariah.

But my daddy ran downstairs and outside.

And down the street.

Still holding his head.

Still yelling

It hurts so bad.

I hid under the dining room table, put my fingers inside my ears.