Footnote to a Footnote

"Rockford, where my father saw flames explode from my mother’s hair, where he lost his attitude and appetite for drink, where he always said I love you"

I’m with you in…

 

Rockford, where the sock monkeys sing working songs to no one

Rockford, where the steel beams keep climbing and climbing ‘till they disappear from view, the Infinity Room of abandoned Molochs

Rockford, where my uncle played drums with Cheap Trick until they met Bun E.

Rockford, where my father saw flames explode from my mother’s hair, where he lost his attitude and appetite for drink, where he always said I love you

Rockford, where you tried to come of age and failed

Rockford, where we tried to write songs and failed

Rockford, where we drove to and from county fairs as troubadours and scot-free conmen, singing Radiohead and succeeded

Rockford, where I forgave you and shouldn’t have

Rockford, where Romero drives around

Rockford, where I waited an hour outside that apartment after you begged me to visit because it was the last time we would see each other, but you were dead asleep and couldn’t hear my loud knocks on the door

Rockford, where the living dead stay

 

I’m with you in…

 

Nashville, where America kisses the Mississippi a little too hard

Nashville, where the homeless are there for decoration

Nashville, where the bachelorettes play Bloodsport for the high score

Nashville, where picking up milk or driving to the boondocks or speeding to a hookup or walking to the gig always takes exactly fifteen minutes 

Nashville, where all drugs are legal until you’re the wrong race or you step out of city limits

Nashville, where college kids, movie stars, divorcee dads, and menopause moms all sing the National Anthem in the same small room

Nashville, where you taught me the meaning of cool

Nashville, where you kept me humble

Nashville, where you shared your effortless luck

Nashville, where you took us all to your family’s home, because we were family

Nashville, where I said two words in such a mean tone that I can never take back

Nashville, where you helped me keep track

 

I’m with you in…

 

Atlanta, where different dimensions collide

Atlanta, where every road’s a highway

Atlanta, where the tumbleweeds die

Atlanta, where we drank Guinness like water

Atlanta, where you found your new groove

Atlanta, where you got even fatter, which only meant you shine more brightly

Atlanta, where you still take shifts even though you’re on salary

Atlanta, where you forgave me and shouldn’t have

Atlanta, where endless After Hours fill your soul with instant karma

 

I’m with you in…

 

New York, where quarks decide on waves and particles

New York, where the smoke smells as good as the air in Seattle

New York, where Moloch rests easy, knowing the bleeding heart can’t jump that high

New York, where every man is a Ginsburg and every woman a Solanis

New York, where you placed a used dream

New York, where you cried after two weeks

New York, where you showed me how to make jambalaya

New York, where you always found a reason to say “it could’ve gone worse”

New York, where you tried to make it and the patent’s still pending

New York, where you and I are both the all-time greatest comedian

In my dreams, I stumble into a bed-and-breakfast in the quaintest village covered in snow, and after the greatest sleep of my life I walk down the steps and see you.

by Gabe Thorpe

Guest Scribe: Lora Grillo

Prompt: Write in the list format

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Gabriel Thorpe is an American video editor and writer. His scattershot work has appeared in online textbooks, alternative radio, Deep South bars (plus one in Tokyo), abandoned YouTube channels, a virtual play, and magic eye posters after crossing your eyes. Despite concerted efforts from city officials, he lives in Brooklyn.

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