Classy Brothers

the last time i sat next to an interesting Brother on the plane was in 2003. i was leaving la for the east coast, magically upgraded to first class. window seat. lucky me. a brother winds up next to me. he glances at the book in my lap. he asks: my sister, do you like to read? i look at the book, look at him and say yes, thinking: now who is this lame dude? he asks: have you ever heard of a book called finding fish? i say no. he then introduces himself as the author of finding fish, antwon fisher.

on the way to denver for the awp conference, all the way toward the back, so far back you can hear the engine coughing our swanglide across the sky, so far back that if any thing were to go down, you would either die last or first, i met a Brother. we greeted one another but only connected halfway through the flight when i recognized my friend playing the saxophone on this video of a performance playing on his laptop. jazz. he is a drummer who tours the world and teaches a steady gig at a renown arts school. i let him listen to some of the tracks i'm working on (odes) and he let me listen to some of the performance. after it was all said and done we were pretty much like yeah. legit like a mo fo.

he was on his way to denver for a gig, downtown denver, a mile from where all the conference festivities were held. how could i resist taking up on his thoughtful offer providing tickets for me and company? so i sweet talked tiphanie and christian into accompanying me to this totally unexpected gift. flurried there like leaves in wind in an overpriced cab, a cabbie who laughed along with our jokes. tree island people in a cyar? god help him.

dazzle supper club was our destination, its neon pink sign. turns out neal was drumming with this world renowned jazz pianist with a nutsy last name. his fingers were silk gazelles darting across the keys, sweetening the air. so sonorous, the sound of his heart. the hairs inside my ears, used to shrinking from the painful screech of trains, were swaying fields of wheat in this night breeze. don't know much about music. don't know minor from major. just know what sounds good to me, and that night, the night before my panel discussion fed my spirit like coconut water feeds my mouth, even now as i write this.