City University of New York (CUNY) CUNY Academic Works Dissertations and Theses City College of New York 2014 Myopia Kori Davis CUNY City College How does access to this work benefit ou?y Let us know! More information about this work at: https://academicworks.cuny.edu/cc_etds_theses/566 Discover additional works at: https://academicworks.cuny.edu This work is made publicly available by the City University of New York (CUNY). Contact: [email protected] Myopia By Kori Davis Mentor: Keith Gandal 12/8/2014 Submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Fine Arts of the City College of the City University of New York For Marcus, Philma, Clifton, and Dexter Davis *** I don’t always get to read as much as I should, so I wanted to take the time to list a couple of different authors (no particular order) that helped inspire this work. Alice Munro Natalie Sarraute Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie Toni Morrison Jhumpa Lahiri Chinua Achebe Raymond Carver Sylvia Plath Ken Kalfus F. Scott Fitzgerald Tim Winton Andre Dubus Walker Percy Phillip Roth Alison Bechdel Richard Russo Cynthia Ozick Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Jonathan Franzen Manning Marable Cormac McCarthy Stephen King Vladimir Vladimirovich Nabokov Fyodor Dostoyevsky Stephen Crane Nicole Krauss Maya Angelou Ernest Hemingway Virginia Woolf Flannery O’Connor Julie Orringher Alan Furst Ralph Ellison Emily Raboteau James Jones Mark Twain Tea Obreht E.L Doctorow Harper Lee Jennifer Egan Zadie Smith Richard Yates Carol Shields John Cheever Sherman Alexie Julio Cortazar Moshin Hamad Elmore Leonard Edgar Allen Poe John R. Erickson A few more people who helped out. Yoshihiro Togashi Greg Daniels Nas Wu-Tang Clan Mike Judge A Tribe Called Quest Matthew Weiner Aaron Sorkin My Bloody Valentine David Simon Lena Dunham Larry David Animal Collective Notorious B.I.G Clipse Akira Toriyama Talking Heads Beach House Quentin Tarantino Sleater Kinney Drake Wes Anderson Keith Gandal Stevie Wonder Grant Morrison Sonic Youth Marvin Gaye Vince Gillian Stephen Merchant Richard Pryor Masashi Kishimoto Matt Groening Rod Sterling Sly and the Family Stone David X. Cohen Louis C.K Phil Fish Bruce Timm The Beatles Stanley Kubrick Paul Dini Keith Gandal Grizzly Bear Michael Dante DiMartino The Beach Boys Shiguero Miyamoto Brian Kornietzko Yoko Kanno Shinichiro Watanabe Bill Waterson Adam Reed Jay-Z Chuck Schulz Graham Yost Led Zeppelin Richard Linklater Tupac Kanye West Fumito Ueda Basem Ebeid Alex Hirsch Paul Thomas Anderson Jessica Pena Tina Fey Dave Chappelle Henry Bunch Vampire Weekend St. Vincent Devin Burns Mike Schur Eric B. and Rakim Chris Spain Contents A Fisherman’s Son 1 The Fighter 18 Anna’s Casio 26 Funeral 77 59 Myopia 96 A Fisherman’s Son 1 Colors can tell you who’s going to end up winning. It’s why we beat the team from Miami. Dallas is blue and Miami is the Heat so they’re red. Blue is always better than red. Dallas used to be green. That’s why they used to lose so much. Then they switched their outfits to blue and began to win. But they were lucky too. They were lucky every time the ball went in when they were at the free throw line. And I always prayed for them. The night before a game I would pray that they would win before I fell asleep. On TV the men in the suits surround The Big German and rest of the Dallas players with their great blue jerseys. They won in Miami so they’re presenting the trophy to them there. It’s gold. Gold always means you’ve won. All of the Miami fans on TV are angry that they’ve lost and it makes the win better for us. My mom is from Florida. It will be fun to remind her that she lost this time. He isn’t from Dallas or Texas either. He’s from North Carolina but he’s lived here longer than I have. I thought he would be more excited that Dallas won. His face hasn’t done anything. His lips are still and his head is down. I think he should at least smile. I cheer for him though. I shout that Dallas won several times and I raise my voice each time until I believe I am actually excited. The TV is showing pictures of Dallas and of all the fans who are there watching the game. They’re throwing blue and white confetti all around the court. I’ve never been around confetti before. It looks like it tastes good. The little shiny flakes are probably sugary and sweet and they throw it in the air so you can catch it on your tongue just like how I imagine snow is. He is still slumped on the couch. He says it’s good that Dallas won. It seems like he doesn’t care that for the first time we are winners. It’s probably because he’s from Carolina. He could still celebrate the win though. I want to ask him if we can go out to downtown and watch the celebration. I know that it will probably be loud and we’ll have to drive there and I know the ride 2 will be long. But I know the colors from the fireworks show will make everything better. We could see Dallas finally win and see a fireworks show in the same day. Then everyone could die happy. So I ask him and he says yes. The black spikes scratch at my head. I try to wiggle. He tells me not to move. He always brushes my hair too hard. Always harder than my mom does. But I don’t cry anymore when his hand pushes down and away. I’ve learned to take the pain. Men are supposed to brush their hair and I wonder how long until I can do it myself. I know I can do it if I ever get a chance but they always do it for me. That’s their job. They do everything for me until I can do everything for myself. I still call them for help sometimes but I’m stopping now. But there are some things I can’t stop. Like hand holding. Sometimes I can break free of my mom’s hand but his hands I can’t break free of. And they never let go. Sometimes I do like the feel of his hand. It’s always dry and I can feel all the edges around his fingers. Sometimes I’ll grab their hand tighter when I don’t want them to be done with their job. I’m afraid they might move on to something else. But sometimes I want to show them that I don’t need them. I make sure that I have everything before we go downtown. Water. Hat. And keys. He reminds me to check again like he always does. I pray that there isn’t anything wrong with my blue Dallas shirt and tan shorts. He would tell and then he would tell me to fix it. That’s why I don’t tell him things. I don’t tell him when his zipper is down or when his shirt is untucked or tell him when I can see it ripping apart. He doesn’t know these things and it makes me smile. He used to always be perfect. I couldn’t find a mistake when I looked at him. But now I see them and I keep them to myself. He has on his black shoes and black jeans, and black shirt. Nothing is wrong with any of it. He’s still getting skinnier though and sometimes I can see the outline of his ribs. I remember when I used to have to stretch my arms wide to hug him because he was so big. 3 But that changed with a lot of things. Touching the cross never stopped though. No matter where he goes he always holds it in his hands for a few seconds before leaving and prays in silence. He grabs it now. His big fingers feel the outstretched arms and the legs that drop straight down. He puts it back and grabs my hand. As soon as we open the door there is hot air all around us. It makes you want to go back inside but being outside is always better than being at his house. It’s actually an apartment but it’s still his house. It’s not like my mom’s which used to be our house back when we all lived together. Everything is smaller in his apartment. And there are markings. Black and crusty markings that go up the walls and get on dishes. Markings I haven’t gotten used to. There’s one that’s long like a scar on the kitchen tiles. I say “I know I can I know I can I know I can” and close my eyes and jump over it. There are cracks on the walls. They make it look like everything is about to crumble down. Cockroaches will come out of them and scurry down to the floor. I hate them because they’re small and red. They scare me when they sit up on the walls and do nothing and I scream when they come to the ground and zig zag through the carpet. He says men aren’t supposed to be afraid of bugs. Men aren’t supposed to be afraid of a lot of things. I try to crunch them with my shoes.