Valerie Nies
HENRY WINKLER GIVES ME PERMISSION TO QUIT THERAPY
The actor who played Happy Days’ Arthur Fonzarelli picks me
up. Holds me, fatherly. In fact he’s a giant.
We’re approximately 1300 feet up in the sky looking down
at the Chrysler Building.
I’m so afraid of heights,
I don’t even drive on flyovers, erupt into panic attacks
looking at friends’ Costa Rica jungle vacation zipline photos.
I don’t know where the trauma
originated.
I suggested Midtown Manhattan
because If I’m going to hyperventilate
in midair, at least give me something gorgeous
to meditate on
beyond flocks of geese and airplane contrails.
We admire the art deco building’s ribbed sunburst crown,
a rust-proof ornate steel helmet
for 77 floors of concrete.
Winkler leans on the delicate but durable
spire with his elbow.
Tells me he believes in therapy,
then gives me permission to quit.
A person can sit on a couch and yammer on about relationships
for eight years but at some point, she has to take off her protective
leather jacket and get out in the elements.
I listen while counting eagle gargoyles jutting out from the 61st floor
(a somatic exercise my therapist suggested).
Eight aerodynamic guards
watch over this Manhattan gemstone.
A black leather jacket is a classic, but don’t forget
about amber and gray and camel suede, Winkler says
I squint and ask him to bend down, so I can see the riveted
hubcaps adorning the building’s 31st floor exterior.
He scoops me in one hand, lowers me.
If you’re scared of letting go
of your therapist, remember there are always
other therapists. Or acupuncture. Or Judaism.
He continues telling me about how his father, who survived
the Holocaust, smuggled the Winkler family jewels
out of Germany by covering
them in melted chocolate, then carried
a box of chocolates in his hands,
passing through border crossings,
declaring he had nothing valuable to Nazis.
The things we use to hide value
can sometimes become the value, he says.
Like a story about tenacity and survival
lasting longer than family heirlooms.
Or a hubcap accessorizing
a wheel while keeping out debris.
One day, who knows,
you could build
a skyscraper outta that thing.
The actor who played Happy Days’ Arthur Fonzarelli picks me
up. Holds me, fatherly. In fact he’s a giant.
We’re approximately 1300 feet up in the sky looking down
at the Chrysler Building.
I’m so afraid of heights,
I don’t even drive on flyovers, erupt into panic attacks
looking at friends’ Costa Rica jungle vacation zipline photos.
I don’t know where the trauma
originated.
I suggested Midtown Manhattan
because If I’m going to hyperventilate
in midair, at least give me something gorgeous
to meditate on
beyond flocks of geese and airplane contrails.
We admire the art deco building’s ribbed sunburst crown,
a rust-proof ornate steel helmet
for 77 floors of concrete.
Winkler leans on the delicate but durable
spire with his elbow.
Tells me he believes in therapy,
then gives me permission to quit.
A person can sit on a couch and yammer on about relationships
for eight years but at some point, she has to take off her protective
leather jacket and get out in the elements.
I listen while counting eagle gargoyles jutting out from the 61st floor
(a somatic exercise my therapist suggested).
Eight aerodynamic guards
watch over this Manhattan gemstone.
A black leather jacket is a classic, but don’t forget
about amber and gray and camel suede, Winkler says
I squint and ask him to bend down, so I can see the riveted
hubcaps adorning the building’s 31st floor exterior.
He scoops me in one hand, lowers me.
If you’re scared of letting go
of your therapist, remember there are always
other therapists. Or acupuncture. Or Judaism.
He continues telling me about how his father, who survived
the Holocaust, smuggled the Winkler family jewels
out of Germany by covering
them in melted chocolate, then carried
a box of chocolates in his hands,
passing through border crossings,
declaring he had nothing valuable to Nazis.
The things we use to hide value
can sometimes become the value, he says.
Like a story about tenacity and survival
lasting longer than family heirlooms.
Or a hubcap accessorizing
a wheel while keeping out debris.
One day, who knows,
you could build
a skyscraper outta that thing.
Valerie Nies is a poet, comedian, and gluten enthusiast whose work has appeared in McSweeney's, Pine Hills Review, and Olney Magazine. She's the author of the poetry chapbook, Imaginary Frenemies, and her full-length collection, Snacks for the Love Hungry, is forthcoming in 2022 from SLP Books. She can be found in Austin, Texas, vacuuming up cat fur, and on social media @valerieknees.