Reminiscing
I know it’s supposed to be about you. I do. But its impossible for me to talk about you without reflecting on me. Because I remember too much. I remember the moments, the feelings, the thoughts I experienced. I’m bombarded by them and it can be overwhelming. There’s no scale or number line to truly measure the range of emotions in the human experience but I know if there was one I’d have pencil marks up and down that bad boy.
I remember the numbness. My girl was sure. She was a type A personality to the fullest so being late simply wasn’t in her nature. But here she was…late. And she knew. I flat out couldn’t believe that to be true. That is not a cliche. I was incapable of believing it. So I was simply numb. Everything from my nerve endings to the synapses in my brain felt as if hit with low voltage stun gun. I could still function, I just couldn’t feel a thing.
I remember the… how to describe it? Embarrassment? Shame? I was shambarrassed I supposed. Don’t be offended. Please. You weren’t real then. Not to me. I mean you were, of course, I just was incapable of processing that you existed beyond being an abstract idea that I had to deal with. In my shambarressment I talked to my closest friends. It’s a weird concept, even today as a fully formed (somewhat) adult to think of this, but I remember the disappointment in their voices. When you’re a 20 year old young man the idea of disappointing your friends has never even crossed your mind. You don’t think of your relationships in the context of having enough stake in each other’s lives to disappoint one another. But it was there. And I needed to hear it. I needed to be reminded that your friends aren’t just guys you crack jokes with but are people that care about your life. I remember how that lesson would always help me identify the real friends from the folks I just got along with really well.
I remember watching her struggle. She was my girl(?)? And then not really. I didn’t know how to help or really how to care properly. I remember my inner fight to keep the fear at bay. It was unsuccessful. The only place it had to go once manifested as anger was to her. That wasn’t right. I was no good for you either. I couldn’t deal with her, not as an actual person with feelings and needs. It was too much. So I backed away. Told myself it was for the best. But I remember; it was a lie.
I remember the lonely cold. Spending the entire month of December mostly alone on an empty campus. Waiting. For you. I sat and thought. Then thought again. I thought about my life. I didn’t think about yours. It wasn’t because I didn’t care, it’s because I still didn’t understand that you were real. You were a concept. A responsibility.
I remember waking up. I was standing there holding you and I couldn’t remember anything that had happened for the last hour (maybe hours?). Here you were. Real as the ash on my knuckles. I didn’t really understand it, honestly. The last 9 months had been a waste of time for me because I still didn’t understand how I got there or what I was supposed to do now. Should I speak? Should I be happy? Scared? I didn’t expect to be confused but there I was, a 20 year old man without a clue.
I remember the trip. Man that trip. I would take the train to come pick you up. You would ride back with me for a full hour, sometimes asleep, sometimes not. When you weren’t? Well I did the best I could to keep you in your seat. But mostly I remember the back half. I’d carry you from the train to the bus stop. Sometimes it snowed, sometimes it rained. I kept you warm and dry, but often failed keeping myself warm and dry. We’d get off the bus and have about a 4–5 block walk home. You were a big boy then but by that point you’d be tired and basically refuse to walk. So I’d carry you. You were a BIG boy. On top of that you’d usually have a big, fluffy coat on. Probably a hat too. It was like carrying a sack of potatoes that smelled like fabric softener. I’d take you under the highway, trudging along while praying no pigeons had the bubble guts at the wrong time. I’d take you past the Burger King quickly some days, but on other days, when I knew there wasn’t much food in the apartment, I’d stop there to let you eat chicken nuggets. When I’d finally get you home I’d turn on the lights and check for the centipedes that apparently co-leased my basement unit, then get you in the bed. It was always freezing down there so I’d crank up the space heater and put you under the covers in my bedroom. I’d make sure to put a pillow in the middle of the bed knowing full well you’d kick it off at some point in the middle of the night and soothe yourself back to sleep by treating my spinal cord like a kicking tee.
I remember feeling proud. I’d take you outside in the courtyard between the apartment buildings and playing catch. Neighbors would actually stop and watch sometimes and laugh about how the little boy was throwing spirals with a football about as long as his arm. They’d ask me where he got it from and I’d laugh and say ‘must be his mama cause it ain’t me’.
I remember picking you up from school and telling you that we were going home but I would only turn where you told me to. It was just a silly game. You were way too young to know how to get home. But I remember how shocked I was when you got us home with only one or two mistakes.
I remember the panic. When your mom called me and told me to come to the hospital ASAP because something had happened. I didn’t know what it was. I could hardly see, much less concentrate on driving. But I made it, thank God. I burst in the room and sitting there and… man. I was relieved because you weren’t critically injured. But then I saw your hand. And I saw your finger bone. And for the first time in my life, I got light headed. I feel like I almost passed out. But I remember more pride. When the doctor said he was going to sew the tip of your finger back on, you looked up and said ‘can I watch’? Who’s kid is that tough? Mine.
I remember the helplessness. Your pain meds had worn off and you were laying on the couch just crying. Your finger was killing you. There was nothing I could do to stop it. I left you on the couch with your mom and went in the kitchen. For the first time since I was a kid I cried. I just cried. I couldn’t ease your pain, I couldn’t solve your problem and I couldn’t stop your suffering. I ached for you.
I remember the smile beaming up at me. You’d made the Dean’s List. There’d be more lists and honor rolls. I remember the game face which you couldn’t help but make cute because of the round face and teddy bear ears surrounding it. I remember the wrestling matches we had. I remember your determination to take down your uncles even though they were twice your age. I remember you begging to hold your little brother all the time. I remember the times you fell asleep holding him on the couch and how at peace you looked. I remember feeling bad for smiling when you laid a kid out playing football. I remember the sadness I felt when you told me you feel like you always mess up.
I pray that I haven’t failed you. You’ve grown up too fast. I see you watching me and learning from me, good and bad. I didn’t know how to do right by you when you got here. I’m still learning how to do so even now. I’ve tried to give you what I have to give and against all odds I’m beginning to feel confident that you will be far more than I ever was. You have greatness in you. You have goodness in you. You have everything a man could need to succeed. I’m looking forward to all the new things I’ll get to remember soon enough.
The the the the coli dot com
