Smile…and remember me...
Story:
When you saw me for the last time I could see it in your tired
eyes, my uniqueness had abandoned me. I
was saddened by the look on your face and it hurt a little. I tried to hide for
you because I know within you is that loyal brother of yesterday. You saw some of yourself in me, and it
saddened you. Don’t sweat the little things.
We all start out with that same awe and amazement of life and by the time
some of us came to the realization the world was replete with a healthy spattering of
the 'the vicious', like many, we discard the
‘turn-the-other-cheek’ bullshit we were fed growing up.
Some of us who did not follow the crowd spent many days on the mat
because of the perpetuation of that naive view of the world. The church needs
the weak; for without them their cruelty would have no merit. Like a
ghetto bitch, religion starts the fight and then backs away to see who
wins. A waste of vicious cruelty and torture to perpetuate pagan fear and
protect the wealthy from the masses. The only time philosophy will reap any rewards is if you aren’t really in the race
and your life is not challenging anyone else’s.
One much cherished plum of life is to reach for the impossible; it’s
addictive and has slain many lovers of man. Even
if you are beaten down one more time, you try to effect companionate change. When trying the impossible,
scrutinize the road you travel and the travelers you meet along the way, for
disillusionment can become an all too familiar companion and winning a fleeting imposter.
To win is to have the light shine on you when exhaustion tempts
loneliness. I've often thought when a person reaches
the one goal they didn’t cast aside, they need to be alone, they need
a well deserved rest to add up all they gave to achieve that goal. To
spend a precious moment of your time to add and subtract those two insistent
burdens, character and conscience. I never knew
until I saw your face that day I had lost so many times; that you saw so many
scars on my face, I thought I was a better actor, a better circus clown.
You were always smarter than I; as such, I had no idea until later that year, our
last conversation only confirmed your thoughts. Smile
my friend, for at this late date, when every second is precious, it’s enough to
be remembered by a brother. The passions of youth
see everything as though a razors edge; and I say this to you, when the
sharpness fades and the mirror finish has dulled it is still your life.
For some of us the obvious was truth stinging our wounds as innocence was
whipped from our souls. Very early in our lives we
shed that cloak of innocence because it afforded us no comfort in the company of
man. Instead of a shroud of protection,
innocence only cast us in the brighter light of naiveté. There was no place to
hide from the sins of love, compassion and truth we garnered from Moms' dinner
table. Life would see to it, the heal of the boot was always close. We were never fooled
during the riots and beatings at sixteen. Funny how stories from others yet to
feel the boot, tired us at
twenty. Although by my thirtieth year I had experienced many exciting things,
I know all which lay ahead of me are simply repetitions with a differing tempo.
By the time I proudly purchased my first pair of spectacles, I knew I had seen too much of life while trying the
impossible, and too little of life listening to faith.
The young girl who fitted my frames said I had beautiful eyes. Her
kindness was rare and welcome, as was the scent of her perfume. Little did
she know, I had tired of the game long ago.
I
find myself remembering the past more often than not, searching for memories
more than discovery. All that, and before my
purpose started to fade. I had one you know; we all have one. It is enough for me to know
in my heart I had purpose; I felt excruciating personal sorrow and traveled
alone for many years when I realized, perhaps I am not that special, perhaps I am not the
one. I am a realist; I read that
which is around me, I pull life from these brief moments of humanity; and at
this moment I am sorry
you glimpsed such a small portion of my life when we last talked.
I remember you walking ahead of me in the early morning
light; you were looking for something, my brother, you were always looking for
something. Did you know your brother was always looking for something? A
shame we couldn't have looked together. The next time the warm sun is in your face, and your shadow licks
your heels, remember back when it was not your shadow was your little brother pushing the small, red, newspaper wagon
when we were
kids. You may just smile. Do you
remember the wide sidewalks and the chill in the early morning air?
Do you remember how heavy the Sunday editions of the L.A. Times were?
Do you remember the older kids trying to rob us on collection day?
Do you remember