Damian E.

If ignorance is bliss, knowledge must be agony. Seek and ye shall find; although the answers that await us may be the entryway to our decline. We expand our mind only to put it in a vise grip if we don’t correctly comprehend what we learn. In this way, growth becomes a gift and a curse, and which side you land on depends on you. The brain digests what you feed it, and the soul processes it, leaving a major decision: Will you remain true to yourself, or try to fit into the world’s expectations and perceptions? D-Bo, I wonder what you would think of my ideas… 

I started calling you that – “D-Bo” – two years after we first met, unofficially. Not because you were a bully, but because the name was cool and matched your swagger. Cass Tech, 1997, ninth grade. It seems like forever ago, but the memory is right behind me, the baby-faced cat with the 360 waves. Familiarity stung us as we crossed paths in the hallway. We played against each other in the CYO league’s eighth grade playoffs. I’m chuckling as I relive that moment. My team won and I never let you forget it. To say we were friends would be an understatement, from here on out we were family. We would spar mentally, as if we were still on the basketball court, except now we were on the same team. 

I’ll be 34 in three weeks, D-Bo. Can you believe that? I remember those days like yesterday. What about the time when my girlfriend’s mom gave us a ride home from school? We were in the back and my girl was riding shotgun. As her mom drove, I blew her kisses through the reflections in the car mirrors. You laughed and said I was crazy. You were always full of energy and fire. We fed off of each other like point guards feed off their leading scorers. I never knew our time was limited, or that the game would begin to move at two different paces for us. 

When ‘real life’ latches on, timing is imperative, and your view of it is just as important. We can either contend with real life or let it consume us. I found myself aggravated because, D-Bo, I never knew you as anything but a contender. 

Temporary setbacks, greater comebacks. Exhaustion, depression, rejuvenation, high volume, low decibel. Indecisive, unconfident; dig…, fight, defining moments. The word search of life, except in real time we don’t find the terms on our own.  The words find us. This puzzle never ends, D-Bo. Our first go round may cause dizzy spells, but after we’re over the hump, the ‘ups & downs’ become natural, fluid movements. Staying true, choosing what you stand for, balance, consistency. I don’t think you knew the power of your words. You summed up the remedy of life in four sentences. 

Associate advisors, I invented a term for us. Words hold more weight when coming from a respected comrade. I wish I could recycle your lingo, put it in my handwriting, and then send a letter out ten different times expressing the idea in ten different ways to strengthen its effect. I wonder if that would remix our story, let us continue our scenes.  I believe it might have, not only because of the effect your words had on me, but because of the evidence you left me with. 

Prophetic as you were, you never took credit for it. I can recall one time when we were barely old enough to drink: beers in hand, sitting on Belle Isle, holding a forum on everything life had shown us, as if we’d seen it all. Old souls with inquisitive spirits; neither one of us saw each other coming. No one man is the same, but some friends are replaceable in manners and thoughts. D-Bo, as a comrade, you were one of a kind, an extreme thinker, sometimes to a fault. It took going to prison for me to develop a consciousness, to understand and believe in a social stance. Not you, though. You paid close enough attention to life to develop this consciousness on your own. I salute.

“The strong go crazy, the weak just go along” – Assata Shakur. And there it is, that moment in life when our eyes are opened wider and we become immune to smoke screens. We uncover lie after lie, and then either develop hatred or hunger. Frustration mounts: How can we learn to hate a world we once loved? We question ourselves until we can force it to make sense. You decided on hate because, in any other circumstance, your principles would demand that. An internal battle began… 

The streets swallowed me up and held me hostage, away from everything that was important. I have a confession to make, D-Bo: Often, I felt guilty throughout our correspondence. Here you were, coming to my aid in times of despair, and where was I when you needed me? Same ol’ Remy, overlooking the obvious; thinking in the singular, letting my interests dictate my moves, when all I had to do was slow my ass down. And, just maybe, I could have saved us both. CRASH. “Sometimes I think what if I would have killed myself or done something else.” Sometimes… I… think… what… if… I… would… have… 

The words become a blur as they penetrate my focus. I try to make sense of them, then try to make sense of myself. How could I let you down? How could I fail to speak up? Shame on me. 

Regret has so many clichés. I try not to become one of them. You know, the guy who wishes he could press rewind, or the guy who uses the copout that everything happens for a reason. But I would give anything to know my response to you at that moment. Did I do you any justice, live up to our bond and solidify our brotherhood? Damn you, D-Bo, you always make me think. Somehow, I let our conversations venture off, as if these thoughts would dissolve without a trace. We returned to lighter topics with less kick. Little did we know the consequences that were lurking. 

I never got the manuscript to you, and here I am looking at the published copy as we speak… 

I can’t forget the look you had on your face the day I let you shoot my 12-gauge in the backyard. Your eyes lit up like fireworks, for reasons unknown. As I read over your last four letters now, it gets complicated.

By 2010, I had been incarcerated for four years in the state of Pennsylvania. A long way from where we grew up in Detroit, but the five-and-a-half-hour drive was nothing to you. You visited three times in that four-year span. I was transferred to Michigan that same year, just a few hours away from Detroit, but you never visited once. Somehow, that felt odd, but I buried my thoughts; a habit we both had picked up. 

The tone of my grandmother’s voice said it all, her opening line was her way of telling me to brace myself. It was the same tone she used when I was twelve and my cousin/uncle Corey had been killed; the same delivery when I was twenty-three and she told me that my close friend Tremaine had been gunned down. And I had the same reaction each time: my breath got stuck in my throat as I tried to guess the outcome.

My boy was about to be a physical therapist. I remember bragging to you about you. My boy, my homie, about to be the first doctor I ever knew personally. Can you imagine the type of women we were about to be around? I have to smile. It’s funny that that’s one of the first things that come to mind.  We did it. I was so much a part of the journey that I felt like I was getting a degree. I decided to call home right before I sat down to write you back. 

Grandma’s infamous one liner: “Baby, I got some bad news…” Always unexpected, with the impact of a Mack truck. It made the news, Thanksgiving Day. The story has always been twisted to me, maybe because I’m still on your side. The neighbor’s music was too loud for your liking, you asked him to cut it down. He refused in a way you took as disrespectful, so you shot and killed him. You returned next door to your father’s condo. He was enraged, an argument began. The police surrounded the premises. You shot and killed him, and then you killed yourself. 

Mad. Confused. Hurt. Angry. Sad. Guilty. Why? A flood of emotions still overwhelms and haunts me. My thoughts are just as confused as my feelings. November 20, 2010, I reread the last letter you ever wrote to me searching for clues, maybe an answer between the lines. But you would never make it that easy. 

Was growth our curse, D-Bo? Was it better when we saw the world through adolescent eyes? “The strong go crazy, the weak just go along.” Your favorite quote. It’s no secret that we were strong. The more we learned, the more we cared, and there lies the disadvantage: caring in a world that never gave a shit about us. I think that drove you to imbalance, D-Bo, and so you stuck out, like you did with the 360 waves. And because you stuck out, because your caring wasn’t taken as the norm, it created more inner confusion. You wanted power and acceptance, neither of which you needed, because you already possessed them. I’m only guessing, D-Bo, not judging. Until you provide me with the answers, I’ll forever love you as you were. Meanwhile, our memories will serve as my study guide. And your spirit, it’s my antidote against society as I pay homage to us by caring in a world that couldn’t care less. 

I love you. 

Remy