BY P.J. HERNANDEZ | STAFF WRITER
I’ve been thinking a lot about my life lately.
Thoughts flood in my mind like raindrops that overflow in a puddle — so there’s no choice but to pour them out. It’s similar to jazz players in tune with their feelings, so they call out to the night with their trumpets and saxophones. Nothing but the saddest notes fill listeners’ ears and serenade streets with melodies.
This feeling has been this way since the beginning of the year. Honestly, the pandemic has helped me catch up to my racing mind.
It’s like life’s on hold. It’s running out of breath and waiting to catch that second wind. I’m sure we’re all going through something. Although everyone I see is wearing masks — you can’t help but see blue faces. For many, they want the world to return to normal. For me though, I can’t explain it.
There’s something missing — similar to a skipped note on a music sheet.
You know, back in the day and now aren’t so different to me. Growing up, I was trying to keep my head on straight, get solid grades and be a good son for my mother — someone who I think is the toughest person that I’ve seen.
Legit, if you ever meet a single mother, the weight that they carry on their shoulders makes Atlas look weak. And they’ll all tell you that good men are hard to find and boys need role models in their lives — that’s because people are like seasons; they warm up to you one day but do something cold the next.
I’ve always wanted to be a good kid. But it was hard to look up to anyone, because just like now, it was a masquerade. Boys rocked masks like they would ball caps and stoned faces covered up who they were. They gripped their foolish pride like a firearm and shot for their own dreams, while I gunned for my own. Maybe the blame shouldn’t be on their shoulders. They didn’t have the same moral compass that I had, so they were misguided like upside-down maps. I could’ve turned out like them but I guess God had different plans for my shy face.
Time changes people. You witness what years can do to a person. Some disappear without a trace, others pass and there’s those who bloom into something great — for better or worse. It’s crazy what life puts in front of you. Some people find what they are looking for early in their lives.
For example, there’s folks who find love and gain a family to call their own. Others find so much wealth that you can see dollar signs on their eyelids. But for the less fortunate, hard times arise on their paths and the bottom of liquor bottles is what they see; with hopes of filling a void that alcohol won’t fix.
To be remembered — that’s what I’m looking for. I believe forgetting someone is the worst thing you can do to a person. Imagine that, you live a life just to be a name that casually spills from time to time in conversations from those who knew you or knew of you.
I don’t think good men are forgotten. Maybe that will be me one day — a good man.
My mother and closest friends tell me that they see something special in me. But that’s something I find difficult to believe. Maybe they’re stuck looking at my torn baby photos, because at times, I don’t see the whole picture. But you know, that’s the thing with people. They see things in you that you can’t see yourself. They’re funny. The folk closest to you can be the helping hands that save you from yourself.
I’m learning how to be a good man. I never saw any as a kid but I try to lead by example. Every decision is made with heart and faith in both handfuls. It’s not easy though. Hell, at times it’s hard. It’s harder than snare drums snapping in the summer sun, or harder than confessing your crush to someone while tucking their favorite flowers behind your back with hopes that they love blossoms.
Faith, that’s what my mother taught me to have. Even when all the odds were against us, both her and I had to duke it out with so many blue devils that the bruises could be seen on our fists if you look close enough.
I’ll get there though one day. I know it. Trust me, my heart’s mileage can’t come close to explaining the drive that I have. Who knows, maybe you’ll catch me with my name spelled out instead of it being abbreviated. I bet if you listen closely, you’d hear my name fill the air like the Archangel Gabriel’s horn or Miles Davis’ trumpet.
You think people will sing about me when I’m gone? I don’t know that answer, but there’s one thing for sure.
I won’t be forgotten.
