21 years old,
so I made an offering
to 21 souls
who had a hand in my being.
Mrs. Bartlein – My childhood best friend’s mom and my honorary second mother. We were in 6th grade. Her death was shattering. While my friend seemed to be able to cope and get on, his brother was another story. I knew him well. He confided in me his path to hard drugs, crime, attempted suicide, and the struggles of attempting fatherhood. To be honest, we had a lot of fun being bad together in our teens.
Grandpa Frank. – A WWII veteran. Honest. Upright. Compassionate yet stern. A source of familial pride, and he set an impossible bar to uphold. At his funeral, my grandmother clenched my wrist as tight as she could and didn’t let go throughout the entire service. When they were burying him, she told me that when she was young, her friend died. She said when they buried her, she felt as if she ought to jump in there with her and be buried alive. She said she felt like that now.
Grandma Marion. – When Grandpa passed, she quickly developed Alzheimer’s and dementia. For her final years, she lived with my father and me. I watched her slowly lose her mind, day by day, throughout high school and my null-years after. My father cared for her every minute of every day, the entire time. I was so proud to go to college for her. She told me that she had always wanted to go, but her father said women can’t go to the university. She was laid to rest in April.
Julie – My father’s first wife. I never knew her, but she is the mother of my oldest Brother. My father speaks kindly of her, even though all of his stories tend to highlight her eccentric nature.
Grandpa Hal – Grandpa Hal was not my mother’s real father, but he was our real Grandpa. I only met him as a baby, so I can’t say I knew him, but everyone tells stories remembering him fondly. A WWII vet. A navy man. His ship went down in the Pacific. Hard working. The truth of the matter is something that weighs heavily on my mother, and unfortunately, it is something that only my Grandma Rose knows.
Joey – My cousin. A kindred spirit, being another dropout and illicit substance enthusiast. We never really got on; he had a big personality. Dope-sick and out of options, he robbed a pharmacy. They say he found Jesus in jail. He seemed to be doing alright, out early on good behavior, and working in a pizza place. Yet my uncle still found him dead, overdosed on a noxious cocktail of H and Coke. He really did end up finding Jesus, and that’s when I decided to get my GED. For years, I felt a cold stare from my uncle as if he was looking at me and wondering, “Why my kid?”
Frank – For years, I watched my friend get worse and worse. He must have felt that depression, too. He was the worst kind of sloppy junky drug dealer, too. Terrible driver. Kind of a jerk, but a friend nonetheless. The last time I saw him, he looked like shit. A few days later, they said he died of heart failure. You know why.
Nate – For many of us in high school, Nate dispelled the myth of invincible youth. A 17-year-old talented soccer player died in a car wreck. Our friend James plays for the Milwaukee Wave now, and Nate should still be his teammate.
Jessie – Jessie was raped and murdered. One of my friends was into her and had been seeing her. It really messed him up, and he can’t really get over it, even though he tries bottle after bottle. The jacket she left at his house is still on his coat rack.
Abuella – When I was a little kid, in Mexico, I was chasing my brothers down a hill when I tripped. I had tumbled into a prickly pear cactus. She and my mother spent the next few hours picking 100’s of needles out of me in the backseat of our truck.
Larry – Mr. ████ passed away last February. His kids are a couple of my best friends. Grew up down the street. Took till high school to meet them. ████ works two jobs and tries to keep the house afloat, but a 19-year-old kid shouldn’t have to deal with a mortgage and medical bills. His brother tries to help, but he is suffering from an opiate addiction. Their mother, bless her, is a bit of a drinker, but a sweetheart nonetheless. I’ll never forget her scream that day at the hospital when we lost Larry.
Uncle Willy – I never knew him, but my father was the executor of his estate. We inherited all of his junk. I spent my childhood piecing together his legacy as an amateur electronics enthusiast, playing with 100 years of partially dismantled technology. He taught my father how to draw whales, and he taught us. I get my curiosity, creative prowess, and mechanical aptitude from him.
John – John is something like my Great-Great-Great Grandfather. All we have is a picture of him in uniform from the 1800’s. He marched in the Austro-Hungarian army. This seems to be the earliest example of my paternal family’s fixation on military service.
Silvia – My Tía. She lived with us while she was fatally ill. She came to America to get better medical treatment. She taught me how to blow bubbles with gum and let me play Sonic the Hedgehog on her computer.
Mr. H – Never met him; he died sometime after Thanksgiving. I met his son earlier this semester, and we became really close friends. For the second time this year, I sat on the sidelines while my friend’s dad died. I don’t know what to say to him anymore.
Mike – A talented snowboarder who died at the age of 17. At his funeral, they handed out these pink bandanas. I came to be in possession of one of them through an ex. He was really meaningful to her, so much so that she charged me with the bandana’s safeguard. I try to talk to him sometimes, when I reflect on this cursed cloth.
Brian – My friend’s older brother. He was about 18 years old when he died in a car accident. My friend still had the last voicemail he left on his phone and would play it over and over, just to hear his voice, even years later.
Jesse – Jesse was in my brother’s grade at our Catholic school. He died in a car accident a mile down the street from my house. He was drunk and he hit a deer. He wasn’t wearing his seat belt and was ejected from the car; he drowned in a 2-inch puddle, alone on the side of the road. He was 18 or 19.
Andy – Died in a car accident when he was 19 or 20 while driving his girlfriend home. It must have been especially hard on his mother because she had already lost one kid.
Alex – Alex was my friend. A fellow misfit. Beer and cigarettes at the skatepark. He was really great at skateboarding. When he left us, it was supposed to be a fun day at the beach. He dived into the water and never surfaced. Everyone thought he was goofing around, but the rescue crews fished him out a few hours later. Another 20-year-old gone.
Bo – He was at a house party when the neighbor called the police to come break it up. Everyone scattered, scared of getting underage drinking tickets. While the police were prowling around, he was hiding under a nearby porch. The owner came outside, gun in hand, and shot him in cold blood. Castle Doctrine, they said. Just another excuse for an old white man to kill a black kid.
