Once upon a time, I believed that emotions could die. If you tried hard enough, feelings would simply wither away like so many untended crops. This even became the foundation of my philosophy; through stoicism, I would forget the man I was meant to be and embrace the beast humanity was at its core. I would care not for the trials and tribulations of my fellow wanderers. I would simply cease to be in the emotional void that had become my heart. The only trouble with this concept is that the heart is an incredibly strong organ. To remain truly unaffected by mankind is to shun mankind. For, you see, all it takes to mend a wounded heart is the simple act of sympathy. Sympathy leads to compassion and, from there, redemption. This is the story of how one heart began to beat again; it is also the story of how one heart stopped.
It began simply enough: two young boys would bond over a simple game of soccer. One was older. He was the pride of the school and the celebrated success of the latchkey generation. He was my friend without question. The other (as I will always describe myself within the secrecy of my own mind) is no real prize. He didn’t understand how to be a kid because he was never given the chance. He was an older brother in a fatherless household and, by default, he became something of a surrogate dad himself. Neither boy was content with this place they had been given. The older, we shall call him Drake, wanted more out of life. He sought things that his childhood chum couldn’t even begin to fathom. The other, a younger version of myself, simply wanted less. He didn’t want to be responsible for another life. He didn’t even want to be responsible for his own. While Drake had always wanted a younger brother, the other had vehemently wished he could have given his away. On the soccer field, however, none of this mattered. They were simply two kids enjoying a sport neither of them fully understood.
It comes back to me as if it happened yesterday. That summer was filled with sleepovers and shenanigans. We ruled the streets from the seats of our Huffies… or, rather, he ruled from the seat of his. My family couldn’t afford name brands any more than they could afford to call off work. Regardless of the name of the bike or the kid riding atop it, however, Drake and I still believed ourselves to be kings. Nothing was forbidden for us. No one could account for where we had been. What had started on the soccer field soon spread the width of the town. I forgot about my responsibilities and Drake, well, he could forget about the future to the degree any forward-thinking individual could. It felt like childhood. The only problem with that, of course, is that we must all grow up.
Robert Drake would go on to join the school soccer team. He fell in love with a beautiful girl and generally led the life I had wished for myself. I wasn’t quite so lucky. Drake’s girlfriend, Sam, was my young heart’s one true love. She was just female enough to excite my boyish curiosities, but she was also just enough of a tomboy for us to get along famously. Drake knew how I felt. Of that, I am sure. He never had a jealous bone in his body, though, and he understood that what we had together was more important than petty squabbles over pretty faces. So instead of growing angry, he introduced me to a girl of my own.
By this point in my life I must pause to say that I had turned into a real wild child. Drake could afford to follow his dreams. I could only afford to rebel. Rebellion, after all, is both cheap and abundant. While keeping your nose to the grindstone requires a certain amount of freedom to be sacrificed, running wild only requires a healthy supply of hostility. I was angry at the world. I was angry at myself. I was even angry at Robert, despite the fact that I knew he had done nothing to wrong me. I was built to throw punches and to piss in the wind. Basically, I could go nowhere because I always had somewhere to be and that spurred in me a darkness I will never be proud to admit to. Needless to say, when Drake sat me down and introduced me to his sister (his mother’s favorite, if you can believe it), I was in no condition to be good for her. Drake still felt he should try to save me, though. His sister Holly and I never did work out, of course, but salvation has a funny way of working itself out through our failures. Trying to make it work for his sake led me back to myself and from there I managed to find something even greater.
Talk Crazy To Me 