WHERE WERE YOU SHAZZA? Pt. 2

A few weeks ago I Blogged about how a close friend of mine was being shipped out to Iraq again on April 15, 2008 (A FRIEND, A CALL, A WAR AND A PRAYER). He’s already been there for a tour and in Korea and all other places serving our Country. This is a worthwhile and noteworthy thing. It was his choice as well as his duty. I don’t have issues with the military; at one time I briefly considered the occupation myself, "BRIEFLY" being the optimum word. So the need to leave and do what needs to be done as required, I am in full support. And as my friend, my Boy Marco knows how I feel about him, the Occupation and this Administration.

Well, during my time away from the Blogosphere, I get a phone call surprising me that my Boy is half way between New Jersey and New York City. MAN I was surprised and also half FUQ’ed. I had just ended a serious Long Term Relationship and needed to be in that state of BLUES, you know the kind of Blues where you are listening to all the “sad songs” that define your life and feelings mixed with deleting all of the “our songs” from your Ipod so you can complete the Remix of the SOUNDTRACK OF YOUR NEW LIFE. I know I wanted to see my Boy Marco because in the reality that is the Bush Regime, this may be the only time I may see him for the next 18 months. YES, he’s gone for 18 months …. THE BASTARDS!!

Last time we hung out, I was chillin out in Chi-town but I was a work-a-holic so the quantity time we shared was only done in quality time. Not to mention, my Boy was detoxing from culture deprivation and had rather slept, eat Oreo cookies and drink Kool-Aid all day then go out and party. Nothing wrong with that. So now that it is a little over a year later, My Boy was doing his "The Marco Tour" to connect with his friends and family before his deployment.

So Marco arrives at 11pm on a weekday. Excited, we meet and greet, catch up and then he hits me with the BIG QUESTION, “So what you got planned for me?”

Now, if you live in a major city and you have folks from out of town, especially those from a rural area or the deep SOUTH you can relate to what I’m about to say, "US CITY FOLK DON’T PARTY 24/7". And even though New York City has the reputation as the City That Never Sleeps that unfortunately refers to the CITY, the PEOPLE LIVING HERE DO SLEEP. Especially the 9 to 5 Peoples.

So here I am, on the downturn of an emotional rollercoaster and sitting across from a Body with the energy of a rising Sun, what’s a Brotha to do? Well I had to do what many people have done in many years past, we looked at his wallet and said, "THIS IS FOR NEW YORK AND TOURISM, BOOST THAT ECONOMY."

So we made out a plan which involved, Club Hopping, House Parties, The Apollo, The Cotton Club, Lenox Lounge, Dinners, Bootycalls and Hoochies (come on ladies, he’s single and heading to Iraq for 18 months I had to do something), Meeting Family, catching up with friends and actually sitting down and having QUALITY TIME. That was the best. The fact that we could sit down and talk about goals, wishes, fears and his anger about heading back over to the desert. We talked about moments that to me were trivial but to my Boy, meant the World touched me so deeply that I moved aside a place in my heart to make him family. Interesting enough, he told me that I was more like his Older Brother than his actual Brother. I couldn’t tell you how much that meant.

So as the days go by and I watch Marco handle himself here, based upon his experiences, if he was not careful, New York City could eat him up and drain him dry. I mean, just like the saying, “If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere” is a reality. This is why.

As part of our agenda while Marco was in town, he wanted me to so a photo shoot for him and for his family. I agreed (I guess he knew the sympathy of being shipped out to Iraq, I'd do it for free, which I ended up doing ...) Afterward we were driving back to Harlem from a photo shoot that I did for him at one of New York’s most scenic parks when a car pulled up next to my Boy’s driver’s side. Marco, driving a brand new LEXUS (really nice, the head turning type, most definitely a sign of MONEY old or new) he kinda was BIG WILLY on the road. This Dominican kid then yells out at him, “Yo Papa, I got that Haze! Give me your number and I hook you up.” On the passenger’s side I am seeing just how my Boy would handle the situation and in the true style of a Country Mouse my Boy Marco responds, “Word?”.

“Yeah Papa, take my number and call me so I can have your number in my phone.”, he says in an insistent tone.

So Marco takes out his cell phone and begins taking the kid’s number. “Aiight, yo, what’s your number?”

Before he could complete the number exchange, a second kid driving with the Dominican says, “Yeah Man, we got those Pills too.”

I then interject to Marco very calmly and matter-o-factly, “Yo, you don’t want to do that.”

“Why?”, Marco asked

“You just don’t.” spoken in a Fatherly tone.

I look at the Dominican kid driving, lean across My Boy and say, “Yo Pa, we will call you later OK, we have a party to get at and we need to know what we need to get. We’ll get at you when we know.”

"Oh word, where is the jump off? Maybe we can roll through?", he asks.

I say to him, "Not that type of party. "

The second kid pitches, "We got that good shyt yo. The best."

“Yo, call me now. Call me now.”, The Dominican driver insists.

“I’ll call you later.”, I end the conversation and then I look at my Boy and tell him to roll up the window. “Negro, you need to drive this car straight and head downtown.”

When we get to 125th Street and Broadway I begin to tell Marco that he was just about to enter into a drug deal and his gullible ass didn’t even know it. Then there was no knowing if the police were watching and even if you were just talking, you and I would have been thrown all over your nice little LEXUS looking like THUGS on a Cops episode. I also drop the knowledge that everyone in New York is nice, but you have to be seasoned enough with the lingo to know if you are meeting someone nice or someone "nice".

Surprised and embarrassed my Boy says to me, “I didn’t know, I thought when he said he got that Haze, he was referring to a Rapper and selling his Bootleg CD. You know the ones people say they sell in New York.”

Like I said, Country Mouse.

I sat there in the car for a few minutes then started to laughed HARD. He laughed too because he knew, he wasn’t quite ready to be left alone here. New Yorker's can Smell New Meat as well as someone ready to buy a bridge cheap. I just couldn't see My Boy leaving here with only a barrel and flip flops.

We did Ground Zero, looked at the Statue of Liberty, had Uptown Soul Food and Texas BBQ, Spanish cuisine in Washington Heights, Central Park, the Bronx, Queens, and Brooklyn, traded pictures and music and in the end, made PROMISES. We promised to keep in touch, me being his tie to Home and him letting me know that he is being smart and staying alive. Looking at the Military’s Report to Congress this week …. Well I’ll just keep my opinions to myself for later.

Seven days later, I am totally exhausted. I lived the life of a CITY THAT NEVER SLEEPS and I was dragging. Between lack of sleep, running from dawn to dawn, eating on the run, dancing playing tour guide as well as BIG BROTHER .. oh did I tell you I was going to work as well… LAWD I needed a deep coma sleep. And yet, I was over my BLUES. I was now OVER MY BREAK UP. Of course I am not over the initial anger of the break up, I mean the reasons why are still immature, ignorant and devious BUT I can now move on and count my losses. I have my Boy Marco to thank for this. GOD does put people in your life for a reason. Especially when my issues with a break up is small in comparison to being assigned to a WAR ZONE for 18 months.

A FRIEND, A CALL, A WAR AND A PRAYER

Got a buddy that calls me every so often. We actually met a few years back on one of my Christmas to New Years vacations to Puerto Rico. He was there based in the military during a time of PEACE. You know, before Bush was in office. Not knowing anyone on the island personally, he became my tour guide for all things fun to do in Puerto Rico. On my own, I would explore the area and talk to the people, get the history of the island as well as experience how my African roots extended deep into the mix of Spanish and Native American cultures. The island is a photographer’s paradise. I would go from visiting the Rain Forrest to the Camuy Caves, Old San Juan and the Yachting Marinas, in one day, I had gone through 40 rolls of film (this was before digital cameras were the standard) just walking along the beaches and taking pictures of the local landscape and people. The reason why I would pick the last week of December and early January was that the number of tourist was practically non-existence.

I recall one visit to Puerto Rico where I decided to relax on the beach with a good book and music. It was amazing how I could always find a spot and one would be around for at least 400 feet or more. The waves were a little high and the water not as warm as the summer months, but in my mind, it was the closest I got to having my own Private Beach. As people walked by, I’d get the occasional wave and a, “¿Hola, se divierte usted.” Of course my Spanish not being as good as it needed to be, I’d nod and smile and go back to my private moments. So once I had my fill of solitude it would be great for my host to swing by and pick me up for a night out on the town.

We kept in touch for years, mostly through Internet and e-mails. Unlike most people in a person’s life, this friendship sustained the tests to time. His being in the military back then, our communications were more like summer camp and college updates. The e-mails were more comedic if anything. Life on a military base can be as sophomoric as a college dorm and the personality clashes, pure Soap Operas in the making and yet I looked forward to hearing them all.

When he would come home to the United States, we’d get on the phone and trade stories about bad dates in Puerto Rico, money and family issues. He’d ask me about the Big Bad City and I would rag on his Country Mouse Hometown. It wouldn’t be until years later that he’s make his way North and we’d hang and bond again with me being the tour guide. Then Iraq jumped off and our relationship made for a drastic turn. Now when we talked, we unconsciously avoid topics about war or his getting hurt. I even found myself not talking about the politics (which is NOT ME AT ALL) but we did keep that countdown for when he was coming back. Once my Boy sent me a handwritten letter, which I read over and over about his stint in Iraq. There were some wild situations happening there, the stuff that the News wouldn’t and couldn’t cover. Some of it was shocking but most of it was funny. Almost Private Benjamin funny. I wrote back in hand (which I hadn’t done in years) about my appreciation for his service and prayers for his safe return.

When he came home, I was relieved that he was one of the survivors of the madness in the Middle East. Unlike some of the people I met after coming back from Afghanistan and Iraq, my friend was able to keep his RIGHT STATE OF MIND. It was not mentally scared by the death and the killing, mangled bodies and destruction in the towns and that alone I felt we were both blessed.

Out of respect I did not prod into his experiences, I just wanted him to share what he wanted in his own time, which he did. Several months later, he was shipped out again but to Korea. Again, our communications were tied to Internet and e-mails and we kept it up until the last days of his leave. I had invited him to stay at my place before he went home. I sensed that he needed some down time before being bombarded with home. He stated at my place for a few days and he was slightly different. He was worn, drained and tired. He was older in ways that made me a little heartbroken because this stint drained his spirit. The first time was a drain of his energy but this one was an aging. His whole stay with me was made up of sleeping and watching television and a lot of silence. Oh yeah, a ton of junk food was eaten too. I got the sense my friend was content to just be on safe soil. So I abided that and I was happy for him to be in a state of healing in my home.

Months would go by and he when back to set up his life. Re-arranged some of his priorities. I even found that he had gotten married. We talked on the phone a few times but not as often like we use to. Not as many e-mails but we always knew in a pinch that we could call on the other for a good chat. Today, I got a call and I was surprised and excited. Since I am going through a few personal issues myself, I felt the timing was great. We stared talking and just before I start in with my story I hear, “I just wanted to tell you that I’ll be shipping out to Iraq again.”

I got a little low in my emotions when I heard this. I mean I saw how he has changed over the years since our time in Puerto Rico. I have seen how War and the Military has made an impression upon my friend. I also know that there is a possibility I may not have him in my life with what is going on over there in Iraq. So I know I can’t let that feeling shine through with my response because the last think someone wants to hear is my objections and political rants.

“Again. Man, how long they got you this time?” I said.

“They going to have me up to 15 months this trip.” my Boy replies back.

“15! That’s right they changed the tour duty length. What are you going to be doing now?” I explode before I catch myself and get calm.

He begins to detail what his role would be but this time he tells me, he won’t have access to any Internet and isolated. No e-mails or anything. Then he goes on to tell me he is getting divorced after a year. So I listen and he goes on and on and the more I listen I just say to myself, “He should not even be over there period.”

We don’t talk long because I know he has to make more calls and prepare for his shipping out. I never spoke up about my personal issues. They paled in comparison to having to commit your life to an Ideology (especially one that conflicts with mine personally).

I go back to my old prayer book. I had faith in it to keep my friend MARCO safe. I still have faith that it will bring him back again whole and in one piece. And regardless of who gets in office, a candidate of EXPERIENCE or CHANGE, you best to believe I will hold them to their promises because this is my friend you are playing Political Games with.