A Conversation with My Dead Homie

Time: A Gift or Curse?

After my sensational Coming Out Party, defeating our crosstown rivals: The East High Cavaliers. The After Party, spending the night with a sexy 20 year old Cougar. Nothing could be finer for a 15 year old King of the Courts.

I walk out my front door to the porch and watch my hood go about their daily activities. Little girls playing hopscotch, little boys running around playing tag. Moms bringing in groceries while the dads pitch horseshoes; drinking a few cold ones.

It’s a beautiful unseasonably warm winter afternoon on Ledbetter.

My homie, my cousin, my teammate, my brother, my best friend: Simmie Dave walks out of his apartment and daps me up.

“My Nigga.” He says.

We begin tossing the football. I look at him while he smiles, grinning ear to ear, telling a story about how Bubba (both our best buddie) got in trouble with his mom.

Suddenly, I get this unbearable pain, an emptiness never felt before.

At that moment I realized that Simmie Dave is a figment of my imagination. We did not know our time together had ran out. I just figured we would have an unlimited amount of time. A long beautiful life.