She called. I answered. She talked. I listened. She cried; and now I’m sad again. I just got off the phone with Ms. Bromden. She works in the administration office for the Big Brother Foundation; where I work. My name is Xavier Gallaher. I work as a guidance counselor and interactive life coach for the Big Brother Foundation for Troubled Youths. Surprisingly, I’m pretty unqualified for the job. I suppose you could say I’m rather “uninspired” for such a field. My wife said it would bring out my fatherly instincts (she was expecting; midway through her first trimester), I guess. Really, I was just another employee going through the motions. Before, I was distant and apathetic. Things have changed since then; I’m a much better person now. But now, I fear that cold apathy has found me again. – Damien Williams, the adolescent I was assigned to, was killed in a gang-related shooting.
It was six months ago. I was at the front desk going over some paperwork when Ms. Bromden says, “We got another customer.” She pushes a button behind her desk to open the door. Two officers come in holding a handcuffed delinquent. The kid walked past me with staggering strides, trying to keep his feet planted in the linoleum floor while the police officers pressed him on. When his eyes met mine, they were filled with hate and resentment; almost challenging me. Yet, I also saw a slight conflict. There was sadness in them as well; a tortured soul, wanting only to be loved and accepted. In that moment, something told me I was gonna be working very closely with this one.
As the months went by, Damien and I grew closer together. He had told me all about his past life and childhood. Said his dad was dead, mom was an addict, and probably had a million brothers and sisters he didn’t even know. I also discovered he was extremely intelligent…almost prodigiously intelligent. He crushed every exam our school curriculum threw at him; this kid was college material, at age sixteen. But he just couldn’t get away; couldn’t get away from his friend Trey and their “crew.” He had such a promising future ahead of him…but I couldn’t keep his head out of that stupid thug gang! Last time I ever saw him we got into an argument; said he had some things to take care of, and he wouldn’t listen to reason. I didn’t know what he was gonna do. All I know whatever it was wasn’t good. A week later I get a call and he’s dead.
So now here we are; just getting off the phone with Ms. Bromden, driving to Damien’s funeral. I think she cried for me in sympathy. She probably thinks I’m taking this the hardest considering how close I worked with him. But in all honesty, I feel empty – there’s just nothing. I drive up to where the funeral is taking place. The Foundation can’t afford the cost of a regular funeral session, so they rented an office space in some random strip mall downtown Chicago. I walk through the door to find – empty chairs. Just a couple of employees who occupy the space wading through trash or moving their stuff, and the priest we hired to give the ceremonial speech. Just past him, I see the closed casket; I know there’s nothing in it. The doctors are still performing an autopsy on the body, so they can turn in a report for the pending murder investigation…No friends, no family, not even his own mother; probably too high to even remember her own name or getting her stomach pumped of O.D. either way. There is just me. I can’t even focus anymore; everything just bleeds together: The shuffling of paper around the room, the hired priest rambling on and on to no one about a poor boy he never knew or cared about; the closed casket with nothing in it. It doesn’t make sense to me…I should feel something right now; I’m the only one who showed up and I’m not even grieving like a normal person should – nothing. If anything I feel this slight contempt; a seething frustration, and a little anger. How could he do this to himself, to me?! After everything I had done, I changed for him only to die in vain. Why? – I just want an answer…Then I hear the bell above the door ring and someone stepping in. A voice calls out, “Is there a Mr. Gallaher her?” I turn around to see a young man, shifting his eyes left and right for me. I step towards him with arms crossed, “What can I do for you sir?” He points his head down and scuffs his shoe back and forth against the carpet floor, “Aw nutin’ man…just cam da giiyu dis.” He pulls out of his coat pocket a letter and hands it to me. I flip it over and read the front of it. My eyes widen a bit. “Where did you get this?” I asked sternly. “Duhdin mattah,” he said. “All I know is it’s for you.” I stare at the letter a bit longer. “Thank you,” I told him. Afterwards I step out through the back door into a dark hallway; a bright red exit sign is my only source of light. I let out a sigh and glance back at the letter. Slowly, I bring it towards me and start reading: “Dear Mr. Gallaher, I’m sorry things ended the way they did last time we met. I just wanted you to know I changed my mind. I’m quitting the gang and getting my diploma; I know there’s more out there for than this…You were more a father and brother to me than anyone I’ve ever known, and for that I’m extremely grateful. Thank you for seeing the potential of greatness in me…thank you for saving my life…” I couldn’t read it anymore; it was too hard. My nostrils started to singe, my bottom lip quivering, eyes burning. There was nothing left for to do – just let it out. I cried so hard; cried it all out. Cried out all the self-contempt and guilt I had newly discovered within me. But then, I realized something… I had gotten through to him. I genuinely from the bottom of my heart helped someone. I saved him – as he did me.
Since then, I have helped many youths and have truly come to love my job. I have even become a better husband and father to my family. If only Damien were alive. He would’ve been happy to see how we’ve grown – It’s almost too bitter-sweet…..