What I decided to say at the memorial service...

Dear Charlie—

I don't know where to begin, so in true English teacher form, I'll go with the in medias res opening; I'll start in the middle.

It is the middle of the night; my contacts are too dry for comfort, and I am counting on their dryness to keep my tears back. It's hard to write to you knowing I won't get a response for the first time even though I know that somewhere, you still have a stack of self-addressed stamped envelopes in my handwriting -stationery included- -- my graduation present to you. It was really my graduation present to myself, you realize...No, I take that back. I think we both benefited from these epistolary exchanges. There is something grounding about writing a letter.

I remember your letters well even though I haven't been able to bring myself to look at them again just yet. I remember your apologies for your illegible handwriting in each letter even though I was able to read every word. There was something hurried in your handwriting, like there were too many thoughts in your head for you to articulate on paper, like your physical body could not keep up with your mind as you were writing. Like your body could not keep up with your mind. I think I am realizing the larger implications of this observation just now.

(I was wrong about dry contacts -- now I am crying.)

I also remember you signed your letters with the words "Your friend" right above your name. I often thought about what you meant. Earlier today, I realized that despite my sustaining the role of "teacher" even after you graduated, you understood you were no longer a student writing letters. Today, I realized that "Your friend" was probably your acknowledgment that I could learn from you as much as you learned from me.

And I did learn from you.

It's hard to forget my C period class the fall of my first year at Urban. You, Nick, Chip, Bryant, Daniel Brody & Daniel Mitchell in Advanced Composition... I remember almost hearing crickets in the room when I asked a question about the reading from the previous night. I also remember talking to you two years later -- you told me you had learned so much from that class, and that I "really need to keep teaching it." I would like to think Advanced Comp is alive and well (and even stronger) now because of your emphatic conviction in its ability to transform, which you passed on to me.

Maybe a teacher is effective to the extent that she is able to see in her student the person he wants to become before he has become it. I think those letters with my handwriting on the envelopes kept coming because you knew that I could see you as you could imagine yourself. And now I believe that you signed your letters "Your friend" because you saw me as I wanted to be seen as well.

Caitlin once told me that you really respected me for my integrity. I looked at her puzzled, with that "what are you talking about?" look on my face. You had told her about a day in Advanced Comp. when I refused to say "I promise" because I said that I believe my word ought to be enough. It's strange seeing yourself through someone else's eyes. I still don't make promises, and I still try to make sure that I say things as long as I intend to follow through with them. So I will say this: I'm a shitty correspondent, but I will write again even when I know you won't ever write back. There is something grounding about writing a letter.

I hope you are at peace, grounded, and free wherever you are.

Your teacher, your student, and yes, your friend...

tk

Re: "cry loud tears through louder screams"

I.
I cry tears that have no season yet long for June
so patient they wane with the moon.


II.
(I ain't sharin')


III.
Tie this city's thick fog to my tears
& weave an indigo blanket
the lark will lie asleep my sweet
until we're ready to wake it.

A gift I received this week...

"she had eyes
like two turntables
mix(h)er
in between
my dreams and reality
blend in ancient themes
the bas(e)is of isis
cross-faded to ankh
the beat drops
like a cliff
over looking my heart"

Saul Williams