my first written story
A narrative of my own death
He was always a little too confident. Many people knew this, but his parents were the only ones to express this viewpoint to him.
“Oh, you act as if the world couldn’t touch you!” His mother used to say. Of course she was exactly right; he did feel as if he was immune to the woes of the rest of the world. Sure, he had his problems and every once and a while he even felt blue. But as his friends would say later on after the incident, he carried himself in such a way that it was like his entire presence was saying, “I am amazing, and I know it.”
He even felt this way as he journeyed home on a cool April night. There were still patches of snow sparsely scattered along the street, but he weather had been nice lately and he was wearing only a hooded sweatshirt, instead of his winter jacket. Biking had become somewhat of a release for Levi, and escape from his daily preoccupations. He was confident about his riding in the same manner he was confident about most other aspects of his life, such as his ability to connect with people.
Living in the part of Minneapolis that he did, the north side, he was used too many young black men being out on the street at almost any time of day. In his opinion they were just taking up space. As he pedaled his way up the long hill towards his house, we would sometimes have to leave the smooth riding of the sidewalk for the strip of grass between it and the road in order to avoid groups of neighborhood youth. “Youth” he felt, was a generous way in which to describe them. Some were youth, but most were past the standard marker of adulthood that he himself had just crossed the fall before.
He most often avoided eye contact with the members of these some times sinister looking groups. After living in what he semi-jokingly referred to as the “ghetto” for two months he felt there was a certain law of the land that was easy enough to follow: you don’t bother me, and I won’t bother you.
On this night, de decided to keep to himself as best as possible by talking on his cell phone while he rode. Following a quick check of the time, he decided it was not too late to call his dad. His father had been working in various parts of the country over the last few months and Levi was not exactly sure about his whereabouts on this brisk night. However he knew that wherever he was, 9:36pm would not be too late to call.
“Hello Mystery!” His dad said, in the style of his usual greeting. He had been calling Levi “Mystery Baer” ever since Levi’s freshman year of college when he had lapsed into a stage of not staying in contact with his family members as much as they would have liked. “Mystery” referred to Levi’s life, which in the lack of communication his dad felt was mostly a mystery to him.
“Hey dad” Levi replied. The brief silence that followed was customary for their phone conversations. It was a space in which they both felt grateful to be hearing the other ones voice, but neither was exactly sure what was to be said next. “How are you?” Levi finally continued.
“Oh you know, just resting up after a day of work,” his dad answered, “sitting here staring at the phone waiting for you to call.” This was sarcasm Levi was used to. So used to it in fact that he knew his dad was not all kidding. He knew his dad wanted to hear from him more often and Levi knew he liked to badger Levi about it in hopes that his son would actually get the message. Being aware of this did not change the fact that Levi felt he communicated with his Dad, and his Mom for that matter, plenty enough. However, on this particular evening he was more than happy to be talking to his dad. “How have you been?” his dad asked.
“Oh you know,” Levi replied with a smile touching the corners of his lips. “I’m just sitting here staring at the phone wondering if I should call you or not.” They both started to chuckle a bit, but Levi’s laughter quickly dried up as he had to apply pressure on his brakes to slow down.
He had seen the group of men on the sidewalk ahead from down the block, but had thought nothing of it as he did with most small huddles of street folk he had to avoid. Even as they started to unclench their pack in order to block the sidewalk, and his path, he thought nothing out of the ordinary was afoot. If his mom could have somehow been there, perhaps as an omniscient watcher in the same sense of someone in a theater watches a movie, she would have mostly likely found Levi’s lack of apprehension due to his abounding confidence in himself. This confidence lay not only in him; but in all humans as well. Deep down he felt that people were good, he always had. It seems ironic that this faith in mankind would ultimately be the author to his perverse fate. Still on the phone with his dad, he came to a complete stop in front of the six men, who ranged in ages from 19 to 25.
“Hold on a sec,” he told his dad, “something is going o-“His words were abruptly cut off by the sight of what one of the men, the one in the center, was holding. The shiny blade belonged to a basic pocket knife the man had been given by his own mother for his 21st birthday.
“You’re a man now,” she had told him, “and I want you to use this rightly so.” He felt that tonight he was getting the chance to finally do just that.
“What’s going on Levi?” His father asked with concern started to creep into his voice. Although Levi had not told his dad that he was biking home, his dad had talked to him many times over the last few years while Levi was riding somewhere. He had grown used to and familiar with the sound the wind made as Levi rushed along, as opposed to when he was only walking or standing still. Combined with the sound of a passing car on Lyndale Ave. when he first answered the phone, he knew that his only son was out riding his bike when he called. Knowing the area that his son lived in did nothing to ease the growing sense of dread that had suddenly formed a knot in his stomach.
Levi never had the opportunity to answer his father. The man with the knife had been eager for the moment when he would get a chance to use his favorite blade, and he moved with the speed of one who had been practiced the procedure many times in his mind. The tip of the blade found its way into Levi’s midsections and easily pierced the two light layers of clothes he was wearing. The hilt of the blade followed the path made by the tip, until it pressed firmly against the skin of Levi’s abdomen. Already the ivory of the handle and the fingers of the man holding it had begun to turn a crimson color that was not naturally theirs.
Levi and his parents not only stayed in touch through the phone, but primarily with email. At the end of almost all his correspondence, Levi would express his admiration for them, but never quite say the words “I love you”. He most likely would end his emails with a “love ya” or a “take care”. Phone calls or face to face talks were a different matter for him. He had no problem with saying those three words when they had to actually pass through his lips. He did love them, and he felt it was important to say so when it mattered most.
Levi was completely aware of what had just happened to him and there had never seemed like a better time to tell someone he loved them than right at that moment. However, when he tired to open his mouth all that came out was a piercing scream. The pain had waited a few seconds to set in, but now that I was there it was unbearable. His shocked body dropped the phone to the grass next to the sidewalk and he toppled over landing aside it. As he fell, the man held firmly to his knife which slid out of him easily. Easier than it went in due to the fact it was now lubricated with Levi’s blood. All at once that blood seemed to be everywhere, not only to the men gathered around, but to Levi as well. A pool of it was making its way out from under him and even though he didn’t remember reaching down to the wound, both of hi hands were covered in blood. He had eve managed to get some on his face and arms, most likely during the fall to the ground. Even his bike, which now lay discarded on the sidewalk, had blood slowly dripping off its frame.
“Son! What is it, what’s wrong?” His dad had been nearly yelling through the phone for the last 20 seconds and now his voice snapped back into focus for Levi with another flair of lighting like pain. Somehow, Levi’s face had ended up only inches away from his phone, which his dad was till attached to on the other end of the line. Levi’s eyes felt heavy, more weighted than he had ever felt in his whole life. He managed to focus them briefly on the phone and in doing so he set his resolution to say goodbye to his father in the right way.
“Dad,” he managed to at last release. There was now a slow stream of blood running its way out of his mouth, down his cheek and onto the ground below.
In an unsteady voice that scared him to hear, his dad answered, “Yes Levi?”
“I love you. Thank you” The remainder of his energy, his life, had been put into those last words, and now he was done. His eyes closed for the last time in his unique existence. Air was release from his body, not in a true exhale, but in a slow stream that results from no longer being pushed or pulled.
“What?!” His dad called back in panic, “What’s wrong? LEVI!”
There was no response of course; never again would he get to hear his son’s voice. The lack of reply sent his dad into a whirlwind of frustration, shock and panic. However, his cries for help and for Levi to answer him were abruptly cut off with Levi’s phone being snapped shut. The man who now had his knife wiped clean and back in his pocket picked up the phone and deemed it a worthy piece of bounty for that nights work. That was not all he and his friends would gain from the incident. Everything of value that Levi had been carrying in his bag and the bag itself was taken by the men and divided up between them. The leader, the man who had gone trough with the terrible deed, kept the phone for himself, as a he was allowed to have first pick in reward for the being the man of action to make the fatal swipe on this night.
Although his dad had heard every word in Levi’s final sentence clearly, he did not know why Levi had said them all. He knew that his son loved him, but why were the last to words to pass through his lips “thank you”?
Perhaps only Levi himself would have known what he was saying thank you for. It was for everything. Everything his father had ever done for him in his 21 and half years of life. Recently those things included giving Levi money which he then used to pay off bills and keep his life afloat as he etched his way through his college years. But in the last moment before he passed Levi also had in mind times from when he was younger. Such thoughts as when his dad would let him sleep in the bed with him when Lev’s room was too cold. He also had in mind years before that when his dad made him pancakes at 8:30pm on a school night. To Levi, times such as those meant the world, and made saying thank you to his dad the most important thing he could possibly do before he died.
Levi Baer
4/1/06
Minneapolis, MN
He was always a little too confident. Many people knew this, but his parents were the only ones to express this viewpoint to him.
“Oh, you act as if the world couldn’t touch you!” His mother used to say. Of course she was exactly right; he did feel as if he was immune to the woes of the rest of the world. Sure, he had his problems and every once and a while he even felt blue. But as his friends would say later on after the incident, he carried himself in such a way that it was like his entire presence was saying, “I am amazing, and I know it.”
He even felt this way as he journeyed home on a cool April night. There were still patches of snow sparsely scattered along the street, but he weather had been nice lately and he was wearing only a hooded sweatshirt, instead of his winter jacket. Biking had become somewhat of a release for Levi, and escape from his daily preoccupations. He was confident about his riding in the same manner he was confident about most other aspects of his life, such as his ability to connect with people.
Living in the part of Minneapolis that he did, the north side, he was used too many young black men being out on the street at almost any time of day. In his opinion they were just taking up space. As he pedaled his way up the long hill towards his house, we would sometimes have to leave the smooth riding of the sidewalk for the strip of grass between it and the road in order to avoid groups of neighborhood youth. “Youth” he felt, was a generous way in which to describe them. Some were youth, but most were past the standard marker of adulthood that he himself had just crossed the fall before.
He most often avoided eye contact with the members of these some times sinister looking groups. After living in what he semi-jokingly referred to as the “ghetto” for two months he felt there was a certain law of the land that was easy enough to follow: you don’t bother me, and I won’t bother you.
On this night, de decided to keep to himself as best as possible by talking on his cell phone while he rode. Following a quick check of the time, he decided it was not too late to call his dad. His father had been working in various parts of the country over the last few months and Levi was not exactly sure about his whereabouts on this brisk night. However he knew that wherever he was, 9:36pm would not be too late to call.
“Hello Mystery!” His dad said, in the style of his usual greeting. He had been calling Levi “Mystery Baer” ever since Levi’s freshman year of college when he had lapsed into a stage of not staying in contact with his family members as much as they would have liked. “Mystery” referred to Levi’s life, which in the lack of communication his dad felt was mostly a mystery to him.
“Hey dad” Levi replied. The brief silence that followed was customary for their phone conversations. It was a space in which they both felt grateful to be hearing the other ones voice, but neither was exactly sure what was to be said next. “How are you?” Levi finally continued.
“Oh you know, just resting up after a day of work,” his dad answered, “sitting here staring at the phone waiting for you to call.” This was sarcasm Levi was used to. So used to it in fact that he knew his dad was not all kidding. He knew his dad wanted to hear from him more often and Levi knew he liked to badger Levi about it in hopes that his son would actually get the message. Being aware of this did not change the fact that Levi felt he communicated with his Dad, and his Mom for that matter, plenty enough. However, on this particular evening he was more than happy to be talking to his dad. “How have you been?” his dad asked.
“Oh you know,” Levi replied with a smile touching the corners of his lips. “I’m just sitting here staring at the phone wondering if I should call you or not.” They both started to chuckle a bit, but Levi’s laughter quickly dried up as he had to apply pressure on his brakes to slow down.
He had seen the group of men on the sidewalk ahead from down the block, but had thought nothing of it as he did with most small huddles of street folk he had to avoid. Even as they started to unclench their pack in order to block the sidewalk, and his path, he thought nothing out of the ordinary was afoot. If his mom could have somehow been there, perhaps as an omniscient watcher in the same sense of someone in a theater watches a movie, she would have mostly likely found Levi’s lack of apprehension due to his abounding confidence in himself. This confidence lay not only in him; but in all humans as well. Deep down he felt that people were good, he always had. It seems ironic that this faith in mankind would ultimately be the author to his perverse fate. Still on the phone with his dad, he came to a complete stop in front of the six men, who ranged in ages from 19 to 25.
“Hold on a sec,” he told his dad, “something is going o-“His words were abruptly cut off by the sight of what one of the men, the one in the center, was holding. The shiny blade belonged to a basic pocket knife the man had been given by his own mother for his 21st birthday.
“You’re a man now,” she had told him, “and I want you to use this rightly so.” He felt that tonight he was getting the chance to finally do just that.
“What’s going on Levi?” His father asked with concern started to creep into his voice. Although Levi had not told his dad that he was biking home, his dad had talked to him many times over the last few years while Levi was riding somewhere. He had grown used to and familiar with the sound the wind made as Levi rushed along, as opposed to when he was only walking or standing still. Combined with the sound of a passing car on Lyndale Ave. when he first answered the phone, he knew that his only son was out riding his bike when he called. Knowing the area that his son lived in did nothing to ease the growing sense of dread that had suddenly formed a knot in his stomach.
Levi never had the opportunity to answer his father. The man with the knife had been eager for the moment when he would get a chance to use his favorite blade, and he moved with the speed of one who had been practiced the procedure many times in his mind. The tip of the blade found its way into Levi’s midsections and easily pierced the two light layers of clothes he was wearing. The hilt of the blade followed the path made by the tip, until it pressed firmly against the skin of Levi’s abdomen. Already the ivory of the handle and the fingers of the man holding it had begun to turn a crimson color that was not naturally theirs.
Levi and his parents not only stayed in touch through the phone, but primarily with email. At the end of almost all his correspondence, Levi would express his admiration for them, but never quite say the words “I love you”. He most likely would end his emails with a “love ya” or a “take care”. Phone calls or face to face talks were a different matter for him. He had no problem with saying those three words when they had to actually pass through his lips. He did love them, and he felt it was important to say so when it mattered most.
Levi was completely aware of what had just happened to him and there had never seemed like a better time to tell someone he loved them than right at that moment. However, when he tired to open his mouth all that came out was a piercing scream. The pain had waited a few seconds to set in, but now that I was there it was unbearable. His shocked body dropped the phone to the grass next to the sidewalk and he toppled over landing aside it. As he fell, the man held firmly to his knife which slid out of him easily. Easier than it went in due to the fact it was now lubricated with Levi’s blood. All at once that blood seemed to be everywhere, not only to the men gathered around, but to Levi as well. A pool of it was making its way out from under him and even though he didn’t remember reaching down to the wound, both of hi hands were covered in blood. He had eve managed to get some on his face and arms, most likely during the fall to the ground. Even his bike, which now lay discarded on the sidewalk, had blood slowly dripping off its frame.
“Son! What is it, what’s wrong?” His dad had been nearly yelling through the phone for the last 20 seconds and now his voice snapped back into focus for Levi with another flair of lighting like pain. Somehow, Levi’s face had ended up only inches away from his phone, which his dad was till attached to on the other end of the line. Levi’s eyes felt heavy, more weighted than he had ever felt in his whole life. He managed to focus them briefly on the phone and in doing so he set his resolution to say goodbye to his father in the right way.
“Dad,” he managed to at last release. There was now a slow stream of blood running its way out of his mouth, down his cheek and onto the ground below.
In an unsteady voice that scared him to hear, his dad answered, “Yes Levi?”
“I love you. Thank you” The remainder of his energy, his life, had been put into those last words, and now he was done. His eyes closed for the last time in his unique existence. Air was release from his body, not in a true exhale, but in a slow stream that results from no longer being pushed or pulled.
“What?!” His dad called back in panic, “What’s wrong? LEVI!”
There was no response of course; never again would he get to hear his son’s voice. The lack of reply sent his dad into a whirlwind of frustration, shock and panic. However, his cries for help and for Levi to answer him were abruptly cut off with Levi’s phone being snapped shut. The man who now had his knife wiped clean and back in his pocket picked up the phone and deemed it a worthy piece of bounty for that nights work. That was not all he and his friends would gain from the incident. Everything of value that Levi had been carrying in his bag and the bag itself was taken by the men and divided up between them. The leader, the man who had gone trough with the terrible deed, kept the phone for himself, as a he was allowed to have first pick in reward for the being the man of action to make the fatal swipe on this night.
Although his dad had heard every word in Levi’s final sentence clearly, he did not know why Levi had said them all. He knew that his son loved him, but why were the last to words to pass through his lips “thank you”?
Perhaps only Levi himself would have known what he was saying thank you for. It was for everything. Everything his father had ever done for him in his 21 and half years of life. Recently those things included giving Levi money which he then used to pay off bills and keep his life afloat as he etched his way through his college years. But in the last moment before he passed Levi also had in mind times from when he was younger. Such thoughts as when his dad would let him sleep in the bed with him when Lev’s room was too cold. He also had in mind years before that when his dad made him pancakes at 8:30pm on a school night. To Levi, times such as those meant the world, and made saying thank you to his dad the most important thing he could possibly do before he died.
Levi Baer
4/1/06
Minneapolis, MN