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I was at my friend Jo's when I found out that Coach Mo Thigpen died. I hadn't known. "have you been on myspace at all today?" Jo asked me. "it's all over myspace." I hadn't been on myspace. so I didn't know.
I remembered the time when Coach Mo brought my friends and me donuts in the morning before school just because he liked us. I remembered the time when he busted Harrison for writing on the floor with permanent marker. I remembered the time that he banned us from our spot the last month of freshman year, so we were forced to relocate directly downstairs and we played Gamecube that we had hooked up to a Coke machine. I remembered how we all originally thought he was a jerk and how we called him "Tick Head" because of the black dot on the top of his bald head. I remembered the times he'd made us laugh, the times he'd come by the window in the mornings before school just to talk to us. I felt a deep pang of regret that that was as far as our relationship had gone. and while he probably didn't remember my name, I certainly remembered his.
I suspected that Brandon would take it very hard. Coach Mo was Brandon's favorite teacher, or so I think he was, and had been very involved in Brandon's personal and academic life. Jo called Brandon, Brandon said he didn't want to talk. I texted him.
"are you alright, man?"
"why wouldn't I be?"
"I know how much he meant to you. if you need someone to talk to about it, you know I'm here for you."
silence.
Jo and I sat there on the porch of his apartment, smoking cigarettes and talking about Coach Mo. a thick silence fell upon us as Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Freebird" came on Jo's stereo. we sat there quietly, absorbed in our own thoughts for the duration of the song, the smoke from our cigarettes drifting upwards, resembling a piece of ribbon floating over the mouth of a terrible dragon. I tore a piece of frayed denim from the leg of my jeans. I ripped it right off. I sat there, pulling at the threads until I had nothing left but a few stubborn strands that refused to sever their connection to one another. then I went home and fell asleep and missed her calls.
I remembered the time when Coach Mo brought my friends and me donuts in the morning before school just because he liked us. I remembered the time when he busted Harrison for writing on the floor with permanent marker. I remembered the time that he banned us from our spot the last month of freshman year, so we were forced to relocate directly downstairs and we played Gamecube that we had hooked up to a Coke machine. I remembered how we all originally thought he was a jerk and how we called him "Tick Head" because of the black dot on the top of his bald head. I remembered the times he'd made us laugh, the times he'd come by the window in the mornings before school just to talk to us. I felt a deep pang of regret that that was as far as our relationship had gone. and while he probably didn't remember my name, I certainly remembered his.
I suspected that Brandon would take it very hard. Coach Mo was Brandon's favorite teacher, or so I think he was, and had been very involved in Brandon's personal and academic life. Jo called Brandon, Brandon said he didn't want to talk. I texted him.
"are you alright, man?"
"why wouldn't I be?"
"I know how much he meant to you. if you need someone to talk to about it, you know I'm here for you."
silence.
Jo and I sat there on the porch of his apartment, smoking cigarettes and talking about Coach Mo. a thick silence fell upon us as Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Freebird" came on Jo's stereo. we sat there quietly, absorbed in our own thoughts for the duration of the song, the smoke from our cigarettes drifting upwards, resembling a piece of ribbon floating over the mouth of a terrible dragon. I tore a piece of frayed denim from the leg of my jeans. I ripped it right off. I sat there, pulling at the threads until I had nothing left but a few stubborn strands that refused to sever their connection to one another. then I went home and fell asleep and missed her calls.