The Friendship Chasm by Marcus R. Graddy

As I stepped out of the shower and walked into the master bedroom, Carla had laid out my pajamas—a royal blue and silver silk robe and pants set she purchased on our trip to Japan. Carla, my beautiful wife, was so good to me. What would I do without her? This has been a sad and exhausting month; I lost two childhood friends. Two weeks ago Michael was sentenced to life imprisonment. Today, we buried Kevin. How could this have happened?

After toweling my hair dry, I slipped into my pajamas and found myself taking in the expanse of the space. The high polish of the king-sized, solid mahogany rice bed with its draped canopy of raw indigo silk was a small fortune. As I pivoted on my left heel, I took in the sight of the hand-carved armoire, highboy, dresser and vanity. I walked past the oversized jacquard-covered sofa, matching love seat, and roaring fireplace in the sitting area to peer through the panes of the French doors leading to my adjoining study. I scrutinized the brocade work of the emerald, gold and ivory striped wallpaper as if I was seeing it for the very first time and realized that Carla, an architect and interior designer had built this house with exquisite detail that I had never noticed before, but what was this all for if the people I loved weren’t here to share it with.

In the study on my desk, a crystal pitcher of iced-tea and lemon, a salver of crackers, cheese and fruit and a note: “Dinner will be ready soon. Love, Carla”. I smiled as I bit into an apple and returned it to the tray. I began to take a seat when the gold-framed picture of Michael, Kevin and I as kids caught my attention. I poured myself a glass of tea as I regarded it for a moment. As I reached for the keepsake, I saw drops of water fall on the desk top. I thought that it was the sweat from the glass of tea, but it was not. I was crying—crying for friendships I had lost. I took the picture back to the sofa, and lying down, I clutched what was left of a promising beginning…

Michael Scott was tall, lean and good-looking even as a child. He had coal-black skin, pretty, with his short-wavy hair and porcelain white even teeth. He was cocky, arrogant and he hated white people. His father’s constant negative comments and dealings with whites had etched a formidable racial scar that Michael wore like an epaulet. He saw people only in colors as he supposed they saw him. Michael did not like or trust anyone; however, he tolerated me because I was intelligent, could play basketball and I didn’t back down when once he tried to pick a fight with me. His ambition was to be a pro basketball player. He was bright, but he wouldn’t apply himself. His problem was that he always wanted something for nothing.

Kevin Bryant was the mediator of the bunch with his peach-colored complexion and nappy, sandy-brown hair that he refused to comb. He was quiet and non-descript, but he was the kindest person I had ever met, with a heart of gold and his loyalty went beyond human comprehension. He befriended Michael and me when he sketched the two of us playing basketball one Saturday. The rendering was exquisite. He had the ability to recreate life on a piece of paper, but his low self-esteem made him vulnerable to the influence of the company he kept.

Looks have never been important to me. I was not as good-looking as Michael, but handsome I was. My black hair, my dark brown skin and eyes were secondary to the name that I thought I could carve out for myself; William Taylor, international lawyer and businessman! That was my dream. I had always hated being poor and dependent. I despised the fact that none of the black people I knew owned anything. Of course, there were Garland’s Funeral Home and Sam’s Barbecue, but I thought we needed something more. I wanted more business enterprise for my community and I would do anything to make that happen.

Though the three of us were as different as night and day, we had become inseparable. We made a pact that we would get out of the ghetto; not only geographically, but also rid ourselves of the mindset that suggested that if you were black you didn’t have a chance in America. I didn’t like the way the cards had been dealt, but I was in the game of life and I was determined to play to win. We had discussed our plans and how we would bring it to pass. My mother kept saying that God would make a way. I believed her. I believed Him. But I had to also believe in me.

We graduated from high school and early on decided to attend different schools in order to obtain a diverse perspective of life. Michael had received a basketball scholarship even though his grades were terrible. Kevin had been cleaning buildings after school. He had also submitted his sketches to several art firms. He wanted to be an animator for Walt Disney. He needed a break in life and art was his ticket to it. I was offered several scholarships. The hard work had paid off and what a relief for my parents who were so concerned that they couldn’t afford to send me to college. I had worked odd jobs throughout my youth and wanted to do something meaningful the summer before setting off to school.

Kevin was late for our basketball game at the park so while we waited for him, Michael and I played a game of one on one. When Kevin arrived, he was so excited. He told us that he had met Randolph Kennedy, the international business tycoon who was thought to be one of the wealthiest men in the world. Kevin said that Mr. Kennedy happened to be in town to oversee a new business venture when he came into the cafeteria and saw Kevin on his break. Kevin was working on one of his sketches when Mr. Kennedy passed him and caught a glimpse of his work. He asked Kevin what were his plans for the future. Kevin told him about his dream to work for Disney and about our childhood ambitions. Mr. Kennedy said that he could help us. Michael asked, “What’s in it for him?” As we walked to the barbecue pit, Kevin said “I don’t know what he wants, but I at least want to hear what he has to say. He wants to meet with us tomorrow.”

We were all nervous when we got off the bus on Kennedy Row, a street named for the three dozen or so Kennedy business buildings that showcased the skyline. Mr. Kennedy was seated behind a massive ornate mahogany desk. He was a tall white man in his late forties with a mane of chestnut hair highlighted at the temples where he had begun to gray ever so slightly. To my surprise, he was not pretentious in the least and dressed casually in a worn jogging suit and sneakers. He had his secretary order lunch for us and as he began to speak Michael cut him off—“Why would a rich white man wanna help three poor black boys?" Kevin and I looked at each other and then to Mr. Kennedy with embarrassment.

“That’s a fair question,” Mr. Kennedy responded calmly. He toyed with a pen on his desk for a moment. He explained that he was orphaned as a child and was raised by a black governess at the request of his parents. Mrs. Geneva Graham knew about the arrangement, but her only stipulation was that he live with her if the will was to be honored. His parents were killed in a train accident when he was six, and against the advice of the Kennedy lawyers, Mrs. Graham raised him as one of her own.

Even though she had money at her disposal, she raised him very prudently. She instilled her principles of hard work, respect for other people and her enduring belief in God, having full knowledge that he would take over his family’s business someday. On his twenty-fifth birthday, he was given controlling shares in the Kennedy dynasty which included oil, real estate, diamond mines, and agriculture. He told Mrs. Graham he loved her as his own mother, and that he would do anything for her. He knew that he could not repay her for rearing him as her own, but he wanted to express his appreciation in some way. Mr. Kennedy said that she thought about it for a moment and then told him that there was something he could do. She wanted him to help people who did not have access to the opportunities that he had, but the forum had to be that of motivation and encouragement—and under no circumstances, a free ride. At her request, the Geneva Graham Fellowship Foundation was formed, a vocational exploration program aimed at disadvantaged youth. Mr. Kennedy believed whole-heartedly in the project and was now extending its benefits to us. Kevin and I were quite interested in his offer. Michael declined. He simply did not trust him. "It's too good to be true!"

That summer we visited all types of businesses and learned what skills were required and how to get started. Because we rarely saw Michael, the slow demise of our friendships began. Once school started, Michael and I went our separate ways and Mr. Kennedy secured Kevin a gig with the Disney studios. I learned later that Michael was corresponding with Kevin and poisoning his mind against me. He said that I was out for myself and that I didn’t care about either of them. Kevin had not adjusted well to his move to California and the rift between Michel and me was more than he could handle. For comfort, Kevin began using drugs. I did not pay attention at first, but soon I caught on. Michael began to have problems in school—first, his grades and then a bad knee. Because the pressure of academic probation and being unable to play ball, Michael dropped out of school before he had to. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t be pacified.

As time went on, I graduated with two degrees: an MBA with an emphasis in International Business and a Juris Doctor in Corporate Law. Because I worked my summers and breaks with Kennedy Enterprises, I not only acquired vast knowledge in mergers, acquisitions and real estate, I also invested every dollar I could get a hold of. For a few years, I headed Mr. Kennedy’s southeast region, but I wanted something of my own. With several lucrative investment returns, I purchased real estate, established two law practices and set-up a few small businesses in my old neighborhood.

I was introduced to Carla Rodgers when I interviewed numerous architects to assist me in rebuilding where I grew up. Her smile was everything. I remember not being able to keep my eyes off of her as she presented her specs and quotes with a non-ostentatious flair that I had never experienced before. As long as I live, I will never forget our meeting. The chemistry ignited between us immediately. She understood my mission and wanted to be a part of it. Carla had listened to me and helped me in many of my projects. She was the stabilizer behind most of my gut-level decisions. When I told her about Michael and Kevin, she was sympathetic, but warned me that they had to make their own way. At first, I did not comprehend her omen, but then she said, “If they don’t care about themselves, they won’t care about you.” During this time I had given both Michael and Kevin financial support, but our lives had taken such different courses, a chasm of ice had wedged us apart.

Envious of my success, Michael stooped to any means to attain the lifestyle he perceived to be mine. First, it was scams, then it was pornography, and lastly—DRUGS. Selling drugs was profitable for a while until he again, cheated the wrong person out of money, and wanted me to pay the debt. I had done this before, but this time I refused. Scared of the consequences and out choices, Michael robbed a bank. A police officer and bystander were killed.

Because Kevin bought into Michael’s bleak philosophy, he became discouraged and drugs became his staple. Kevin loved Michael and me. We were all he had. His father walked out when he was nine. His mother had always ignored him. The over the years-tug-o-war drove him over the edge. Although I was angry with Michael, I used every trump card and ounce of influence I had to get him off. After two years of appeals, Michael’s fate was sealed and he blamed me. As the bailiff led my friend away forever, he turned and spat, “You always thought you were better than us! Well, I hope you’re happy now!” I yelled after him, “No, MICHAEL…!”

CRASH!!!! I bolted forward in utter confusion of being catapulted back into reality. I had dropped the picture that I held in my hand. Carla who had just walked into the room rushed to my side. As I gazed at the shattered images of happy times past, Carla whispered “William, you rebuilt this neighborhood; you’ve started businesses and given people jobs—you did all you could do. What happened to Michael and Kevin was not your fault. Yes, you lost them, but you’ve gained so many others.”

“But, Carla, this is not how it was supposed to be.” I watched her pick up the splintered glass from the floor, her voice became an echo.

“I watched you give your last dime to help the homeless. I saw the delight on your mother’s face when you opened that soul food restaurant that she always wanted. I saw you give kids the same break that Mr. Kennedy gave to you. I fell in love with you while you worked to revitalize the minds of Black people in this community who had given up on the dream of having a slice of pie. William, your dream came true and because of you, others are realizing that theirs can, too. You have never thought about putting yourself first – it has always been what was best for someone else; except of course, when you met me—you had to have me all to yourself!” She laughed, amused at her spiraling and dramatic soliloquy. “Seriously, perseverance and hard work brought you to this place and time, and frankly, I’m thrilled to be a part of it.”

“Thanks for cheering me up. I’m starved.” Carla weaved her arm through mine and gazing lovingly in my eyes, “Dinner is served.”