Trevon

Memories of my friend, Trevon

Trevon

            I had never known my mother to be tardy. She had always made sure that she was up in the morning to make us food and ensure that my siblings and I were dropped off at the public school down Granville Avenue in Roger’s Park. I showered, ate, and watched the news like a sacred ritual, and the clichés of modern media- the blood, the violence, and the incarceration of bad men- were displayed on a 15-inch screen every morning. Little did I know, Trevon would be on the train half-asleep finishing his multiplication and worksheets while I was nestled under my seatbelt of my Toyota Previa. My mother would lovingly and caringly scream, shout, and lecture before she told us she loved us as we’d jump out of the car for a better future. Trevon would get there late, and Mrs. Christiansen would scream, shout, and lecture before she told him that his homework was too late to turn in.

            My father was a strict man who knew a thing or two about fun and he had always made sure that his actions were fair and reasonable. He was a sage in his own right, for it had been through his faults that he found humility and kindness, and it had been through tragedy that he found his strength and perseverance. I had never known my father to be uncaring, and it would- to this day- anger me that I had ever thought my father to be otherwise. He would pick me up from school after a long, early day at work and he would ask me if I had learned anything new. Once, he asked about Trevon on our way to play tennis, but in my blind ignorance I replied, “Can you get a black eye from falling?”

            Trey would dribble the ball across the sun-drenched court like Michael Jordan and yell “Kobe” when he shot paper balls across the classroom. Colorful days were gifted by humor and pomp when Trevon would attempt to flatter the teacher, insisting that her beautifully crafted lecture on The Holocaust was so powerful and unforgettable that homework would be unnecessary for that night. With every derailed discussion about Derrick Rose’s recovery and playability, his heart soared like a speeding hawk, his speech was as analytical as Stephen A. Smith’s passionate rants and reports, and his mind was as clear as the water of Lake Michigan. He ran the fastest. He talked the fastest. He was the talk of the town! He was in every sport and often I spent afternoons playing ball at Emerson Park with him, Shabby, Jocelyn, Dwayne, and Eric. We would play into the late evening when the low-income workers and laborers arrived home, tired, poor, and restocked with the newest strands and the “freshest s**t” on the street. Edwin Plata motioned us over. “Ya’ll n****s ever smoked? Here, take a hit, my man. How ya’ll feel?”

            I was sent to the main office with Alim and Gordon a month before 8^th grade graduation. Tommy had been sent home after his bloody nose and cut lip dyed his white uniform red, the dreaded color of the streets. A student dared not to wear red, but, as usual, Trey would be the statistical anomaly, the boy the rules forgot. We saw him through the glass window of Principal Gomez’s office door, dirt-covered and stained with Tommy, smiling and smirking as the neckless and chinless principal turned red with anger and disgust. Alim, Gordon, and I laughed loudly and joyfully, and we laughed harder when we heard “F**K YOU, B***H!” coming from the small room at the end of the corridor. A few minutes passed as Trey had been subdued and led out of the main office, but not before he looked at me and smiled with sincerity, humility, and embarrassment. Shortly after, Alim, Gordon, and I paid the rest of our graduation fees.

            As Company Commander of A Company, it was my job to make sure that the cadets under my command were, in a sense, better than B Company. This meant that I had to be familiar with regulation and disciplined myself with organization and tact. If a cadet was out of uniform, or if they simply did not follow regulation, it would reflect badly upon their commanding officer. Thankfully, Trey was in B Company, led by Diana Espinosa. After successfully becoming 5^th best Drill Commander in the Master Division at the JROTC Chicago Drill Competition, leading my team to win 3^rd in Uniform Inspection and 4^th in Marching, I had gained a respectable reputation among the program, the faculty, and the community. Meanwhile, Edwin had started expanding and rumor had it that he was looking for someone to go into business with. As I woke up at 5 am to go the gym, made my way to school by 7, drilled until 8, attended class, went to wresting practice every day, and went to Robotics and Coding club on Wednesdays and Thursdays, Trey woke up at 8 am and was high by 8:15. Afterschool, he was at Stone Park on the eastside of a building sitting under a tree, waiting for regular customers or motioning kids to take a hit of his tightly wrapped Swisher Sweet.

            My father wanted one thing for Christmas one year; a Christmas song, played acoustically by me. O Holy Night was a simple song that consisted of only a few chord progressions, but it was harder to learn knowing that my father would prefer that I sing in front of my whole family. Who was I to deny my caring father a simple and sincere gift? Each day I searched for videos and I taught myself of the ins and outs of song’s rhythm, tone, and power. Each day I could feel my heart grow weary that it would not be enough or that I would get flustered and make mistakes. However, on Christmas Eve, I found myself grinning as I played to a singing crowd of family members and friends. In that moment realized that my father’s gift was shared to all, but out of all my many friends that were there that night, Trey was in Evanston. In days prior, he searched for gifts and taught himself of the ins and outs of certain doors, gates, and houses. By New Year’s Eve, Trey had gone to the Juvenile Temporary Detention Center, and on my birthday he sang to me on the phone before the line cutoff unexpectedly.

            Freshman year of college was one of the hardest experiences that I have had the pleasure to go through. They say that pledgeship would be the greatest fun that you’d never want again, and, for the most part, it’s true. My grades and GPA were not up to par with the expectations of the school, my family, and myself, so I missed out on many opportunities to apply for internships during the summer. Luckily, I found a job working as a cashier and fry cook at M Burger in Skokie with Trey. Being a part-time employee, I felt that there was no need for me to negotiate the terms of my pay and hours, so I told them to schedule me as they saw fit. Trey flipped M Burgers and Chicken Betty’s behind the grill each morning until his girlfriend, Jocelyn, took his spot behind the grill at 4 pm. In the afternoons, he drove up to a factory in Boling Brook where he packed boxes until 2 am. He would drive back home on the south side to “pick up” and “re-up” so that he could make runs around the city on his free time and breaks. As I complained about school, tuition, and grades, Trey would sit on the counter, meekly leaning against oil-covered walls to get the only sleep he’ll have for the day. Later that month, he would sleep behind the wheel, crashing into 4 cars at the corner of Cicero and 25^th. He was fined for possession and he would spend the next weeks sleeplessly paying for the damages.

            Nearing the end of the summer, my world turned around. Edwin had thrown a block party for his family and the opportunity for financial gain and seducing potential customers was at an all-time high for him and his crew. I was working the evening shift and Trey had sent us Snaps of him drinking, smoking, and dancing as the lively music blared throughout the kitchen. As my coworkers and I were watching on the tiny screens of our phones, I pointed the camera my face and took a photo. “Wish I was there Bro! Turn up!”. In fact, he did. He was inebriated when he drove home in his new, leased Nissan, and it would have seemed that he was going to make it before a police officer followed him. Pulled over by his apartment the officer kindly walked him to his door willing to forget about the ticket and charges altogether, but Trevon would end up in jail that night. As the police officer opened the door with Trevon’s keys, the scent was too strong- the plants in the guest room were blooming and the UV lights could be seen from the doorway.

Currently being held in prison until his court date in January, he sits alone.