Brent’s Retelling of Self

Brent gathered us all at Catahoula Coffee, in El Cerrito, CA. There was 11 of us, but I knew only a handful—guys I’d meet up with with a couple of times per month to crack jokes, talk footy (soccer), and trade investment tips. Brent was the anchor, the center of the web. Everyone loved him—and this day we showed him that love because he was up and about, having kicked cancer’s ass for the second time. Brent is the kindest man I’ve ever met. If you need him, he’s there. It doesn’t matter if you ask him for a ride to the airport, or to move a couch, if it is within his capacity, it’s done. Of course I was going to show up for him.

As usual, when I walked in, he was holding court. He looked healthy. He looked energized, as if powered by something other than the smoothie he held in his hand. We locked eyes and he let out a huge, “Yoooooooo!!!!! Big Shawn is in the place!” Greetings and well-wishes all around. I dapped up a few folks, got my coffee, and sat down. As usual, Brent didn’t wast any time.

“Thank you all for being here, for helping me fight (indicating his body)…this, and a huge shout out to Marcus for telling my mom off several ledges. This second time around got me thinking. I spent so much time ruminating—a concept my therapist taught me—that forgot how to live. No more, ya’ll. I’m all about life!”

We all cheered. Some of the other patrons shot us dirty looks. A couple of us responded with looks of our own.

“I wanted to thank ya’ll and tell ya’ll part of my new life thing is that I’m moving to Amsterdam. Me and Ada are laving in a month.”

It was like a bolt of lightning slammed into the group. So many oohs and aahs of disbelief.

I was happy for him. “I didn’t know you two were that serious. But, word. Good for you. Handle that.”

“Yeah, bro. She got a new job. Medical bills didn’t kill my savings or my portfolio. I sell the house here, we’re going to be straight there.”

A dude I didn’t know, Scotty, said, “You’re following a woman? To another country? The hell?”

It kind of sounded like a joke, but his voice dropped to this weird octave.

We were split. Some of us were genuinely happy for him, while the others thought, somehow, that him ‘following a woman to a different country’ was not a manly thing to do.

Another guy, I can’t remember his name because it wasn’t worth committing to memory, got a little elevated: “After everything we’ve done for you, rocking with you through your illness, your just going to leave us? That’s lightweight some bitch shit.”

Brent then said the most selfish thing I’d ever heard him say, and I was proud. “This isn’t about you. This is about me and the woman I am in love with, who saw me through my lowest and still stayed. She could’ve bounced, but she didn’t.”

I stepped in, “That’s a really shitty thing to say to our guy who is trusting us to be happy for him. Just be happy for him and hush.”

Dude Whose Name Wasn’t Worth Remembering stood up and leaned over me. I asked him if he was sure he wanted to do that. He moved little closer and saw tears in his eyes. While I did have some sympathy for him, I don’t take too kindly to threats, implicit or overt.

“You’re here with tears in your eyes. Stop being a dick and just say you’re going to miss him. I’m going to miss him, too. But his happiness is way more important than my sadness. I, for one, plan on visiting him. Just admit you’re sad and stop trying to act all hard. You look ridiculous.”

He stopped advancing, turned and stormed out.

Like I said, I did have a little empathy for him. Too many men are stuck in this horrible story of having to be hard, all the time. They have been taught that anything, other than aggression, is somehow antithetical to masculinity. Living this story will disrupt relationships—it will damage precious moments. I recognized that in me, and felt my face hot with tears as I acknowledged how much work it took me to rewrite myself, to live a much different story.

I stood up, twin waterfalls streaming down my face, and hugged Brent. I whispered to him, “I love you.” When he said, “I love you too” there was no whisper. When me let go of each other, I turned around and the remaining men were crying.

While Brent wouldn’t be readily accessible anymore (good for him) and I was sad about this ending; it felt like the beginning of something else—at least for these men.