JARVIS....

          
           "What's good wit' ol' John Amos...? HAAAAA! Muthafukka!!!!" His laughter was contagious, and my attempt to resist it was completely foiled as he choked on a mouthful of Black & Mild smoke, tears streamed down his round face. That was Jarv's way of, once again, making fun of my wide, flat nose. Even though this had always been a touchy subject for me, I couldn't help but laugh. Jarvis was a clown, always laughing, always up to something, irritating as shit most of the time, but overall, one of the coolest cats u could meet. You couldn't help but love him. I almost threatened to leave him at our job since I was usually his ride home, but tonight he had brought his Bottom Bitch out, a '68 Buick Skylark GS which was his pride and joy. This only meant one thing... Freeway race. These races were pretty typical on Friday Nights when he, I, and a handful of our coworkers would tear up the 880 freeway full throttle for the roughly 12 mile distance between West Winton in Hayward and the 98th ave exit in Oakland. Although my '96 Cutlass Supreme was obviously no match for his muscle car, I'd actually managed to steal a few wins with a little luck an a lot of Super-Dave esque lane-jumping.  Tonight however, Jarvis would once again take the race due to light traffic. And when his Bitch got any stretch of open road beneath her, the rest of us could only compete for 2nd place. "FUUUUKK!" I Slammed my fist against the steering wheel. I was pissed, not so much about losing as i was in just knowing that the next hour would be spent hearing Jarvis beat his weekly bragging rights to death. I exited the freeway and followed him to the front of my house. He opened the door. "Bounce in lil' nigga (He was only 3mos older than me, but still called me that because of my 5'10" 150lb frame) you already we to the store. It's cat-off hour" I hopped in his car, and we were off.

             Cat-off hour was the time we spent unwinding night each after the 1:30pm to 10:30pm shift at our warehouse job which we worked together. Sometimes we went to local bars for drinks, sometimes we headed to friends houses, but mostly we'd buy two half-pints of Hennessy, park, talk, share stories, and give each other advice on the situations which took place in our mutually hectic lives. Sometimes this time would last an hour, and sometimes we would talk into the early hours of the morning.  Of all the nights this ritual took place, this night in particular stuck with me because of something Jarvis said to me. While he played the newly released Shawty-Lo cd through his ridiculously loud sound system, I freestyled over the first 3 songs without missing a beat, (or even stopping to wait for tracks to change for that matter) and he bobbed his head, coercing me to go harder with each bar. Suddenly Jarv turned the music down, "Hold up.... Hold up...Shut the fuck up Lil' Nigga!". "What the fuck man!?!?" I half screamed, irritated with the fact that he had broken my concentration during one of my craziest sessions up to that point. He looked at me, took a swig from his bottle, turned the music off, and said "You ain't got no business punchin' that clock at that punk ass job Lil Nigga. You put shit into words in ways that muuahfukkas can't even think of. You bigger than this shit cuzz. Everybody ain't got the choice you got. Real shit Lil Nigga". It might have been the first time in all the years I knew him that he was completely serious about anything. I wasn't sure how to take it so I just replied "Cut the music on wit yo goat mouthed ass" and resumed rapping with him egging me on. And that was that.

            In the months following that night Jarvis and I had all sorts of hilarious adventures . Including the night my car was towed by the police because we had open alcohol containers and he talked the officers into giving our bottles back since they were already towing me. The time he gave me a half ass tune-up because his chubby ass hands couldn't fit behind my side mounted engine to reach my other 3 spark plugs. The all out wars we waged with our coworkers in the warehouse, our weapons of choice being 5lb bags of cheese cubes which he could throw with nearly lethal precision. The day he called my cell phone, disguised his voice and and said he was a detective with the police department and that my car had been involved in an armed robbery (It carried on through the whole shift and he and a few others that were in on it had almost convinced me to cut my hair).  And countless drunken "cat-off" sessions after work with friends, family women, and anyone else that was lucky enough to witness the comedic spectacle that was our friendship. We were pretty much inseparable 5 days a week for a year.  Sure we had our fights (and they were huge) but they were more often than not, forgotten by quitting time. He was more than someone I simply worked with, he was a friend which I learned as well as taught many crucial life lessons.

             The last time we saw one another, I was mad at him behind some shit so insignificant I can't even remember at the moment.  It was the day I left the job for the last time. We had been feuding childishly for a week or two and neither one of us had been adult enough to swallow our pride and admit wrong. There was a lot I wanted to say. A lot I wanted to thank him for. Teaching me how to install my own music in my car, (which was one of his favorite past times) sharing his life experiences with me, but most of all, letting me know on that one night in his Skylark, that he had, did, and would always believe in me no matter what. However, I said nothing. I just nodded farewell. A nod which he smirked and silently returned.

           For the next 2 months I went on with life. Stopping from time to time just long enough to consider calling Jarv to see if he was up to grabbing some drinks or hitting up a club, but for whatever reason I never quite got around to it. "Hey... I'll do it tomorrow or next week maybe." was always how the thought ended. One morning after a phone call I had received, I slid into my shoes, grabbed my keys, and raced to the store to pick up the day's edition of the news paper. I stood in the parking lot and anxiously flipped through the pages.... 1 DEAD, 1 WOUNDED IN WEST OAKLAND SHOOTING... The headline was unreal to me. It must have been a mistake. The short article stated that 26yr old Jarvis Hodges had been killed when the car which he was a passenger in was caught in a hail of bullets from an assault rifle, in what appeared to be case of mistaken identity. I stood in utter and complete disbelief as I took in the rest of the article which spoke of the incident and an investigation yet failed to state anything of any real substance regarding the life of this young man, my friend, who had been taken far too soon.

          They didn't say Jarvis was a father of a one year old son that meant the world to him. A son who later that day would only further break my heart by asking for his Daddy when I walked into his mother's house because Jarvis and we spent so much time together he was sure his father was right behind me. They didn't mention his 8 year old sister on whom he spent a large portion of his hard earned money spoiling with whatever she wanted that he could afford. They didn't mention his mother who not only lost her only son, but her best friend. There was no mention of the countless friends whose hearts he had touched is his short time on this planet all of which had never known him to bring anything but joy and laughter to the lives of those which he came in contact with. No... There was no mention of any aspect of his life other than being yet another nigga in the wrong place at the wrong time. Fighting back tears of anger, frustration, guilt, and regret, I went into the store and purchased a pint of Hennessy. I twisted off the cap, took a long swallow, and poured the bottle out in the parking lot. My last drink with one of the best friends I was sure I would ever have in life.

           I attended his funeral the next week. The only one I'd attended since I lost my mother 7 years prior. It was an emotional service. A far cry from the fashion shows/ drinkless functions that most young funerals have become in Oakland these days. During the viewing of the body I could hear his mother's cries. A cry unique from any other because there is no earthly pain worse than that of a mother cursed with burying her child. I stood over the open casket numb with the realization that I would never again hear his laugh, a laugh that only he had which invoked laughter within who were in earshot. I spent the next few seconds trying to wrap my mind around the fact that it was actually his body lying before me. I waited for tears that would never come, they had long ago dried up with the losses of so many friends before him. I studied his face briefly, it looked peaceful and even held a trace of the signature grin which he was known and loved for by so many. Then it was goodbye for us. I kissed my two fingers, touched his cold forehead with them, adjusted the lapels on his suit, and walked out of the funeral home. Once outside, I dialed his number and his voice broke in after a short musical interlude by Shawty-Lo..."Ay it's Jarv... Leave it...". I told him everything I wish i would have before that day, said  "See u in a minute Cuzz" and sent the message. Hoping he would get some sort of reception upstairs and hear it.

            I don't have to tell you guys the meaning of this story but I will anyway. Each Black Man killed is equivalent to a number of people because he leaves a different footprint on each life he touches. This is just my story regarding Jarv. I'm sure there are hundreds of people with thousands more stories to tell. And this is the case with each of us. Fathers, Brothers, Sons. Cousins, Husbands, Friends. We must learn to see all these things in our Brothers before we see one another as targets. You may be shooting one person... But you're drastically affecting countless lives in the process.... It stops only when we say it does.....

           RIP Jarvis Hodges
                        You still owe me half a tuneup Nigga!! I still got the spark plugs on my dresser...
                                                              You'll Be Missed

            AND THAT'S JUST THE WAY I SEE IT......