In Memorium of John H. Todd, III

I can remember when I found out the news about your death. The utter shock, as I opened the Metro newspaper, on the 42 bus, on my way home from my shift at Zanzibar Blue. I can remember it like it was yesterday, and although it has been years since you've passed, there is not a day that goes by that I don't think of you. I don't ever think that you knew how much I appreciated you, although I tried to convey my love for you the best way that I could. I still have no regrets about what I should've, could've, or would've said to you. I feel that you already knew. I do regret that our friendship was cut short. I wish that the world had the chance to see more of your artwork, though you did make a name for yourself in the art world. So, this message is to my friend, whose spirit will never die...

I remember when we first met. It was in King of Prussia, and you were giving a few of us a ride to a rave. We instanstly clicked, listening to drum and bass and hip-hop in your car. I was happy that I was going to have someone that wasn't afraid to dance. I will never forget the look on your face when both of us pulled out the same Triple 5 Soul hoodie to put on when it got chilly. After that, we were pretty much inseperable. Part of the reason that I knew that we had a real friendship is because I knew that I could trust you. Never had to worry about what you were going to try to do to me, or what your motives were. I remember all of the shows that we went to...Jurassic 5, Dilated Peoples, Public Enemy, The Roots, Kool Keith...I could go on for days. I can remember the days at The Gathering and The Painted Bride. Us hype to spit whatever poem we had written. I remember when you would come to the house and bring canvas and paint, so that we could paint a picture together. I remember the days when you would drive 45 minutes into the city, just to stop by my job on South Street to say hi, and wait until my shift was over, so that I could ride with you to get the cheesesteak that you had been craving all day. I remember your deployment...both of them.

I think back on everything. You were the first one that I told when I fell in love. You told me to hold onto him because he treated me so well. Better than any of the other ones. I can remember when you came into my job right before you were about to leave for Iraq to get our new address. You said that you and Colleen were planning on getting married in July, and Dug and I had to be there. We talked for a long time, and I knew that after you got back from Afghanistan, you were never going to be the same. In my heart of hearts, I knew that this was going to be the last time that we saw one another. I tried to remain positive and confident in front of you, but I knew then and there that I was going to lose you. We promised to keep in touch, and we did as much as we could.

And then...

One night on my way home from work, I picked up a Metro newspaper that was lying on the seat next to me. I skimmed through the paper, read some articles, and then closed it. Something told me to go through that paper again; this time around taking my time. Divine Intervention. I discovered a small article somewhere in the middle of the paper. Cpl. John H. Todd, III was killed by a roadside bomb in Baghdad, along with two other Marines in his platoon. I let out a wail after everything registered in my head, and asked the bus driver to let me out. It was all so surreal. "Why, John?" I called my parents. They were very fond of John. He gave off great energy, and always showed my family and friends the utmost respect. Through sobs, I told my dad that John died. I didn't hear anything that my dad was saying over the phone. I was too upset.

"Where are you right now?", my dad asked.

"36th and Walnut."

"Get home and call his family and then call us back. Make sure that it really happened before you get yourself all worked up, Angie."

"Dad, there's only one John Todd, III from Bidgeport...it's him...I can feel it."

"Okay, call me. Does Dug know?"

"No. I haven't talked to him yet. He's at band practice. I'll call you in a little bit, Dad."

I stood on the corner for a little while longer, attempting to process all of the emotions that were running through me. I was going to walk the nine blocks to get home, but decided it was in my best interest to hop in a cab. A cab driver pulled over as soon as I put my hand up...he could see that something was wrong. He asked if I was okay once I closed the door, and I told him that my friend had just died in the war. More sobbing. He drops me off in front of our buiding, and told me not to worry about the fare. I will never forget that man.

I walk up to our apartment, and D isn't home yet. I pick up the phone to call John's family, and his aunt answered. Now I know that it MUST be true. John's mom was the only one who ever picked up the phone, with the rare chance that his younger brother, Steve, would pick it up if their mom wasn't home. I asked his aunt if it was true, and she said yes. I asked how Colleen was doing...I can't even imagine how she felt. His aunt had told me that John and Colleen decided to have a small ceremony with their family two days before he was deployed. She told me all of the details of the viewing and funeral, and I asked her to relay my condolences to the family. Ok, now it's time for me to prepare for yet another funeral. Another friend's funeral. FUCK!

I'm still pissed. Upset behind the fact that while we were attending your viewing, two of your so-called childhood "friends" broke into you and you wife's apartment and stole your video games and computers to sell for dope. I'm pissed that you joined the military, hoping that you would be able to get the money to go back to art school. I'm pissed that you only got to spend two days with Colleen as husband and wife. I talked to your grandfather at your funeral, and he thanked me. I never knew that grandpop knew who I was...but you knew who I was, and I appreciated that. When everyone misconstrued your poem "Angie's Words" that you spit at The Gathering, as you and I being together. Making assumptions instead of asking what was real. Talk about women and their drama, it was all men in this case. But I knew what it meant, and I thank you for taking my advice to you about a lost love, and writing a beautiful poem.

John, it's been years...about 6, and all that I can say again is thank you for making an appearance in my life. You have taught me much, and I will always be grateful to you for that. You will never be forgotten, and I vow to stand true to the words that I said to your mother, and continue to ensure that I do my part to make sure that your spirit never dies...R.I.P., brother.

Peace.Love.
Ms. Angie Lee