#2 WAKE UP, THE SHADES ARE OPEN

By J.J. Colagrande

Teflon I’ve been by my boy’s side. I didn’t leave, not at first, not until Melody Rain called me did I leave Thelonious. Are you kidding me? I didn’t go to Oracledang. I came right to Mercy hospital and I’ve been with that nigga almost every day since. Me. I was the one who called Mr. and Mrs. Horowitz to tell them what happened to their son. Can you imagine telling your best friend’s parents that their only son is in a drug-induced coma? How do you explain that the doctors didn’t think he would survive? And that they were the ones who would have to decide to pull the plug or to keep him alive? A parent is not supposed to outlive a child. Name one parent who would rather live longer than their child and I’ll name you a parent who doesn’t know what selfless-love means. I could name you one, actually. Luckily, Mr. and Mrs. H are not as selfish as my father. On the contrary, the Horowitzes flew to Chicago for their son and decided to fight any way they could. They would spend their fortune on specialists and private care. Mr. H would sell all his art for the costs, if necessary. Sometimes you have to fight to keep a family together. You do whatever it takes. And Thelonious, well–that nigga’s my family. And I don’t want this family to tear apart. I will save Thelonious.  Originally, everyone thought it was a normal drug overdose, but as the initial reports came in it appeared to be more than just drugs. Mr. Horowitz had Thelonious moved from Mercy to Northwestern Memorial. He brought in a special toxicologist and even an epidemiologist–I don’t know all the medical terminology, but they’re trying their best to figure out what exactly is inside his body, why it’s effecting him in such a manner, and most importantly, how can they fix it? There’s some strange concoction of poisons effecting him in a manner where he should be dead. This is a mess. I can’t lose my best friend, not after my moms. I’m not as strong as people think. I may look like a warrior on the outside; I may be a warrior on the inside, but I can’t handle this shit. That motherfucker better not die on me. He can’t. No freaking way. Thank God Mr and Mrs. H are there. They really showed me where Thelonious gets his never-give-up attitude. Monk used to tell me how he thought his parents changed because they didn’t always support him. He’d say he never understood what happened to the dreamer in them; well, I can testify that if those old timers abandoned their dreams, they’re rekindled. And their dream is simple–it’s the same dream I have–the same dream and prayer that is in the hearts and minds of a lot of heads–Thelonious can not and will not die. This is family yo–the committy. We must save Thelonious.

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