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Instead of being in Hillsborough—the town I live in—I’m over 50 miles away in East Flatbush, Brooklyn, attending a house party. The party’s over, so I’m leaving with my cousins Ruben, Amandine, and Marv to head back to Hillsborough—or at least make it to the New York/New Jersey state line.
As we crossed the George Washington Bridge, Amandine struck up small talk.
“So, Luckner,” she asked, “how’ve you been?”
“Alright,” I replied indifferently.
“Bro,” Ruben jumped in, “you are a real menace, L.”
I laughed. “I know.”
Marvens kept his eyes on the road, focused on driving, while Ruben probably daydreamed about his next romance.
“You sure you good?” Amandine asked. “Lately, you’ve been kind of short-fused.”
“Well, it’s what the world sees me as. I tried to be different, but things don’t really change, do they? People don’t really change, do they?”
I turned my head and caught one last glimpse of New York City through the window, then faced forward, ruffling my black curly hair.
Amandine gently patted my shoulder. “Well, I’m going to get some rest. Wake me up when we get to Hillsborough.”
I nodded.
What I didn’t know then was that the East Flatbush party would change my life forever. At the time, I was letting Ruben—and especially Marvens—have too much influence over me. My recent behavior had gotten so out of control that there was a real chance I’d get expelled from high school. And that couldn’t happen.
Looking back, that party was like a butterfly effect. It set things in motion. It helped me refocus. That focus would eventually lead to critical acclaim—and maybe even power. But like Peter Parker’s uncle said: with great power comes great responsibility.
But what happens when that responsibility gets to your head—and you start adding responsibilities on top of responsibilities?
Instead of being in Hillsborough—the town I live in—I’m over 50 miles away in East Flatbush, Brooklyn, attending a house party. The party’s over, so I’m leaving with my cousins Ruben, Amandine, and Marv to head back to Hillsborough—or at least make it to the New York/New Jersey state line.
As we crossed the George Washington Bridge, Amandine struck up small talk.
“So, Luckner,” she asked, “how’ve you been?”
“Alright,” I replied indifferently.
“Bro,” Ruben jumped in, “you are a real menace, L.”
I laughed. “I know.”
Marvens kept his eyes on the road, focused on driving, while Ruben probably daydreamed about his next romance.
“You sure you good?” Amandine asked. “Lately, you’ve been kind of short-fused.”
“Well, it’s what the world sees me as. I tried to be different, but things don’t really change, do they? People don’t really change, do they?”
I turned my head and caught one last glimpse of New York City through the window, then faced forward, ruffling my black curly hair.
Amandine gently patted my shoulder. “Well, I’m going to get some rest. Wake me up when we get to Hillsborough.”
I nodded.
What I didn’t know then was that the East Flatbush party would change my life forever. At the time, I was letting Ruben—and especially Marvens—have too much influence over me. My recent behavior had gotten so out of control that there was a real chance I’d get expelled from high school. And that couldn’t happen.
Looking back, that party was like a butterfly effect. It set things in motion. It helped me refocus. That focus would eventually lead to critical acclaim—and maybe even power. But like Peter Parker’s uncle said: with great power comes great responsibility.
But what happens when that responsibility gets to your head—and you start adding responsibilities on top of responsibilities?