Happy B-Way Day

By Lynn Octavius Green

I am writing this letter in the 11th hour. My eyes are tired and my body aches, but my thoughts are clear.

“I would never do that to you. I love you, bro.” These were your last words to me as I sat in Room No. 15 in the education building, typing up another resumé for graduate school. You sat right next to me that day, but only for a moment to speak your piece and embrace me in a hug. Then you were gone.

Just like that, I would never see you again.

I’m still coming to terms with that. I sat in the cell on your birthday, and I cried like a newborn baby. A vicious storm raged outside the broken, battered windows that sat almost directly across from my cell. All of these windows are bolted shut, yet water still enters the cell house.

I also wrote to you that day because I didn’t know what to do. I wrote, and I cried, and I wrote some more, then I cried some more.

I don’t remember the storm ever dying down, but I remember lying down with a face full of tears. In a fit of anger, I balled your letter up and threw it across the room.

Where would I send my letter to you?

I lay there in my bunk listening to the storm range behind me.

“Happy birthday, B-way. You cooked for me on my birthday. So you know I had to cook for you on your day,” I said out loud to no one.

But guess what? Every person, you hear me? Every person from the NPEP community and beyond who you impacted with your light, every person who loved you, like your Cohort 1 brothers, all cooked or participated in celebrating your birthday. Can you believe that?

I’m pretty sure we will celebrate your birthday every year. Your birthday may become an NPEP holiday that the entire NPEP community will celebrate someday. Happy B-Way Day! I like the sound of that.

Happy birthday, B-Way.

You’ll always be loved, celebrated, and never forgotten.