Well, that’s it! Everything that begins has to end, so this is the end of the book. Having to end this shit got me thinking about endings. When you say the word “ending” out loud, it sounds final. I mean, you hear on the news about a muthafucka driving at 100 MPH who hit a wall and met his end—now, that’s final. And to be honest, in that case, he did meet his end. When you think about his ass, it probably did slam into his head; that is the definition of a person meeting his damn end. But that is an example of a final end. To be honest, most ends lead to a beginning, if you let them. Take me, for instance. One day I got a call from my sister, inviting me to come live with her at some rich ass Jewish man’s place. Cut to years later, that rich Jewish man is even richer, he and my sister have broken up, she, my auntie, and the kids are gone, I’m living with him and he’s my rich ass Jewish friend. Actually, he became more than a friend: that man is family. Now I know you might think that I’m taking advantage of him, Larry might even think that sometimes, but every time he tries to bring up some bullshit like that, I remind him that we have an even steven relationship, tit for tat if you will. I give that man just as much as he gives me. We have shared a lot of shit. I taught him many things, like how to lamp or do the dizzle, and he got me eating shit like borscht, gefilte fish, and matzo ball soup. That’s some of the tastiest, nastiest shit I’ve ever eaten! I have had a lot of good times with that man and plan to have a lot more, but eventually this shit will have to end. Sometimes I get sad looking at him puttering around his house, doing things like looking for his glasses while they are sitting on top of his head, and I wonder to myself what shit he’s gonna leave me in his will. He’s got a lot of shit: white shit, like golf clubs, vases, deck shoes, et cetera.
Look, life is like a long climb up a mountain. When it starts off, it’s not too scary, but eventually, the higher you go, the more dangerous it gets. As you climb, sometimes the moves are easy: You pick the right friend or the right job or the right partner . . . But sometimes the moves get tricky: You have bills, you get divorced, you get sick, things like that. Every now and then, though, you find a little ledge: tiny but kind of safe—not safe enough to live on, but safe enough to stay awhile, get your shit together, drink a little water, and plan your next move. I’ve been sitting on one of those ledges for a while now, and soon it will be time to leave, but I’ll never forget this ledge. It means everything for me to have it. As you know by now, the ledge I refer to is a metaphor—unless of course you are one of those crazy ass muthafuckas who actually climb mountains, in which case I have to ask you, “Why the fuck do you climb mountains? You’re probably one of those people who are able to parasail on a Tuesday workday. Must be fuckin’ nice.”
Anyway, back to the rest of you: In the metaphor I just created, that little ledge can represent a lot of things: a rehab center, going back to school, finding a briefcase full of clean, unmarked bills, et cetera. In my case, though, that ledge was a white man with a bald head, long balls, and a huge heart. And one day, there will come an end to this chapter in my life, and I will have to move on and let all this fancy shit go.
And on that day, I will look that lanky white man in the eyes, fist bump his lanky white hand, thank him for everything, and say, “I left you some Chinese food up in my room on that goddamn twin bed. LD, you take care. I’m out.”