Remembering Marcel IV

Marcel, the Good Ole Boys 

made your life hell, in high school, 

taunting you to make themselves feel big.

You could not come out as gay
in 1964 Immaculata High,

but they sensed your difference from the herd 

and avoided their own insecurities by tormenting you.

"Begone, thou milk-faced fools!" you'd rage,

face red, tears of frustration in your eyes.

They fell about laughing like the fools they were.

I did not know how to stop their taunting cries.

I fell in beside you, as you walked away,

in solidarity, and wordlessly we trudged

away from those laughing fools, 

just one more day we'd spent  

surviving school.

You waited for me every morning after that,

at the corner of Richter and Elliott in the snow.

We'd trudge back towards the unfriendly, lighted school,

part at the lockers with a silent nod.

"Courage!" was the word we did not say,

but needed, to withstand each painful day.

In university, you lived your happiest years,

and found your one brief love,

 finally were accepted as the brilliant, funny, 

endearing intellectual you were.

Ten times more interesting than the fools 

who'd jeered,

you went on to a brilliant career.

I found you again years later,  

ill, struggling, impoverished, alone.

You had been gay-bashed, identified your attacker,

but the police were indifferent to your plight.

You grew tired of the struggle

of surviving. I heard you faltering, 

but did not recognize the clues,

one afternoon received a phone call.

You had left this world.

I'd lost the friend I thought I'd never lose.

I wish I could write a happier end

to the story that was your life, my friend.

I would write of kindness and inclusion

and your life continuing on.

The world is much diminished

by your being gone.

for Susan's prompt at Midweek Motif: Bullying. 

I have written earlier poems, and a story, about Marcel's life, which impacted me profoundly. He left a letter for me when he left this world, saying he had just gotten tired of the struggle. In the photo he is holding his beloved Paprikas, two weeks before his death, when he already knew he would be leaving. I found out when it was too late that his dying wish had been that Paprikas be spared the trauma of going to the SPCA, that he be put to sleep. But the family had just 24 hours to clear out his apartment, and in haste they took poor Paprikas to the SPCA after all. This photo haunts me. A sad life, that should have been much happier.