This American Life

I.

You know that slippery friend? That’s Elgin. He’s a constant presence in my life but our contact ebbs and flows. Elgin is dynamic, to say the least. In every group of friends there's at least one, that friend unwilling to be cast as any of the many types of person. They exist in the space between archetypes, cultivating a personality that gleans traces of each into an amalgamation of something else. That something is usually someone special.

I’m sitting on a comfortable yet unremarkable couch. Around me are the trinkets you would typically associate with a household firmly rooted in an American suburb. I grab a picture off of the mantle. I hold the frame firm and look at the many faces of American servicemen. I’m struck by how similar the individuals look. Shoulder to shoulder is a dizzying array of fatigues, taught uniforms crisp at the edges. The fierce bills of the standard issue military cap give the wall of individuals an impressive stature. I am struck by the faces. The soldier’s do their best to hold the same face; to me it reads as a sense of pride. Amidst an ocean of uniformity the faces are different. These are individuals. Each with his own story, each a product of the experiences accumulated during the first two decades of their life.

I look for Elgin amongst the faces.

This is America.

My job is inherently trivial, I write words. And this has become clear to me, as my biggest challenge in this space is to articulate how the extraordinary can be seen through the prism of ordinary.

Elgin was instantly accommodating when I proposed this project. This is very indicative of his personality. To his closest friends he is simultaneously accessible and esoteric. He is an enigma. Notably he is also a brother, a son, a friend, a confidant, a mentor, a solider, a family man, fiercely loyal but inherently fleeting.

He is also an American Hero.

This would make Elgin flinch, I know this. But hopefully he doesn’t give me too much shit for writing it anyway.

It would be easy to point to the many selfless accomplishments to support this claim, supporting himself, his family, financially, emotionally. This would be enough. But the fact of the matter is that this is only the beginning of what it is that Elgin offers. I’ve come to recognize that his relationship with the world is unique, emoting genuine comfort and confidence, however seemingly never at ease. Think of that friend who expresses himself through a subtle but distinctive accessory.

The American Hero is by my estimation actualized as a proud individual. That is, honorable, laudable, imperfect. These are the necessary ingredients for heroism, but lacking pride the concoction is insufficient. Elgin has checked off the tasks necessary to be considered as such, and it is tempting to focus only on the plot points of his timeline to date. The much more difficult task often is much more illuminating.

I hope to unpack his personality, more often then not a personality that can seem larger then life, into its component parts. My formidable apathy towards drama is dwarfed by my attention to narratives. I am honored to explore this narrative.

II.

The paint on the porch outside Elgin’s mothers home in Pennsylvania is more worn towards the center. Thousands of scrapes and scuffs from shifting chair legs, dog paws, and human feet. Elgin’s parents got divorced only ten years into his life, right in the sweet spot where one transitions from an innocent naïve dependent to operational agency. Elgin’s greatest asset, and perhaps the root of his being is his potential for empathy. The ability to situate oneself in the position of the other requires a breath of emotional intelligence. This feature apparently has been fine tuned by the foreboding chaos, a mammoth twister of vitriol, contempt, frustration, and love.

I hear the screen door snap closed and Elgin’s voice jabs through the thick summer air, “You’re a weirdo for even wanting to do this.” “America needs to hear your story, the slightly overweight and slightly below average looking Peruvian’s path to American hero,” I retort as I take a cold beer from him, “It’s the American dream!” It’s Saturday evening, around dusk; the street offers no suggestion of any emotional unrest. Surly every front yard got it’s weekend shape-up this morning. The sleeve of my t-shirt flits around from the breeze. I don’t know where to start. I had thought about some things I wanted to talk to Elgin about but I didn’t bring the list with me, I figured this would be easy. Elgin’s the first to speak, “You know how my Dad is a Latin chef right, so my Dad’s in their cooking and talking with my Mom but his Spanish is quicker, it’s like he thinks he’s still in the kitchen at the restaurant with his hombres, one hand has a spatula, one hand has a beer, and he has grease all over his shirt, it’s like he has chicken pox or something!” Thankful for his non sequitur I ask him a few questions about his dad. Not surprisingly his father’s story is unique and fascinating. But as I write this I can’t help but think that Elgin’s deprecation at the expense of his father was in deference to the frustration I felt, he knew I couldn’t figure out how to start. I was hoping my frustration was far from apparent, but that couldn’t have been a better example of Elgin’s gift. Elgin has always had the ability to elicit any emotion by using his words as a scalpel. His wit cut in both directions; he was an asshole when you needed to focus, and a friend when you needed a sounding board. “Hold on, did you see Tucker’s post about the education system, the kid can barely form a sentence on paper and he acts like he has something to offer, what a fuckin idiot,” Elgin’s giggling. “Yea dude, let’s let people have any kind of gun they think they need to defend their home, next thing you know there are going to be security companies offering Gatling machine guns to install in your dining room window.” He now starts to do a faux voice over, “Do you hate criminals, or anyone that looks like a criminal? Then do I have the thing for you, using the coupon code ‘A-K-4-7’ redeem your very own military grade Gatling machine gun and one free ammunition belt!” I laugh along with him.

II.

If you’ve ever been to a frat party, congratulations, you have completed an American right of passage. You are probably also familiar with the debauchery that can occur, the noise, the lights, or lacktherof, the sweaty people, the hormones; all contribute to a very primal and often chaotic experience. This can only be rivaled by what goes on near the entrance. Rarely is tribalism so apparent; sentries posted at the front door have unyielding power to determine the outcome of your evening. Women are welcome, as long as they don’t look too drunk and pass as presentable by certain vague standards. Men are unwelcome unless they meet at least two of the following criteria: have a disproportionate ratio of women in their group, or sell drugs (or know someone that does). The only exception is if you are friends with a ‘brother,’ as this social soiree is private. The tribal nature of the interaction, combined with copious amount of alcohol, can lead to altercations. Often these altercations are comprised of average witticism, demeaning observations, and a lot of empty threats. Sometimes either party can get more then they bargained for. The girls and fraternizing inside the house did little to intrigue me, I had a girlfriend, but the people watching afforded during these interactions were priceless.

Elgin and I both get bored easily, and we both felt the same lure from the insanity of these situations. Often, Elgin and I would spend time together as sentries supporting our younger ‘brothers’ to ensure some semblance of structure.

I remember one specific night in which an altercation occurred. It was memorable for a lot of reasons. One of which was my brother was visiting me at college. As a high school senior a frat party can be an overwhelming experience so I was sure to maintain an accurate account of my sobriety. I also made sure my brother got sufficiently intoxicated; in truth he didn’t really need my help.

Remember I had said that sometimes visitors could get more then they bargained for? This was one of those cases. Apparently a relatively innocuous altercation had occurred hours earlier and a group of three had mentioned they were going to go back and “get their boys” and “fuck our asses up.” Usually when someone said that, whoever was guarding the door would tell me, as I was the Sentinel and tasked with organizing this outfit, and I would make sure there were a couple more people guarding the door in case the empty gesture turned out to be substantiated. As I am walking through the hallways looking for the nearest bathroom a couple of the younger ‘brothers’ come running through; it’s a screaming blur, “FIGHT! FIGHT!” Everyone knows what that means. In an instant the driveway was flooded, a mob of white, average looking men, in clothes that are slightly too expensive was hurling threats at one man. This was no ordinary man; his dreadlocks were tied back and fell to the small of his back. His dark 6’2, 220 lbs. frame was silhouetted in a shirt that was at least two sizes too small. His eyes were darting around, meeting no one’s eyes in particular but seeing everyone. His pose was primal, muscles rippled as he struck a defensive pose, fists curled. In the middle of this raucous Elgin was standing there trying to diffuse the situation. His military training had prepared him for a fight, and one had literally come knocking. “It’s not worth it bro, look around, what are you gonna’ do to 40 of us?” It was sound logic, and it was delivered with poise. The former potential visitor, now isolated angry detractor didn’t respond. He just kept looking around, advancing and retreating. Probing, in a menacing, yet nonsensical pattern. I guess at a certain point Elgin had seen enough. Without warning he reached low for the man’s legs, lifted him clear off the ground, and body slammed him into the pavement. The ensuing minute and a half was a flurry of punches. It wasn’t until the man was separated that he was able to retreat into the night. While everyone else had valiantly come to support the cause, Elgin became the solution. He took it upon himself to diffuse the situation.

After a scuffle that occurred on the basketball court between myself and someone else that was more interested in tell me how he wanted to fight then actually fighting, Elgin and I were walking to the dining hall and he had told me his philosophy. “Either the guy wants to fight, or, more likely, he isn’t about it and just want to look tough,” he explained. “Once you decide you’ve had enough with the bullshit, it’s time to find out what he’s about. Strike first, and hit him hard.” It was refreshing to see someone whose analysis wasn’t just a grandstanding philosophy but was actually how he lived his life.

III.

Elgin talked the talk but he walked the walk too. We went to school together at Towson University. Our school wasn’t particularly remarkable, just an above average school with a few elite programs, and the feel of a big school in a little city. We met by virtue of being in the same fraternity. Elgin, being a couple years older then me was part of the brothers, the people you hung with, slaved for, then hung with some more. Frats are weird, but do have some redeeming qualities. I noticed that most of the kids at the frat were regular Americans with a trust-fund-baby vibe due to being products of middle class neighborhoods bordering upper class towns. Elgin stood out, not for his athletic prowess, though he was really good at soccer the frat had tons of athletes, and not for his looks, but by using his wit and deeds to secure a reputation amongst the males as fiercely loyal, funny, and interesting. I guess I should mention he had his way with women too; he would be pissed if I left that out.

I learned through our conversations that he had a unique experience prior to college. As a standout soccer star in high school he had an opportunity to play division I with a scholarship. Unfortunately the school was far away and when Elgin was about to start college his father had protracted cancer. This meant that the responsibilities of running a restaurant, which was a family business, would have to be spread amongst Elgin and his siblings. Elgin was the oldest, so the burden fell on him. The weight was sufficient enough to force him to go to a school closer to his family so he could provide the support that was needed. He signed up for the National Guard not originally out of a sense of patriotism but rather because he needed a way to pay for school. On the porch I ask Elgin how the diagnosis affected his family. He answered in a stilted sputtering way, “It was weird, I mean, obviously everyone was sad at first, but our culture, we just do what’s needed when it’s needed, like, we don’t dwell on the circumstances.” I can tell this conversation is making him uncomfortable because he is struggling for words. Elgin doesn’t struggle for words. “I’m the oldest, and I have a big family, yea my parents also got divorced, but we’re all really close,” he’s trying to continue, to put words to what the time was like. I appreciate that he’s trying, at this point he is trying to remember feelings from years ago, and I can only imagine that going from star athlete to enlisted infantry grunt, on top of the normal challenges of being a college freshman leaving home was difficult. Perhaps he had stored these feelings deep in his memory somewhere. And while Elgin isn’t ever frugal with his words with others, it isn’t always easy to get him talking about himself; I guess it’s hard for him to take his own emotions seriously. It just doesn’t match the rest of his abrasive, ball busting, persona. “I wouldn’t change anything about my upbringing or my experiences, I’ve met some of the most amazing people and made my closest friends here, I don’t feel any anger or anything, you know?” I want to know to what extent that analysis is accurate, whether he actively considers his sense of self. I want to know what portion of his big personality can be attributed to his experiences, or if the person he is today is in spite of his experience. “Do you think that you would feel that way no matter what your experiences were? Let’s say your Dad didn’t get sick and that didn’t unravel this whole chain of events, do you think you would be the same person you are today,” I asked, knowing full well that he had lead me away from the initial line of questioning. I am expecting him to say “No.” I expect him to say that the unique experiences he had are responsible for the person he became. But as he turns to me I notice he’s looking at me like, “Who cares.” I laugh and take another sip of my beer. I notice Lily’s floppy ears as she comes bounding through the screen door with what looks like a stolen chicken bone. We laugh and watch her for a couple moments as she crunches gleefully in the corner of the porch where she’s settled into warm sunspot. Elgin looks at her and she turns to him with a look of acknowledgement, “Lily, to me!” Elgin shouts. I laugh because what was once a face of mischievous ecstasy now looks miserable. She dutifully drags her body over to where we’re sitting and finishes the last few crunches. “Dogs are hilarious,” he says, watching her stare back at him. “I’m her whole world, there is no one human person in the world, I don’t care if you’re fucking Reek or whatever that guys name is from Game of Thrones, that’s more loyal to anyone then a dog is to his handler.” We both take a sip from our beers; I think everyone can take comfort from that universal truth.

IV.

I really did try to do a serious profile on Elgin, and he was helpful. But eventually I realized that what he says about himself isn’t as interesting as the life he has made for himself. Soon he would be moving to the West Coast, pursuing a job at a tech company and living on the beach. At first, that surprised me. While he is independent I know that he likes to be a part of a strong group and at first glance it seemed as though he was abandoning that support system. But for him the comfort afforded by a group is the knowledge of how he can be apart from the group as well. He joined the Army, and through the Army developed some of the strongest relationships one could have, but rarely socialized with his army friends. He had a very close group of friends, but was always careful to remove himself to ensure that in his experiences he wove a unique pattern in the fabric of that network. He came from a big and very close family but hadn’t lived with them since high school. I think he is most comfortable knowing the paradigms so he can frame his own sense of self amongst and relative to those. He utilizes his innate and acute emotional intelligence to navigate an unruly inner turmoil that comes from unique upbringings and a positive outlook.

V.

Thinking back to that picture and those faces I remember that those faces are all people like Elgin. Each individual has a story.

Elgin’s is unique, and I’m proud to call him a friend.