by Jerry McGill
And when that moment arrives it won’t matter what your assailant’s face looked like; whether you saw it coming or you were caught completely off guard. No, at the end of the day all that will matter is that under the dense weight of all that occurred, when all was said and done, you had the strength and the fortitude to lift yourself up, open the door, and step out into the light.
EXT. STREET CORNER—DAY
JEROME sits in his wheelchair looking around him, marveling at how things have changed. An OLDER BLACK MAN, tired-looking, walks up beside him, smoking a cigarette. JEROME turns to him. SUBTITLE: EPILOGUE
JEROME
How you doing?
OLDER MAN
Fine. You?
JEROME
Chilling.
FADE TO BLACK.
Friendships have been my life blood for as long as I can recall. If I were to reference every single person who has had a positive effect on me I could fill a chapter or four. I appreciate them all. But I must give a special shout out to my guys: Gil, Omid, Wind, and Marky Mark. And my dolls: Zora, Ariana, and Kirsten. Your unconditional support has made this moment possible.
acknowledgments
I am most grateful to my mother, Doreen, and my sister, Zonnie. Though we struggled mightily and things weren’t often pretty, these are two strong women who have achieved a lot under extremely difficult circumstances. My mother, in particular, I owe so much to because I honestly believe I inherited her strength.
To Lorrie Moore: So inspired was I by her beautiful, eloquent prose that I reached out to her only in the hope that she would know how much I appreciated the gift she possessed. She took it upon herself to heap praise upon this memoir and it made all the difference. Her support changed my life.
To my resplendent editor at Spiegel & Grau, Hana Landes, who chased me down through the tree-lined streets of Portland, Oregon, to bring my book to the greater public. Hana’s belief in my story was just what I needed to make a dream come true for me and I will forever be in her debt. My entire team at Spiegel & Grau were such a pleasure to work with—they made the transition from small-time writer to larger-time writer a smooth one.
To Shalom Auslander—this cynical bastard was there to provide me with his wonderful, darkly-humorous take on the literary world and he introduced me to my agent, the dedicated Lydia Willis. I thank them both for believing in me.
To Dalton Conley, one of my oldest friends—he has known me since I went by “Jerome.” His own writings on our unique childhood have been a subtle and moving inspiration to me.
To brother Rick Curry, S.J., the founder of the National Theater Workshop of the Handicapped, who pushed me to do something I never really thought I’d care for—get a college education. It really was worth it! Sort of.
To Willie Reale, the founder of the 52nd Street Project, and Carol Ochs, the executive director. They gave me my first job out of college, even sought me out. The experiences I had with their theater company laid the foundation for numerous successes in my life.
And last, but definitely not least, to my hospital staff at the now-shuttered (tragically so) St. Vincent’s Hospital in Manhattan. I never got to thank any of you but your love and comfort took me from a dark place to a light place. How do you thank someone for that? I guess you try to pass that kindness on. Transfer what you learned from them into so-called wisdom. Maybe you write a book.
about the author
JERRY MCGILL is a writer and artist. He received a BA in English literature from Fordham University in the Bronx and his MFA in education from Pacific University in Oregon. He lives in Portland, Oregon, where he writes, paints, and someday plans to shoot a film.
