Memphis Nights

The thunderous sound of the approaching storm shook me from my daze as I drove over the Hernando De Soto Bridge or the “M Bridge” as I would come to learn, into Memphis, Tennessee. The weather reports said it had been raining in Memphis and its surrounding areas for three days straight, with continued down pours expected for another two days. The dark skies seemed to keep dropping rain and raising the humidity, making it feel oppressive. I was quickly learning what it was going to be like living in the south during the summer. For the past fifteen hundred miles, I had been telling myself that I was making a huge mistake starting over at this point in my life. I was probably better off staying back home and dealing with all of the things that made me unhappy. After awhile, even I knew that pretending and faking your way through life wasn’t enough for anyone. For over thirty years, I had spent every waking moment taking care of everyone else. After high school, I had taken care of my family when they had gotten sick. I helped my friends deal with their personal issues, and I lent a hand to my colleagues to solve their daily trials and tribulations. Not once had I ever done anything to make me happy. My biggest problem since childhood had always been my self-esteem. People always told me I was amusing and a kick to hang out around. Inside, I felt like an insecure child trying to get people’s attention. I was never happy with the way I looked, sounded or acted because I never thought I was good enough. I hate to say that I blamed my parents for my issues, but don’t we all, in one form or another? I knew they loved me. That was easy to see. What I never received was the push that most kids get to help them pop out of their shell. I was brought up to be the “good” son that always helped others before worrying about me. If there had been a support group for people like me when I was younger, I would have joined purely to hear myself say, “My name is Trey Williams and I need a change.” I’ve always accepted my insecurities and occasional shyness, but in many ways, they were the main causes to all of my problems. I spent so many years trying to help everyone and please everyone so I could be accepted and liked that, after a while, I forgot to please myself. I did what everyone else wanted to do simply to be a part of the group and I went along with other people’s opinions so I wouldn’t rock the boat. So, yeah, you could say I was a “yes man”. I found myself getting lost in the shuffle for many years. Then recently, someone turned on a light bulb in my head and made me see what I had been missing. Just because I had a decent job, a fancy car, and a nice house didn’t mean my life was picture-perfect. On the contrary. My life was a living hell. To anyone else, those things might have meant having a great life. To me, none of those things made me genuinely happy. There was something missing. A void that money, work, or any number of materials things wasn’t going to fill. Every morning I rolled out of bed and pretended to be happy. Most everyone knew I was faking it. I would drudge through the day, dealing with the day-to-day issues of my job before heading to the gym to enjoy my brief solace. Then the whole thing ended when I rush home to make dinner before starting the whole cycle over again. It was a routine. A plain and simple routine. There was no spontaneity. No fun or pleasure. There were only mundane actions and conversations with people about things that didn’t really matter. I was used to it and I didn’t try to fight it. That was my life and it was what it was. At least that’s what I kept telling myself every night as I tried to fall asleep with the help of a few pills. Day after day, there were problems to solve. It would have been fine to deal with if only I enjoyed my life. A friend had once told me that there is a huge difference between waking up to a job and waking up to a purpose. Little did I know how true it was when she said it. I had recently ended a relationship and I was still trying to figure out how to deal with the change. We had been together for quite a while, but somehow we drifted apart. Once that happened, the notion of moving on with my life had been on my mind a lot. I started thinking it was time to look after myself and do what I wanted for a change. Moving away and leaving everything behind wasn't going to guarantee me a successful future, but at least it would give me a chance to try something new. Friends and co-workers had listened to my complaints and offered up advice to try to help. Some of their words made sense while others told me what I wanted to hear. There were so many instances that I wasn’t sure, if people were actually trying to help me or if they merely wanted to make me feel better so that I wouldn’t do anything drastic. After listening to everyone, I finally realized that the only person I needed to listen to was myself. No matter what I was afraid of or how much I knew it was going to hurt, it was time to make my life into what I wanted it to be. Nothing was going to change unless I changed it. “I’m leaving,” I told one of my few closest friends. “I think it’s time. It’s not working here anymore and I’m tired of pretending.” Saying it aloud had taken a lot of courage but it felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. The look I had gotten in return was something I expected. Kenny Jameson had become a good friend in only a few months and it always felt good talking to him. Since he was very liberal and opened-minded, for a straight guy, it made it easy to open up and toss things out at him. He knew where I was coming from and helped me piece things together. To Kenny, it made sense that I needed to do what was right for me and not keep trying to please the whole world around me. Though he wondered if maybe I should try and fix what was wrong there before resorting to something as drastic as moving away. Don’t get me wrong. I had thought about this, too, and for a short time wanted to try. In my heart, I knew staying wasn’t going to fix anything. I had changed and wanted new things in my life. Even as I drove over the bridge toward my new home, I still felt grateful that fate brought Kenny into my life. In the few short months we had hung out together back home, he had helped me open up even more than I thought I already had. Over several beers, he listened patiently as I poured my soul out to him. Talking to Kenny felt different than talking to anyone else. I still have trouble explaining it, but for some reason knowing what a freethinker he was, made things simpler. If anyone had told me a year ago, that Kenny would become my sounding board and good friend, I would have told them they were crazy. The two of us had worked together for over a year and rarely spoke to one another. We were as different as two people could be. It wasn’t until a few months ago that we accidentally started talking then hanging out. Before I knew it, I was a part of his circle. That was the first time in my life that I had felt accepted into a group of people because of who I was. At first glance, anyone would have been a little leery of Kenny. He was a towering six-two with tattoos covering many parts of his lean frame. His scruffy goatee and oversized sunglasses made him seem a little daunting, which he wasn’t. Once you started talking to him, it was easy to see how sociable he really was. If it hadn’t been for Kenny, I don’t think I would be sitting in the car entering Memphis right now. I was going to miss the new friendship I had started with Kenny and the times we had gone out drinking, but I knew he would visit and we would keep in touch. Finding a place to start my new life had been the hard part. Having friends in many states meant I had several options. Each time I thought about moving forward with my life there was only