“Wu-Tang is Forever” (or The Grief Vampires)

A story of loss and healing

Jude knew he should stop. His legs were like rockets soaked in fire. His chest heaved, gasping for air. His father’s too-large leather jacket cloaked him in security but chaffed his pumping arms. And yet he pressed on.

The bland, monstrous high school became a speck behind him. He sprinted faster, past the village center with its quaint shops, through a winding neighborhood of sprawling estates, and down to the lakefront. Jude stopped for a moment, surveying all around him. A bright September sun beat down, causing him to close one eye.

He looked past the lake toward his grandparent’s house, but he wasn’t ready to turn that way yet. The running — however awkward — unlocked the storm inside of him. His sweat-soaked hair plastered his forehead, and the old, faded Wu-Tang tee shirt stuck to his skin. Jude could feel the angry flames burning off, evaporating into harmless vapor.

His legs finally gave out, and he collapsed on the dock by the lake. He lay on his back, laughter and tears mingling. Jude dipped his cupped hands into the cold water and shouted.

“AH!”

The silent lake rippled with his release.

He screamed again until his throat felt like sandpaper. And spent, he stayed on his back. His breathing slowed, and he laughed, gazing up to the sky.

He was a broken puzzle piece jammed into his new surroundings. Mrs. Collins, the guidance counselor — “call me Laura” — confessed he had to “make it work” with his Pop-Pop and Grammy or face foster care in his home state. Jude felt like he suffered punishment for a situation he had no control over. He lost his Dad — his best friend — and now he had to lose his friends, his girlfriend Becca, and the only home he’d ever known?

“Your new classmates and teachers are concerned,” the counselor tutted. She pointed toward his outfit in disdain. “Mrs. Miller tells me you’ve worn that shirt every day for the past month. Your shirt stinks, and it’s 90 degrees out! Time to take off that jacket.” She smiled as if they were friends.

“Not gonna happen. Sorry. And I wash the shirt every night. ‘Don’t think I stink. Thanks, though.” Jude pulled the jacket uncomfortably tight.

She pressed him on living up to the extracurricular record he obtained at his old school. But Jude would rather paper cut his eyeballs than play soccer or join the debate team again.

And then “Laura” asked the question — the intrusive, smoldering hot sword of a question.

“What happened to your Dad, Jude? How did he die? You need to talk about it.”

Jude was sick of the constant prying by people who didn’t know him. It didn’t matter how Dad left this world; he was gone either way. The way he died was no one’s business. He had started his sophomore year as the “new kid with the dead Dad,” and nothing would change this status. The pitying gestures of friendship stemmed from a need to suck out his grief.

He didn’t want to share his grief. He didn’t want to share his Dad. He held his memory tight inside the leather jacket.

Jude shifted his eyes to the Wu-Tang shirt. His Dad had turned him on to the super rap group as he formed his own musical tastes. “Not only lyrical geniuses,” Dad declared. “The Wu-Tang Clan is also the epitome of brotherhood and loyalty.”

They talked about the kung-fu movies that lent Wu-Tang their moniker. And of the support and encouragement the ten unique group members lent each other.

Jude tended to enjoy indie rock’s sorrowful sounds, but he grew to love Wu-Tang and the ironclad bond they shared. His Dad shared countless CDs and copies of master recordings, and a year before his death, had gifted Jude with the tee-shirt.

Rage bubbled in his gut, and before he could stop himself, he shouted at Laura. “Screw you! You’re all just a bunch of grief vampires wanting to suck every last part of my Dad from me.” He jumped from the plastic chair, and it clanged on the floor as it fell over.

He’d sprinted out of the guidance counselor’s office and had run out of the school without looking back. And now, the spent anger left him with a weariness that made him yearn for sleep. His heart dropped to his stomach as he imagined how disappointed his grandparents would feel about the incident at school.

“Wu-Tang is forever,” he whispered to himself.

He felt silly, but saying it out loud made him feel his Dad’s hands on his shoulders. He straightened, infused with strength. He’d hug Grammy as soon as he walked in the door and plead with Pop-Pop for forgiveness.

Jude stood up to begin the trudge home and gingerly took off the leather jacket. Slinging it over his shoulder, he sensed Dad with him and knew he’d always remain. Maybe when he got to Pop-Pop’s, he thought, he’d change his shirt too.