Stella

She was thought to be four years old when they found her hiding among boxes on a New Orleans side street. It was just a few days after Hurricane Katrina. Frightened at first, she eventually went along with two rescue workers who offered some soothing words and a little bit to eat. She did not speak that day and now, almost three years later, she remains silent. We call her Stella.

 

Like many lost and abandoned pets, Stella found herself without a home and a family. We came across her picture on the web: a bright-eyed black lab with “gentle disposition”. She immediately accepted our hospitality and seemed so grateful for little comforts: a bed of her own, the occasional treat, leisurely walks, and a lot of affection. Stella appears to have lived a “sheltered” life in the past. She didn’t understand the idea of fetching a ball or playing tug of war. She apparently had not seen staircases before. It took hours to teach her how to walk down a flight of steps.

 

Still, despite all her ordeals and all she had lost, Stella remains accepting, patient, loving, and able to enjoy the little things world offers. When at times I feel like life has treated me unfairly, it is Stella who in her silence reminds me of what’s important.

It hurts like brand-new shoes

We all have memorable experiences. A first kiss. A game-winning score. Some of our best experiences are poignant, while others are simply outlandish. (I remember leaning over the side of a fishing boat and seeing the basketball-size eye of a whale rise up for glimpse of me before rolling back under a dark wave.)

 

While many experiences are memorable, there are a few that change our lives thereafter. One such moment for me was a TV news report on the unending string of genocidal wars in Africa. The report — which lasted less than a minute — showed footage of a young woman in a refugee camp. She was very thin and had lost most of her hair. In her arms was an infant. The child, swollen from hunger, attempted to suckle the women’s chin. Finding no milk, it would cry for a few seconds, and then try again.

 

I’ll never forget the woman. The resignation on her face. The stare at nothing. The strained muscles on her skeletal body looked as fragile as old rubber bands. There is a song by the Nigerian-born singer Sade that could speak to this woman’s fate: “She cries to the heaven above, there is a stone in my heart, she lives a life she didn’t choose, and it hurts like brand-new shoes”.

 

While I wasn’t much older than 17, I couldn’t reconcile this image and what I was taught to believe about life. I didn’t understand the unnecessary suffering of the innocent and how so few seem to care. Looking back I now know this is where and when I starting looking for an answer.

Life After Seventeen …

One Spring afternoon while seated in the last row of Sister Marie’s history class, I began to make a list. It was a list of things I wanted to do before I died.  It might seem unusual for a 17-year-old schoolboy to feel the pressure of his mortality, but those were dangerous times.  War.  Assassinations.  Riots.  I thought if I survived until my 30th birthday, I should be able to look back and know I didn’t waste my days.

 

The list was all that you would expect of a teenage boy – or at least a teenage boy at the time.  I wanted to play in a rock n’ roll band, grow a beard, visit London, and swim in all seven oceans.  I imagined myself a published author, a marathon runner, and an expert in French wine.  I wanted to play roulette while wearing a tuxedo, smoke cigarettes, and own a yellow lab named Moon. And of course, I wanted to engage in a never-ending, passionate love affair.

 

The list consisted of about fifty items. Some as simple as sailing on an ocean liner.  Others as vague and fanciful as ‘performing a heroic act’.  In some ways the list was charmingly innocent. It doesn’t consider the hard work or disappointment that real accomplishment demands.  Still, I’m surprised by how much I have achieved – even if by accident rather than design.  But more importantly, it has been the experiences I couldn’t have foreseen that has made life truly perplexing, startling, and worthwhile.

 

I suppose this is real purpose of “Life After 17.” It is an opportunity for us to share a little of what we’ve learned.  And I hope you, the reader, regardless of your age, share what you’ve learn with all of us.

 

So let’s begin…

 

Toby Scott Mays