One lost early in his journey, another finding his way along

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Henry let Jeffery know that in his day, a friend was a friend. Now you meet a guy and in seconds they say they’re your friend. You have a good time one minute, then they shoot you at the end of the night. Everybody ain’t your friend.

• • •

These days Jeffery remembers Marlon as laid back. Marlon knew he could do stuff like football. Things just came to him. Jeffery has to work at what he does well. It’s not easy.

Marlon played basketball with him one on one. You can’t win, Marlon would tease, and Jeffery wouldn’t. Marlon was big, five years older than Jeffery. Jeffery practiced by himself at his grandmother’s house, improving his game until he started beating Marlon.

No one can say they taught Jeffery his moves. No one can take credit for what he knows. Marlon was cool when it came to sports, but Jeffery’s good because he works at it.

• • •

Marlon’s life unfolds in a stack of photographs.

Eight-year-old Marlon in front of his grandmother’s stocking-decorated fireplace on a Christmas afternoon.

Teenage Marlon wearing a Raiders jersey in his seventh-grade class picture.

Cocky Marlon pretending to talk on his first cell phone.

Formal Marlon in a white shirt and dark tie at a family reunion.

Tough Marlon mugging for the camera with his older brother Michael.

He collected stuffed toy dogs and loved tinkering with model cars. He used his mother’s nail polish to decorate the hubcaps. He wanted to own a Monte Carlo. And oh, don’t leave a radio out. Marlon would take it apart and put it together in no time. He made stereos out of spare parts.

On the morning Marlon died, his mother knocked on his bedroom door to give him $50 for a haircut and a movie. He was already awake. She offered him one of her gold chains he liked to wear.

I have choir rehearsal at church, she reminded him. Do you need a ride to the barber?

Snoop will take me, Marlon said, referring by nickname to his brother Michael.

I love you. Call me.

Marlon grabbed his house keys and dropped a bottle of cologne in his pocket. He put on a white shirt and gray flannel pants.

I love you too, Mama. I’ll call.

Marlon was her right-hand man. Vickie and his father were no longer together. Jeffery and his twin sister, Jalissa, lived with their father, and Snoop had his own place and earned a good living laying floors. Marlon helped around the house and always smiled. Mama! he would shout weekday mornings, Come on!

He enjoyed getting up and going. Didn’t matter where. He was even that way about school. Although he thought it no longer applied to him, he understood the value of an education for his little brother.

Stay in school, Marlon told Jeffery. Don’t do nothing bad.

• • •

At first Jeffery didn’t follow Marlon’s advice. In fifth grade he forgot he had a pocket knife in his jacket and was almost suspended for a year. His teacher at Quindaro Elementary School, Leslie Stewart, advocated for him, and he was out for just two days.

Miss Stewart was cool. She made Jeffery want to read. She didn’t say, Get to your desks. She’d say, Get comfortable. She picked books that grabbed him. Like Slam, about a teenage basketball player who started failing math and wasn’t allowed to play until his grades improved. Jeffery told Miss Stewart the book was about doing whatever it takes to fulfill a dream.

He was suspended in eighth grade for kissing a girl and writing a rap in class with a little cussing. He was not allowed to play in the next football game. You all going to lose without me, he told his teammates. Instead, they won 14-0.

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To reach Malcolm Garcia, call (816) 234-4328 or send e-mail to mgarcia@kcstar.com.