The Heroic Hyena-Man

“I feel compelled to tell you how I truly feel, Mr. Brooks. I don’t know everything about you as a man but I know enough. 

You are the epitome of what a man should be, a timeless example of what all aspire to become. When I first met you, you were driving a garbage truck, the same one you passed to your successor for that position. You waved at me, then five or six years old, my mother and father as we walked to school. I don’t know what possessed you to hand select me to pour your attention and positive male reinforcement to. But whatever force prompted that reaction, I truly am grateful for it. 

When I was ten years old, my father’s business began to pick up. He became more well-known more driven and ambitious. Our relationship took a toll, as you always taught me, “Humans cannot truly be multitaskers”. By the grace of God, you stepped in. You taught me how to ride a bicycle. It didn’t matter to you how long it took, how early you woke up to clean up our community then come teach me. It didn’t matter to me how much you smelled from work with week old Miss Rachel’s Lasagna Sauce was plastered on your shirt. I was just happy to have someone to teach me. 

At 12 years old I didn’t navigate the uncertainty of divorce alone. It was quite the opposite, Mr. Brooks. Your lessons afterschool about the mistakes of both men and women, helped me mature my thinking. Change my perception of my father and mother’s relationship. I was able to heal the pain that I never know I had, thanks to your advice and wisdom. 

My mother not long after had to take on a new job. You became my new tutor through the tests and essays I could never have written and taken on my own. You translated the alien languages of the classroom to me to allow me to flourish in my studies. You waited for my mom to get home before leaving into the night like watchdog does. But others watched too. 

Other members of this time let the rumor mill flow with the utmost torrential swivel. The sideline debaters, armchair psychologists, and pre-meditated gossipers all preyed on us with quickness. They all in unison and verbatim reiterated talking points about our circumstances together. Some are lukewarm in their analysis, and others are more stomach-turningly hellish in their theories. I won't desecrate this moment of me emphasizing my gratitude to you by ingeminating fables and stories. I know and you know what was said by members of this town we call Divinton. 

This repulsive behavior by those whose age should signify their maturity level dripped down to their offspring. Children of the town who saw the hidden vitriol of their parents and grandparents began to duplicate the same behavior, albeit in childish ways. Rode around calling you Mr. Brooks “The Hyena”. A crude name I once thought wasn’t befitting of a man of your caliber. 

For we all know the story painted in National Geographic Documentaries. The hyena is the animal no soul wishes to be compared to. A creature is the closest thing to a hellhound from Greek mythology than anything else. An untameable beast that lacks the strength and majesty of a lion. That envies the grace and seductive stealth of a leopard. And can’t hope to imitate the speed and swiftness of a cheetah. To make up for this hyenas must resort to robbing the creatures listed above and gorging on corpses through sheer tenacity and force of numbers. 

Is that what I am, a corpse. A dead body waiting to be valued by a fauna that is just looking for an easy next meal. You were not worthy of such a title and in my anger, I wondered why. Why do you never rebuke these children for their lack of respect? Why you didn’t feel the need to defend yourself rhetorically? I partially resented you for it until I found out the other day. 

Hyenas are tenacious hunters. Who are more successful than lions, cheetahs, and leopards. Hyena’s secret lies in their bonds with their families. They have a voracious desire to see the unit succeed no matter the perceptions. 

Then I thought Mr. Brooks. This moniker perfectly encapsulates who you are, when looked under a different lens. You didn’t fight the accusations or the rumors because you were working. You didn’t fight them because you were too strong and driven to care about them. You saw me as part of your cackle and would focus on me as such. 

Even now at twenty, I am still learning from you. Stilling getting knowledge from your walk through life. I suppose that I don’t truly have anything to say besides thank you. Thank you for everything that I have learned. Thank you for being the father I should have had. Thank you for stepping up with no strings attached. You didn’t treat me like a son just so that you could possibly have my mother. You treated me as such because that is what you felt was necessary. 

Thank you for showing me that a real man charts his own path through hard work and understanding his own desires. You referenced how others despite your intelligence looked down on you for your decision to be a garbage man. But you felt it was the best decision for you and Divinton. 

My simplest and most blatant regret is maybe the fact that you won’t hear these words while you are still alive. I believe somehow someway you are listening to me, but not in the way I would currently want. I had a summary of what I would have said to you already in my mind but never found the right moment to say it. And now I never will do to my inaction. 

Even in this moment your funeral is filled with many of those same people that have partaken of slandering your name with theories pervasive questioning of characters. They know who they are and in this moment I am running out of words to describe my feelings in this moment. 

So I will leave my stump my soapbox if you will on a more positive note. Thank you for saving me Hyena-man from the pitfalls of self doubt and the ravenous vices that plague young men of color in this age. I bid you an eternal blessing of gratitude for your selflessness. Rest in Power Mr. Alexander Malcolm Brooks.” 

I make my way off the platform take my careful steps down to the area with the rest of the observers of this moment in a time dedicated to a man who deserved his dedication years ago. 

A woman old and graying came to my side to console me out of my moment. I recognized her not as kin to the deceased but as a scavenger looking to soak in the grief to further her social position. Her deceitful tongue formulated many of the perverted ideas about me and Mr. Brooks, all of them running into my mind as our eyes met. I was too young then to understand her words. Today I am not as naive. 

I push her away slightly letting her no nonverbally she isn’t going to have her moment in the sunlight. I immediately grab my coat from my seat, I put on my bowler hat, and make my walk out the door. There was nothing more needed to say and no other reason to be in attendance.