Fuck it, back to writing.

Money Tree

This story starts way back. Not that far back, but you get the idea, about 15 years ago. There was a kid who lived down the block for me, I think his name was Jake or John or Joey or something that started with a J, wish I could remember for the life of me. Anyway this boy was to say the least dedicated to supporting others. He cared about the ones he loved more than anyone I have ever seen, and I am speaking about a 16 or 17 year old kid. I would often see him out during the school week, not in class and ask him, “aren’t you supposed to be in school,” his response was always something smart accompanied by him telling me he had to get back to work. Imagine, being 16 and working 5 days a week, without the need to, just to help make the people you loves’ lives easier. Sweet kid. A year before I moved away the kid was 18, and had just finished high school, his mother died. The kid worked his ass of to pay for her hospital bills and her treatment, but fait wouldn’t let him win. Absolutely tore the kid apart. I became very close friends with him around this time, originally to comfort him and then by choice becuase of his upstanding personality. He was, in a mother’s words, “a good influence,” and I recognized that. We became brother like as I was only a few years older than him. The time we spent together was almost always spent working, we shared the same place of work at the time and becuase he worked such incomprehensible hours, I figured I would. There was a week where each of us worked 12 hours a day for 7 days. Around the kid’s 19th birthday he started to think about college, and becuase of his work ethic, he could go almost wherever he wanted to. This kid had become a millionaire by brute force at age 19. He had minimal skill, low level education, and a million dollars to show for it. And every week he wrote a check to every living family member he was close with. To be a friend of this kid, now a man, was an honor and a pleasure. At age 20 he went to college, a local school where he could still work while taking classes. He wanted to continue his support for the ones he cares most about. In college he continued his generosity and expanded it to donation to the school. There was not a single person with a bad opinion of him. He graduated with honors and went into investing. Eventually he moved to New York City and worked in Wall Street, from there the sky was the limit. He made movie star money doing what he had always done, worked hard, only now the money he made as a kid was being multiplied solely because of his education. It seemed as though he could never loose in life. Then tragedy struck. The man had gotten arrested after a DUI. He was doing 120 in a 65 and had hit the barrier at the edge of the highway. He was in critical condition when his lawyer came to him in the hospital. He told them man the police had began an investigation into the sources of his funds as he had never properly filed for taxes. The man was devasted to find out that the remainder of his life was going to be carried out in a prison cell. He had not lost his freedom for driving under the influence, but for running the single largest organized crime ring in American history. You see, the boy had worked hard since day one, but since day two he had been hustling. Whenever he wasn’t working his job he was turning his paychecks into more cash through illegal transactions of every kind. He had single handedly created a criminal machine with the sole purpose of bringing in revenue to help and support the ones he cared about. His family all maintained innocence under the assumption they were all clueless, as they were, and 6 out of 35 of his closest family menbers committed suicide within 6 months of his final trial. He had given more than was imaginable to them, and it had all been in vain. Almost every asset of the family was repossessed by the state and thus, a poor family turned rich was poor again.

There’s a little bit of selfishness in being selfless.

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Spencer Healy

Spencer Healy

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I go to university, I’m a struggling optimist. some of these are proper narrative pieces and some are more poetry, others lean towards stream of consciousness.