Kemp Powers: The Past Wasn’t Done With Me - The Moth

Transcript

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Dan Kennedy (1:09)

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Kemp Powers (3:04)

The first time that I passed out on the Chicago L train, I just knew that I was dying from mad cow disease. At least that's what I told my doctor when I was trying to self diagnose in his office. And he was pretty impressed by the depths of my neurosis. Understand this is before WebMD when everyone could do it. But he assured me that despite the fact that I had been to Europe and eaten several steaks, that I wasn't suffering from mad cow. I had anxiety and he asked me if there was anything that had happened recently that had been causing stress and I had to think about the question for a little while. I said, you know, I haven't been adjusting well to my move to Chicago. And he nodded his head. He said, you know, a transition like that into a new city can cause a lot of stress. I said, my father's dying of cancer and I can't convince him to take better care of himself. He nodded again. This is obviously a story he's heard a lot of times before. Then I said, you know, my daughter almost died last year from febrile seizures and I'm pretty much terrified to be left alone with her now. This raised his eyebrows. He wrote me a prescription for Xanax and gave me the name of a therapist he wanted me to see right away to delve into this further. Now I don't know what prompted me to say what I said, but as he handed me the prescription, I just blurted it out. I said, you know, oh, one more thing. When I was 14 years old, I shot my best friend in the face accidentally. And I watched him die. Henry was one of seven people to die that day in New York City, 1988. At 14. He wasn't even the youngest. A 12 year old kid from Queens had that dubious distinction. But his was the death that I saw with my own eyes. The one that I was responsible for with my own hands and the one that I'm going to carry with me for the rest of my life. Now, home back then was a two bedroom co op in the Kensington section of Brooklyn. For those who know Brooklyn pretty well, it was a big source of pride for my mom who had raised my three older sisters and I almost single handedly since splitting from my dad when I was 4 years old. This was the first place that she owned after what seemed like an annual ritual of moving. Now, for those who don't know, New York was really violent and dangerous back then. Like Detroit, New Orleans and Gary, Indiana, rolled into one. Dangerous, you know, 2,000 murders a year. Violent. But I never let the violence swirling around in the world outside ever impact me. I was actually an honor roll student all the way. And when Henry and I met in the seventh grade, we got along immediately. The physical contrast couldn't have been more extreme. He was unusually muscular and well built for a 12 year old. And I was just as oddly tall and lanky for a kid the same age. But that's pretty much where our differences ended. We both were into all the same things. We shared all of the same fears. We walked together every day after school to the Carroll street subway station in South Brooklyn. And we both hated the older boys from John Jay High School nearby who'd show up every Halloween and rain rotten eggs, D cell batteries and of course, water balloons filled with Nair on our heads, which gave you a nice surprise when you got home and tried to clean up. He was my first and best friend. Now, on the afternoon of April 14, 1988, Henry and Chris, another friend of mine, came by my apartment like they had many times before. They dropped their book bags and plopped down on my bed. My mother was a captain in the Army Reserves. At this time. We had three guns in the house. The.38 caliber revolver was my favorite. Not just because it was the one we kept loaded. Also, it was just the most interesting. It looked like a gun from the movies, and it was one I always showed to my friends, even though my mom never knew about it. This day was no different. I started off by emptying the gun, made sure all the bullets were out. Then I demonstrated my index finger spin, the cowboy move that I've been working on. Then I took a single bullet. I pretended to insert it into the cylinder and pointed the gun at my friends. I can actually remember smiling as I pulled the trigger, ready to shout Gotcha. When I made them jump. But instead of the dull click of a hammer followed by laughter, there was a muzzle flash, an explosion and shock. Both of my friends, Chris and Henry, had turned their backs to me. And I remember being overcome with confusion. How did the fucking bullet get into the chamber? Chris turned and looked at me and my heart started racing. And we both looked over at Henry. I guess we were waiting for him to turn around, say oh shit, and then tell me how much trouble I was. Going to get into when my mother got home. Now, whenever we're faced with something horrific, I think it's human instinct to want to run. And mentally, that's what I did. I just, like, fled into my own psyche. Like, I went back years to being with my father, Coney island on the pier, trying to catch a blue fish with my piece of shit rod and reel. And then the next thing you know, I was back there in the hallway and it was full of people. My mom was there now, sobbing. Paramedics were there, of course the cops were there. And Chris and I were there when one of the paramedics came out of the apartment. I remember begging him, please tell me he's okay. Please tell me he's okay. And even though I knew what he was going to say, I just, like, wasn't prepared for the words. He just said, he's gone. That night in the police station, I had to recount in detail everything that had happened for the police. I didn't want to. I wanted to crawl under that table and hide. But I did, slowly, methodically, choking back tears, is when I looked down and realized that my sweatshirt was covered in blood. My dad was there. I almost never saw him at that time, but he was there with my mom with the same full on look on his face. The wake came about a week later, and I didn't think Henry's family would have any interest in me attending, but my mom insisted we go. So when we got to the funeral home, there was a huge crowd gathered around the coffin. And I made my way over to Henry, and he looked really nice. They had him in a really nice blue suit. But I remember the coffin making him look so small. And I just stood there and stared at him while everyone else around me wailed. That's when I suddenly heard this woman's voice. She said, I just want to see him. And I remember it made me jump because I didn't know whether she was talking about Henry lying there in the coffin or me, his killer standing over him, crying onto his jacket. I know every eye on the funeral home was on me. And all I could do was just close my eyes and wish that I was someplace else. Now, miraculously, Henry's family did not want to press charges. They embraced me and offered their forgiveness. And when the Brooklyn DA hit me with a long list of charges ranging from manslaughter to assault with a deadly weapon, I think it was 17 charges total. They were the ones who stood up and said they didn't want to destroy two young lives instead of one. And they're the reason that instead of going to jail, I got one year of counseling. That was my sentence. I remember thanking them profusely outside of the courthouse that day for. For giving me a second chance when I didn't think I deserved one. Now, in the years that followed, I thought it was odd that no one, none of my friends or none of my family ever said a single word about Henry. Everyone went about their lives as though he had never existed. The entire incident was wiped from my record when I was 16, so it hadn't even existed in a legal sense. And if I never mentioned it again, it would never come up. But I thought about it. The shooting in Henry, almost every fucking day. And oddly enough, it's what drove me for a number of years. Ask any friend of mine in college, I was the most anal retentive dude they ever met. I wouldn't touch alcohol. I wouldn't smoke a cigarette. Don't get me wrong, I made up for it years later. But I just felt like I had to do him proud and I had to be perfect. And for a long period of time, I thought I was doing it. Successful career. I was a faithful husband and a doting father on my daughter, who I watched grow from an infant into a toddler. But then her sickness at 18 months pretty much derailed all of it. When we got to the hospital, my daughter's body was convulsing. And all of a sudden, all of these emotions and feelings I hadn't felt since I was 14 came rushing back. The feeling of panic, the feeling of helplessness. And that's when it dawned on me. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is going to be my sentence that I'm going to have to see what it's like to lose a child. And, you know, miraculously, she did survive. And the doctor, the medical staff assured me that some children just have a really low tolerance for fever. And it's something that she would probably grow out of, almost certainly grow out of. But the damage was done. And when we got back home, everything was just completely different. I was just terrified to be left alone with her. I felt like this marked man. And that the second it was just me and her, something was going to go wrong. And it didn't help that after she got sick, I suddenly started having this recurring dream about Henry. And it was always the same dream. In the dream, I'd be asleep. I'd wake up, sit up in my bed, and he'd be sitting there on the edge of my bed. Staring at me with the bullet hole still in his chin, about the size of a nickel. I'd start talking to him. I'd say, hey, how are you doing? And his blank face would just show no expression. And after a while, I'd start getting desperate and pleading with him. I'd start asking him if he knew how sorry I was. I'd ask him if he knew that it was an accident. I'd ask him if he knew how much I missed him. Then finally, he would open his mouth and try to respond. But just like on that day, the bullet stopped him from speaking and he just gasped for air. I break down into tears and I wake up crying in bed. And this dream repeated itself for years. Henry always there staring at me the same. And me just getting older and older and older. 14, 18, 21, 25, 30. And starting to gray. It took me passing out on the L that day to realize it. But I knew that I needed help. Now Henry is dead and I killed him. No one can absolve you of your sins if you don't believe it in your heart. And I honestly don't believe there's any amount of good I can do in my life that'll absolve me of his death. But my trying to live a life for two people, one of whom I can never bring back, was just a recipe for a disaster that was going to doom me and everyone who cared about me. It took this chain of events that started with me passing out in public and ended with me having that first tentative conversation with my mother about the day to realize it. And it was an interesting conversation, if uncomfortable. I found out that my mom, of course, had been dealing with a lot of the same feelings of guilt, but more illuminating, she'd been battling anxiety since the day it happened. I think we found some small amount of comfort in learning that little thing about each other, you know, My marriage died, but I lived on. My daughter's 13 years old now and healthy. I have an 8 year old son and he's healthy as an ox. I hope both of my kids grow up to be wonderful people. The types of people who bring so much joy to everyone around them that their absence would be a tragedy. Because that's the type of person that Henry was. He died 24 years ago and it's still fresh, but I'm no longer miserable. In fact, I'm well on my way to becoming the happiest person I know. And I think that fact would have made him happy. He also doesn't visit me in my dreams anymore. And I can finally admit that I'm comfortable with never seeing his face ever again, in my dreams or otherwise. Because at the end of the day, what will an old man like me have to say to his 14 year old friend that hasn't been set already? Thank you.

Summary of “Kemp Powers: The Past Wasn’t Done With Me”

Introduction

In the poignant and deeply personal story “The Past Wasn’t Done With Me,” Kemp Powers shares the harrowing account of a tragic accident from his youth and its enduring impact on his life. Through raw honesty and emotional depth, Kemp explores themes of guilt, forgiveness, and the long journey toward healing.

Background and Context

Kemp begins by setting the stage of his early life in Brooklyn, New York, describing a neighborhood marked by violence and danger. Despite the tumultuous environment, he was an honor roll student who maintained a semblance of normalcy.

“Henry was my first and best friend. Now, on the afternoon of April 14, 1988...” (03:04)

The Tragic Incident

At the age of 14, Kemp inadvertently shot his 12-year-old friend, Henry, in the face. What was intended as a harmless prank with a gun went tragically wrong, resulting in Henry’s death. Kemp recounts the confusion and immediate fear following the accidental shooting.

“Instead of the dull click of a hammer followed by laughter, there was a muzzle flash, an explosion and shock.” (03:04)

Immediate Aftermath

Kemp describes the emotional turmoil as he faced the reality of his actions. Despite the severity of the incident, Henry’s family chose forgiveness over legal retribution, presenting Kemp with an opportunity for redemption.

“The wake came about a week later, and I didn’t think Henry’s family would have any interest in me attending, but my mom insisted we go.” (03:04)

The Brooklyn District Attorney pressed charges, but Henry’s family’s compassion influenced the outcome, resulting in Kemp receiving a light sentence of one year of counseling instead of incarceration.

“They embraced me and offered their forgiveness... Instead of going to jail, I got one year of counseling.” (03:04)

Long-Term Effects and Personal Struggles

The weight of the incident haunted Kemp for years, influencing his behavior and relationships. He became exceedingly meticulous and driven, striving to honor Henry’s memory by excelling in all aspects of his life.

Kemp’s daughter’s severe illness at 18 months old reignited his buried fears and emotions, bringing back the panic and helplessness he felt during the shooting. This triggered recurring nightmares where Henry appeared, symbolizing Kemp’s unresolved guilt and sorrow.

“In the dream, I’d be asleep. I’d wake up, sit up in my bed, and he’d be sitting there on the edge of my bed... I break down into tears and I wake up crying in bed.” (03:04)

Path to Healing

Acknowledging the necessity for help, Kemp sought counseling to address his lingering trauma. Through therapy and introspection, he began to reconcile with his past, understanding that forgiveness was essential for his own healing.

Kemp also discovered that his mother had been grappling with similar feelings of guilt and anxiety since the incident, creating a shared path to mutual support and understanding.

“We found some small amount of comfort in learning that little thing about each other.” (03:04)

Resolution and Moving Forward

Kemp reflects on his journey from guilt and despair to a state of contentment and happiness. He emphasizes the importance of forgiveness and the realization that living a life driven by both his own and Henry’s memory ultimately led to personal growth and healing.

“I’m no longer miserable. In fact, I’m well on my way to becoming the happiest person I know. And I think that fact would have made him happy.” (03:04)

Conclusion

Kemp Powers’ story is a testament to the enduring impact of past actions and the arduous path toward forgiveness and self-acceptance. Through his narrative, Kemp conveys that while the past cannot be changed, embracing one’s history with honesty and seeking forgiveness can lead to profound personal transformation.

“Because at the end of the day, what will an old man like me have to say to his 14-year-old friend that hasn't been set already? Thank you.” (03:04)

Notable Quotes

“The storyteller and the audience embark on a high-wire act of shared experience which is both terrifying and exhilarating.” (00:00)
“Henry was my first and best friend.” (03:04)
“They embraced me and offered their forgiveness.” (03:04)
“I’m no longer miserable. In fact, I’m well on my way to becoming the happiest person I know.” (03:04)
“Thank you.” (03:04)

Final Thoughts

Kemp Powers’ narrative is a powerful exploration of the human capacity for both causing harm and seeking redemption. It underscores the significance of forgiveness, not just from others but from oneself, as a crucial step toward overcoming the shadows of the past.