A Tale of Two Girards: Death in Many Forms

The history of Minneapolis has always been a tale of two Girards.

 

And so goes the tale to this day:

 

On Girard Avenue South, she awakens in a warm sixteen by sixteen space of her own to the smell of bacon frying, toast toasting, brief cases flying, people preparing to go out buying.  She brushes, bustles, bathes and eats before hopping into her Honda Accord, a gift at the dawn of her seventeenth year, for the drive to St. Paul Academy and a day of college preparation.

 

On Girard Avenue North, she awakens in a cold cubicle that she shares with two little sisters, washes her face, brushes her teeth, helps her sisters get ready and strides to the corner to catch the bus and the ride to North High School, where a welcome free breakfast will still the rumbling in her stomach, if not the trouble in her heart.

 

On Girard Avenue South, he gets up to the cheery sound of piped in tunes, the smell of pancakes, and the promise of preparation in his bathroom adjacent to his twelve by eighteen space in the world.  Doctor Momma has already left for the clinic;  Professor Daddy drives him to a day where college begins at grade five, Breck Academy, Harvard University Preparatory School of the Midwest.

 

On Girard Avenue North, he arises, his ears still ringing from a night of scattered gunshots and sirens racing into dark less dark than the tenor of his soul.  Mama never came home, daddy never has been, so since he’s on his own, he thinks he’ll just skip school this time.  Down on Humboldt, a new family awaits, not the best dudes, he knows that, but offering protection, perilous profit, gratification now for mortality coming too soon.  Seems better than Bethune Elementary.

 

Once back at Girard Avenue South, she greets her private tutor;  she only got a 33 on her first try at the ACT so, knowing that many of her Yale competitors these days are scoring a perfect 36, she obtains the professional boost that purchased their success.  She’s not sure what the latter means, but she knows it’s grand and will make mom and dad proud.

 

Once back on Girard Avenue North, she does her worksheets for history homework, given to her by a teacher without explanation and in the absence of contextual discussion.  She tries to do her algebra II homework, but she passed algebra I and geometry with a “C” without really grasping the subjects, and her current teacher shows no interest in advancing her skill;  from her roost at the creaky dining room table her little sisters are way more noisy than creaky, so she gives up.  Momma won’t be back until late, the little ones will need to be fed, and not long after dinner and television they’ll all get sleepy enough for bed.

 

Once back at Girard Avenue North after violin lessons, he does his algebra homework, carefully, because he knows mastery will be important for understanding calculus a few years hence:  Doctor Momma and Professor Daddy told him so.  Algebra done, he saves history homework and an initial draft of his English research paper for after dinner, tortellini professionally presented by the cook with Caesar salad and home-baked bread.  Homework done, a look at his Chinese assignment for the Saturday school, another round of the violin, and he’s off to bed.

 

Springing from Girard Avenue South, having successfully attained that 36 on the ACT, she's off to Yale in the autumn, faces of mom and dad all aglow.

 

Still stuck at Girard Avenue North, she endures a pregnancy incurred out of ever-present boredom and options never offered.

 

Proceeding from Girard Avenue South from grade 5 to grade 6, he’s at the top of his class and on a path to succeed;  although success remains a mystery, he’s seen it many times.

 

One day the fast life grabs him walking out of Girard Avenue North, throws him down, and puts a bullet in his head.  Momma returns home and even daddy returns now to groan about “My baby.”  The teachers and principal at Bethune, those who had ignored him as one of those bringing the problems of society into their hallways, feign concern, mumbling something about, “He was a mighty fine boy when he got himself to school.”

 

And thus goes the tale of two Girards, where hypocrisy abounds, success is elusive even when attained, and death is often premature but comes in many forms.