Older people kept telling me that “these are the best days of your life. Enjoy them.” But as much as I was looking forward to goofing off with my friends throughout senior year, I couldn’t wait to graduate and get my life started. “Start” meant moving to New York. Simple, right? But thinking about all the what-ifs terrified me.
I went to the club every college night and got all sweaty trying to keep up with the Baltimore girls dancing to house music. I argued with my parents a lot, mostly about the car and because I had no clue at 19 that they were pretty much right about everything. I went places I had no business being, drove my car too fast and played my music too loud, especially Jay Z and Biggie.
In my downtime, I daydreamed a lot—about the next boy, the next party, the next exam or paper, the next spring break … because I took for granted that there would always be a … “next.” The world was spread out as a canvas before me; I just had to figure out what I wanted to add to it.
Jordan Davis deserved to have afternoons of daydreams, nights of parties, an opportunity to leave his mark and a lifetime of “nexts,” too. He deserved the chance to see his dreams come to fruition.
But he didn’t get that chance. It feels horrible to see “RIP” before a 17-year-old’s name.
Demetria L. Lucas is a contributing editor at The Root, a life coach and the author of A Belle in Brooklyn: The Go-to Girl for Advice on Living Your Best Single Life and the upcoming Don’t Waste Your Pretty: The Go-to Guide for Making Smarter Decisions in Life & Love. Follow her on Twitter.