Miss my guy

Miss my guy Maarty! One of the realist friends a ghetto boy could have. Rip 19th of June 2018

This guy came into my life when I was making my transition out of the streets and trying to live life legitimately.    He was born in the Netherlands and migrated to the states with his family in the late 50s and early 60s.  At that point, I was dating his niece whom I adored madly, and was infatuated with the fact that their family had different customs, food, and language.  He was a Dutch/Indonesian who lived life as an American Hippy.  Weed was his life and he grew, smoked, and promoted legalization way before the law started flipping in the late 2000s.  Maarten was his name, Emil Sampers.  He bore a young, wild, and lawless kid from the south side of Elkhart.  He shared with me that as I was detoxing from the dope game, running packs, moving weights, shooting, and beating people, he was detoxing from smoking.  Many nights I'd sit on his couch, listening to his wisdom and soaking up his game.  I stole from him once and his response to another friend of his was, "some people just only know what they've always known!"  That night I had a 45 cal pistol under my waist and was mad enough at the world to kill him and all the people in the house.  His soft answer turned away my rage. 

Well fast forward to about 2014, after his niece decided she didn't want a family anymore, ending 20+ years of relationship and family, I found my way back to his house living in one of his rooms.  I called his house my safe house.  I lived with him a few times as life got too much for me.  He'd always welcome me back and his soft heart would get him robbed from time to time.  He called because a guy living with him had hit him in the face.  I went of course to regulate.  That situation worked its way out and my life settled a bit.  I went back to living on my own.

Around 2017 he hit my phone again saying, "These people I have living with me are getting over."  I went without hesitation.  I was dealing with my own addiction to alcohol and was totally burnt out due to my being my mom's primary caregiver.  I walked in the house, trash everywhere, roaches everywhere, fleas everywhere, and thought, there is no way I can live here.  I decided against his wishes to crash in the garage.  Close enough for me to keep an eye on him and far enough from the world for me to decompress from life.  God that time was good for me.  I found myself in 200 square feet and helped him get his house in order.  He had a mom, two young adult boys, and occasionally their sister and her 4 kids.  I was able to persuade them to fall into compliance.  Now with me saying that I actually threatened them within an inch of their lives if they tested or refused to pay him.  

Fast forward to the 18th of June, a Friday, we were working on scooters like we always did.  Joking and laughing and talking hella shit to each other.  At about midnight, a friend stopped by on his scooter and I told Maarty, "Yo, I'm out.  I'm about to ride my scooter (which I assembled out of spare parts in his backyard) and I would holla at him in the morning!" "If you hear the noise at about 3 or 4 am that's me putting my scooter in the backyard and grabbing my car."  He said cool and off I went.  The next day I show up at about 9am and had a strong feeling to go into the house and check on him.  I shrugged it off because I didn't want to wake him.  He was at that moment in the bathroom having a major heart attack.  The night before would be the last time that I talked to him.  Three days later life support was pulled and my dude was gone.  I miss you Maarten and will never forget what you taught me. 
I will see you on the other side homie.  What you've started down here will echo through eternity. 
JT