by Jeri Rowe
GREENSBORO — Eighty-nine times. That's what he remembers.
GREENSBORO — Eighty-nine times. That's what he remembers.
Brandon Richardson-Evans had moved 89 times between the ages of 9 and 16. He counted. He bounced from foster homes to group homes to homeless shelters and two detention centers where he stayed after his anger went volcanic.
His life has been full of chaos.
At 4, he heard his dad stab his mom. Brandon saw the blood.
At 9, he watched his mom die in a hospital bed from breast cancer.
At 16, he left Maryland and came to live with his dad in Greensboro.
His dad asked him to come. He wanted to get Brandon out of trouble, and he told Brandon he had an apartment, a car. But his dad was living in the local shelter.
After that, his dad abandoned him.
Twice.
After that, his dad abandoned him.
Twice.
His dad says he left to find work.
Still, he left Brandon on his own.
Still, he left Brandon on his own.
And now, at 21, Brandon has a tattoo on his right arm.
It's an image of one of the last things he saw in his mom's hospital room — her pulse.
A few days ago, he had that stark, spiky outline of life and death shaved into the back of his head.
A few days ago, he had that stark, spiky outline of life and death shaved into the back of his head.
He had made a promise to her on her deathbed, and he aimed to keep it.
He was going to graduate. And with his tattoo and the spiky line above his neck, she was going with him.
With his cap and gown under his arm, Brandon slips into Duane Lewis' Honda Accord. "My dad is coming," Brandon tells Lewis breathlessly.
"How do you feel?" Lewis asks.
"Good."
"Now, listen, you get up there and step to the mic and focus," Lewis tells him. "Read slowly. The words will come out. That feeling, it comes from the heart."
Lewis is 44, a school social worker from Goldsboro and educated at N.C. A&T.
He has worked in Guilford County Schools for 17 years. So, he has seen many kids like Brandon — broken, lost, angry and alone.
He has worked in Guilford County Schools for 17 years. So, he has seen many kids like Brandon — broken, lost, angry and alone.
He is one of many who have helped Brandon. For the past year, he has guided Brandon through his days at Twilight School, a place of second chances for students wrestling with bad grades, poor attendance and the responsibilities of being a parent or being on their own.
Brandon lives at Joseph's House. It is a two-story home in east Greensboro that has become a faith-based nonprofit that helps homeless young men from age 18 to their early 20s.
In 2008, Brandon came to Greensboro to live with his dad. When his dad left, Brandon first stayed at the city's homeless shelter and later with a friend's family as he bounced from Dudley High to Grimsley High.
In November, he moved into Joseph's House. And there he has stayed — up 16 steps, in a small bedroom where he keeps his four pairs of shoes, his half-dozen shirts, his Old Spice and his stack of books a foot high.
He has spent many hours talking to Lenora Cooke, the nonprofit's program director. He tells her about his life — of his mom's stabbing, his mom’s death, his bouncing around 89 times before landing in Greensboro and finding himself alone.
Brandon has a name for it: "The Struggle."
"Miss Cooke," he tells her. "You don't know. When you're in The Struggle, it's hard to look up."
But the closer to graduation, the more excited Brandon gets.
"Miss Cooke, you know what I'm going to tell my family," he has told her. "I'm going to tell them, 'Look at me. I did it.' "
It is Thursday.
And it is time.
Brandon will finally graduate. It took him seven years. And his father will see it. That's what makes Brandon nervous. His conversations with his father often turn into shouting matches.
Once again, Brandon will ask his dad about stabbing his mom, and he wonders if he'll get a different answer than, "I was mad."
He knows he won't forget that. It was his mom, and his dad went to prison for what he did.
But he has forgiven his dad.
Lewis has helped him with that as well as his anger. Brandon knows if he doesn't forgive, he won't be able to move on and start a new life.
He still remembers what his 45-year-old mother, Willie Mae Richardson, told him as she lay in her hospital bed during her final days.
"You know, I'm not going to be here," she said. "Promise me one thing. You're going to graduate."
"I promise," Brandon responded. "I don't care how long it takes or how hard it gets."
So, as he walks into Northern High's auditorium Thursday, he thinks about that, his speech and his dad. Mainly, though, he wishes his mom was in a seat. He sits up front, behind a row of school officials. His face is stoic.
For four days, Brandon has rehearsed his speech in his bedroom. He wants it to be right. He remembers what Lewis told him. Speak slowly. When it's time, he steps to the microphone and begins.
He talks about his dad leaving him twice, and he mentions the names of the many people who have helped them. He talks in a monotone, hardly looking up as he reads from his three-page script. But by the time he gets to the end, he looks out over the crowd and smiles.
Big.
"I told my mom the day that she passed away that I was going to get my high school diploma no matter how long it took and how hard it was," he says. "I would never give up."
After his speech, Brandon finds his dad.
George Evans is 60, slender with a bald head, sharp in a suit. He drove from Wilmington for the graduation, and Brandon finds him standing in a corner outside the auditorium. Brandon approaches. He smiles. They shake hands. They talk.
Brandon asks about the stabbing. His dad pretends he doesn't hear him and changes the subject. Brandon doesn't bother to follow up. But you see it in his face. His smile vanishes.
"Thank you for what you did," Evans tells Lewis, shaking his hand. "I know."
Then, Evans is gone. He tells Brandon it could be years before he sees him again. No matter. Brandon knows he never could depend on him. He simply knows what his next steps will be.
Walk with Grimsley High, his home high school, Sunday night during its graduation. Start at GTCC this fall. Look to transfer to N.C. A&T and major in mechanical engineering. And try to play football.
But right now, it's Thursday night, and it's back in Lewis' Honda Accord, back toward another night at Joseph's House.
But it's time to celebrate. He kept his promise — to his mom and to himself.
"I'm going to take a picture of this (diploma) before the light goes out," says Brandon, sitting in Lewis' car and speaking faster and louder with every word.
"I'm going to show everyone I got a diploma! I'm going to show the world! Facebook! Everyone is going to see it! And I'm going to say, 'Remember when you said I couldn't do it?! ' "
Contact Jeri Rowe
at 373-7374 or jeri.rowe
@news-record.com.
(Picture to the left Editor and Chief of Black Athlete Sports Network Eric D.Graham and school counselor Duane Lewis)
