This Life Came So Close to Never Happening

Give me the word and I’ll take a left turn. Give me the word, we’ll go.

They’ll find me. They’ll find me sooner or later.

You know how they find people? They find them when they come home. People run away, but they usually come back. That’s when they get caught. So you go…and you never come back. You never come home. We’ll drive. We’ll keep driving. Head out to the middle of nowhere. Take that road as far as it takes us.


Every man, woman, and child alive should see the dessert one time before they die. Nothing at all for miles around, nothing but sand and rocks and cactus and blue sky. Not a soul in sight. No sirens, no car alarms, nobody honking at you, no madman cursing or pissing on the streets. You find the silence out there. You find the peace. You can find God.

So we drive west. Keep driving till we find a nice little town. These towns out in the dessert—you know why they got there? People wanted to get away from somewhere else. The dessert for starting over. Find a bar and I’ll buy us drinks. I haven’t had a drink in two years, but I’ll have one with you. One last whiskey with my boy. Take our time with it—taste the barley, let it linger. And then I’ll go.

I’ll tell you, “Don’t ever write me. Don’t ever come visit.” I’ll tell you, “I believe in God’s Kingdom and I believe I’ll be with you again and your mother, but not in this life time.”

You get a job somewhere, a job that pays cash, a boss who doesn’t ask questions. And you make a new life and you never come back. Monty, people like you. It’s a gift. You make friends wherever you go. You’re gonna work hard. You’re gonna keep your head down and your mouth shut. You’re gonna make yourself a new home out there.

You’re a New Yorker that will never change. You got New York in your bones. Spend the rest of your life out west, but you’re still a New Yorker. You’ll miss your friends, you’ll miss your dog, but you’re strong. You got your mother’s backbone in you. You’re strong like she was.

You find the right people, and you get yourself papers. You forget your old life. You can’t come back. You can’t call. You can’t write. You never look back. You make a new life for yourself, and you live it. You hear me? You live your life the way it should have been. May be this is dangerous, but may be after a couple of years, you send a word to Naturelle.

You get yourself a new family, and you raise them right, you hear me? Give them a good life, Monty. Give them what they need. You have a son. May be you name him James. It’s a good, strong name. And may be one day, years from now, long after I’m dead and gone—reunited with your dear mother—you gather your whole family together and tell them the truth who you are, and where you come from. You tell them the whole story. And then you ask them if they know how lucky they are to be there. It all came so close to never happening. This life came so close to never happening.



*From 25th Hour (2002). Miramax Films. Written by David Benioff. Directed by Spike Lee.