Grandmother's Perspective in "A Good Man is Hard to Find"

'“Bailey Boy!”' said I in an anguish. Notwithstanding his bald spot, wife, and three children, he is and will always be my boy. At that moment I looked at The Misfit squatting in front of me and all the while curiously thinking of Red Sam’s words. '“I just know you’re a good man,”' I suddenly said, '“You’re not a bit common!”' (32).

Oh, how can I salvage this situation that I have created? My story to the children of Mr. Edgar Atkins Teagarden and the little misunderstanding with his initials E. A. T. caused no great inflictions. My mistake here does though and just maybe the initials were some sort of ominous herald: Endanger After Tragedy. Who, endanger who after what tragedy? Well, that seems self explanatory.

I could have continued in my thoughts but his response to my wished statement was rapid to correct, '“Nome, I ain't a good man, but I ain't the worst in the world neither…”' so there it is the response a captive awaits to hear (32). At least it seems that he is in a way honest. He continued talking but it all just faded away from my ears as if I had closed them shut. I couldn't hear the rest.

I could not hear his continuation yet I could hear my boy reprimanding me after I unwisely recognized The Misfit. “Do you want to get shot?!” was all I could hear. Repeating. Unfading and instead becoming louder. Clearer. Now my son and nephew are on their way to the woods with two people in possession of weapons. I almost began to tear up again just like when my son raised his voice in frustration towards me.

Maybe The Misfit is just lost and needs some type of guidance. Treat people how you want to be treated, right? I'll be kind and try to empathize. Okay then pay attention. '“That’s perfectly all right. Maybe Bailey has an extra shirt in his suitcase,”' I briskly tried to answer after his apology towards us for his current state (32). I could not care less in this situation for his lack of wearing a shirt.

I heard my daughter-in-law yell in despair to him but The Misfit only ignored and continued on by talking about his father to me.

'“Daddy was a card himself. You couldn't put anything over on him. He never got in trouble with the Authorities though. Just had the knack of handling them”' (33).

‘“You could be honest too if you’d only try,”’ I began. ‘“Think how wonderful it would be to settle down and live a comfortable life and not have to think about somebody chasing you all the time”’ (33). Yes, maybe we’re heading somewhere, though, how I wish it would have been to Tennessee.

“Yes’m, somebody is always after you” was his murmured response (33).

I was standing looking down at him ironically as if I had some power over the situation. Well, perchance I could have some control oh how I hope to God that this is just another bump in the road. '“Do you ever pray?”' I asked (33). I had to ask. Maybe the presence of God, being in his mind, will inhibit any future performance of harmful acts.

Shaking his head he said, '“Nome”' (33).  Oh for the love of God! He must also not be in want of any sermons. To tell him that if he kills us he will go to Hell! What else can I say? As I fumbled with my thoughts the unwanted sound which can only come from a pistol was heard. There were two shots. '“Bailey Boy!”' (33) was my instinctive response.

Selfish response it was, I must concede. The name John Wesley did not come to my mind. The mother that had just lost a husband and a son was only in the foreground. A background image to the ruckus occurring in my brain which seemed to be continually interrupted by this kid who is rebelling against the world. Playing with a gun and “scratching in the ground with the butt of his gun” (33) as if he were a child doodling with a stick in a sandbox.

His words kept escaping and I knew I had to stay attentive. '“Pray, pray... pray, pray”' was my response to whatever he had continued to say (33).

'“I never was a bad boy that I remember of, but somewheres along the line I done something wrong and got sent to the penitentiary. I was buried alive,”' he stated as he then looked me straight in the eyes.

It is quite simple as I see it. Pay for your sins. Maybe though, he got the short end of the stick. That is probably why he decided to buy a gun and rebel. So that he could play the same games he had before, but with a better stick. Maybe the penitentiary hardened a boy who would have been fine with just a slap on the wrist. '“That's when you should have started to pray,”' I said '“What did you do to get sent to the penitentiary that first time?”' (33). Maybe his punishment was not fitting for the crime?

Surprisingly as it is he forgot what he done. Like his forgotten crime, his exact response is unworthy of remembrance too if you ask me. '“Maybe they put you in by mistake”' I could only say (33).

'“Nome. It wasn't no mistake. They had the papers on me”' was his response (33). Great. No seemingly good escape. How are you supposed to persuade someone to have empathy for you when they make it purposefully difficult?

I said in an attempt to make sense of it all, '“You must have stolen something”' (33). Then I suddenly heard him say that he was told by a head-doctor that he had killed his father! My God but of course he was quick to deny it! He is obviously deranged. I could only respond saying, '“If you would pray. Jesus would help you”' (33). HELP YOU! HA, I MYSELF MUST BE GOING DERANGED.

'“That's right”' was his response (34).

'“Well then, why don't you pray?”' (34). Maybe there was some hope after all? Yes, maybe I can lead him to repent for his sins. If not lead him to feel empathy for me and let me free. He is not deranged I was just having an episode created by confusion, anger, irritation, and apprehension. He is a good man. He must be a good man. He has to be a good man.

He then said, '"I don't want no hep. I'm doing all right by myself"' and then asked his helpers to take my daughter-in-law (who carried the baby) and June Star to the same place my Bailey Boy was sent (34).

I was running out of time. Out of options. Wanting to tell him to pray, maybe with his eyes closed I could escape. Possibly hide. All that came out was "'Jesus. Jesus"' (34). It did not come out as I had wanted it to as I could not help but thinking of myself losing my faculties by calling this person and saying that Jesus would help him to do what was in his mind. What was in his mind?! Would he kill a lady that was nice to him?

The continuing conversation seemed lost. I was talking for necessity while not exactly processing everything that I had said or that was said to me. I once again tried to focus and said '"Maybe He didn't raise the dead"' (35). But what exactly had been said? I think he said something about killing and having fun while you can if Jesus did not revive people from the dead. Wait, what did I just say? 

'"I wasn't there so I can't say He didn't. I wisht I had been there"' (35). He hit "the ground with his fist" (35). "'It ain't right I wasn't there because if I had of been there I would of known. Listen lady, if I had of been there I would of known and I wouldn't be like I am now"' (35).

Yes, I must be getting to him. He is just a lost boy like my Bailey who sometimes ignored me. I'll tell him that he is my boy. '"Why you're one of my babies. You're one of my own children!"' (35). Yes this will work, this will work, this must--

"A good Man is Hard to Find" Grandmother's Perspective

“I believe I have injured an organ,” I said hoping to mitigate my son’s anger. But, when no one responded, and Bailey’s teeth began to make a deep, hair raising noise as he ground his teeth together I decided I would be better off trying to find a way out of this mess.

After scrambling up the side of the ditch, I barely had to wait five minutes before I saw a car coming down the road. Realizing I had found another way to cool down my son’s temper, I began waving my arms in a manner ill fitting, though I did not holler and whoop (I still retained some dignity at least), for a lady due to my excitement. When the car rolled on out of sight that excitement died and I recalled the conversation I had just had with Red Sammy.

“Good men are hard to find nowadays,” I mused as our hopes for assistance were dashed. The good, old days where a man would not hesitate to help a lady in need were long past. But then, the car reappeared and as it drew closer three men came into view, sitting inside. I watched, gleefully, and thought about how I was wrong and how there were still good men in this world. My grandchildren may be little monsters with no redeeming qualities but these men are living proof that things like being a lady still mattered.

They came to a stop just above us and the driver looked out the window stared for a few minutes. I preened under his gaze and waited for him to introduce himself but all he did was turn around and mutter something to his companions. The three of them came out and, though his two associates looked vaguely threatening, the driver looked distinguished and well bred. They also all carried guns. That startled me but, considering the times we lived in, I wrote it off as good men with the need to protect themselves.

“We’ve had an ACCIDENT!” my grandchildren shrieked. My goodness, the sound grated on my mind. Why, when I was a child, children knew how to behave and were respectful of their elders.

However, during my reminiscence I realized I recognized the driver from somewhere. I could have sworn I had see-

“Good afternoon, I see you all had you a little spill.” he said politely, peering over the side into the ditch.

“We turned over twice!” I exclaimed excited to have met a gentleman, especially after the unfortunate turn the day took.

“Once. We seen it happen,” then, turning to one of his companions, “Try their car and see will it run, Hiram.”

“What you got that gun for? Whatcha gonna do with that gun?” my grandson asked bouncing up to the man before I had a chance to thank him for his help.

“Lady, would you mind calling them children to sit with down by you? Children make me nervous. I want all of you to sit down right together there where you’re at.” he said motioning to the far wall of the ditch where my daughter in law was still slumped, cradling my youngest grandchild.

“What are you telling US what to do for?” June Star, my granddaughter, said obnoxiously. I understood him perfectly however. He was like me. A relic left over from the past, one who grew up in a different culture, under different rules. Rules my grandchildren did not even know about, let alone  abided by.

And then I realized, “You’re the Misfit! I recognized you at once,” forgetting all the kind things and the time spent commiserating with him in a split second.

Through the Eyes of the Misfit in “A Good Man is Hard to Find” by Flannery O’Connor

Rachel Flores

ENL 10C

Blog Post #2- Prompt #1

May 13, 2018

Through the Eyes of the Misfit in “A Good Man is Hard to Find” by Flannery O’Connor

            “Hey boss, we… we gotta go…now.” Bobby Lee stuttered, trying to catch his breath.

            “Son, you don’t reckon I know that?” I spit at him through my teeth. The boy had begun to become paranoid and I could see right through him. Yeah sure, he was a big fella, but it was starting to become a problem; I could see the fear sweating out his pores every time a shot was fired. It was starting to become a problem.

            “You clean up them hands of yours after you finish rollin’ those folks in the trunk and get that look off you face ‘cause you got the next ones, ya hear?”

            “Yes si-“

            “For god’s sake Hiram! Make sure to not make such a god damned mess. You got my shirt all dirty.” I could feel the heat rising to my face as I looked down at my chest only to realize that my shirt had turned from blue, to a stained dark purple. Take a deep breath. Take a deep breath. I exhaled through my nose as I pulled off the shirt as fast as a tired man could. I was never a fan of the color red.

            “We’re ready when you are.” Hiram called as he and Bobby Lee shut the trunk to the new beauty we had just acquired.

            “Alright boys let’s get going, it won’t be long till those bastards come chasin’ after us again.” I said as we hit the road once again. It was always those drives that made me think and look back on the empty, long road ahead of me. This was the way it had been for the last couple of months. I was tired of the running, the hiding, and the lack of sleep, but I knew why I did what I did and I knew that once I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop. This was a lifestyle and I knew it suited me. No doubt about that.  I began alone as plain old Alonzo Woodson, but soon enough one became two and two became three. I met Bobby Lee and Hiram within the walls of the dirtiest penitentiary and decided that we were in for all the wrong reasons; Bobby Lee was in for killing the man that had shot his little brother, Hiram served time after he got caught stealing a car for his mom, and well I was in for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. I was usually always locked up in shoe, but we found time here and there to plot out exactly how it was that we would get out. Once that free soil touches our feet, we were addicted and once that first gun was shot, it became the new gateway drug. There was no end in sight.

            Usually Hiram was the one who drove, but I had recently become a fan of deserted dirt roads; They always dragged in a new outfit. I was always careful to drive just five above the speed limit when it came to busy freeways and reckless car chases, but there was something about the quiet streets that made me want to fly the same way I flew from the penitentiary, my problems, my crimes, and myself because I was no longer Alonzo Woodson; I was the Misfit.

            Ahead of me sat a shaded hill that forced me to press down on the gas a little harder and all because a couple decided to get rowdy and scream out my newly christened name.

            “Just a little more,” I whispered to myself as we reached the top, slowly letting go of the gas only to catch my breath once more.

            “Hiram wake up,” I shook his shoulder. “Wake up! Look over yonder. Do you see that?” Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he squinted off into what lie ahead. A car flipped over and was now shaking violently after landing right side up. A woman seemed to be cradling something in her arms as she lay on the ground and two kids jumped up seemingly unharmed. An older fellow rose up and so did a man.

            “Do you see that?” I repeated as I slowed down circling the curves that would lead me straight to them.

            “Yes boss. You want to stop by?” asked Bobby Lee from the backseat.

            “You just keep those guns handy. Looks like we’re paying these folks a visit. How many you see Hiram?” I asked.

            “Looks like one..two..” he said to himself as we rounded one curve “three..six. Six sir.” He confirmed as we reached the bottom of the hill.

            “Alright. Stay put and you,” I glanced over at Bobby Lee through the rearview mirror. “You got these, got it?”

            “Yes boss.” He recited almost like a prayer as he caressed the body of his new handgun. That boy may be afraid of his own shadow from time to time, but there’s always that look of thrill before the blood and panic.

Coming to a stop, a small thud was felt as the lifeless bodies moved in the rear part of the car. I could see the loud kids from here and came to notice that what the lady cradled was a screaming baby in one arm while the other lay limply against her side. Dislocated shoulder. My eyes made their way blankly across the scene where the car emit smoke and the grandma blood out of a cut on her forehead.

“We’ve had an ACCIDENT!” the children screamed as I stood by the side of the car, cupping my eyes from the sun that so beamingly shun. Soon after Bobby Lee and Hiram followed. I could feel six pairs of eyes looking at me while one gazed. The older lady had been looking at him the same way the couple had.

“Good afternoon. I see you all had you a little spill.” I said to break to the silence.

“We turned over twice!” exclaimed the grandma. She reminded me of my own, but still her gaze made him uncomfortable.

“Once actually. We seen it happen. Hiram,” I looked back at him with a nod, “Try their car and see if it runs.” The only noises came from the sizzling of the car until the little boy began to play twenty-one questions,

“What you got that gun for? Whatcha gonna do with that gun? Huh? Huh?” he danced around me.

“Lady,” I said as I rolled my eyes over to the children’s mother, “would you mind callin’ them children of yours? Children make me nervous, especially when they start asking so many questions.”

The woman proceeded to hush up her son and with that, I had three to the side and the other three wandering to my left.

“Now listen here. I want all of you to sit right down together and member to sit tight while we handle this situation.” I said as they shuffled over like dazed zombies to the mother and her children. It wasn’t long before the man of the house was made known by desperately saying,

“Look here now, we’re in a predicament. We’re..” he was saying before the grandma shrieked and said,

“You’re the Misfit! You’re the Misfit the police after!” she said with a pale face. I felt a pull at my heart because it felt good to see just how famous I had become.

“Why yes I am mam’. Pleased to meet you.” I looked directly at her with my now famous Hollywood smile. I clicked my tongue and leaned against the car that was now useless. “I really wish you wouldn’t have recnized me. It is quite the honor though.” I winked at her with the sudden whispers that now came from the man to his wife and the tears that ran down the grandma’s face after noticing my gun and just how comfortable my fingers lay on it.

“Now now. No secrets here and you, “I looked at the grandma, “Stop that.” I raised my eyebrows not knowing what else to do. I hated when they cried. I couldn’t look at them comfortably. I looked away and gathered myself the best way I could by digging the tip of my boot in the sand the same way I used to when my momma would scold me.

“You wouldn’t shoot a lady, would you?” she asked knowing very well the answer to it.

“Well mam’ I would hate to…” I trailed off. If only she knew. If only she knew all the grandmas I’ve killed. Just like taking candy from a baby I thought to myself.

“Listen, I know you’re a good man. You don’t look a bit like you have common blood. I know you must come from nice people.” The grandma yelled through the sighs she was trying to catch in the heat of the panic that engulfed her.

“Yes’m indeed. My mother and daddy were two of the finest people and raised a very fine man. Hard working in fact and very clever.” I said having fun with the fear that rose in her eyes and trembling hands. I continued, “The most humble beings.” I whispered almost to myself. My eyes danced from face to face and ended behind them as Bobby Lee stood with his gut plummeting and an excited hold on his gun.

“Now,” I clapped my hands together as I squatted down closer to them, “I’m going to have my good friend Bobby Lee watch other these children of yours while we figure out this whole mess. Children make me nervous.” I said as I looked over at Hiram who announced that it would take half an hour to “fix” the car. All it took was one glance and we all synchronized our thoughts into one: no one would make it out alive.

Once again, the grandma pleaded for her life saying that I was a good man and I was; I am a good man, I told her. “I been in the penitentiary before, ya know? Served some time ‘cause I was accused of killing the fine man I told yous about before, my daddy. I don’t remember how, but I ended up in a prison cell for something I didn’t do.” And I had not killed my father. How could I? It was a drunken night full of my father, liquor, and a blur, but an altercation had arisen in the bar we had been celebrating in between my father and another man. It started off with a joke that became insults and later screams as everyone ran out of the bar. Bright red blood spread under the floor of the same fine man that had taught me not to cry.

“I prechate that lady,” I said coming back from that dark night. “Now hows bout your daddy goes with Bobby Lee on a walk while we take in the sun a bit more.

“I wanna go! I wanna go too!” whimpered the boy.

“Sure,” I shrugged my shoulders as the woman unsuccessfully grabbed ahold of the last time she would see her son. The woman cried and the grandma screamed out “Bailey boy, my Bailey boy!”. The little girl was mute and curious and the baby sound asleep until the sound of two gunshots was heard in the distance. Sighing, I made my way over to the mother and asked her the same question she was anticipating,

“Now all respects to you, but would you care to join your husband and son?” I said as my hand pointed at the same forest where two new bodies, a small and a large one rested peacefully.

“Yes, thank…you.” She sniffled and motioned for her daughter to follow. “Come ow June Star.” The little girl tugged at her mother’s dress as their backs slowly faded into the forest. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. Simultaneous gun shots told me that Bobby Lee had redeemed himself and that I was left with the grandma who ached and begged on her knees. Her eyes were swollen with pain and she looked up at me,

“Do you pray?” she asked as her voice shook.

“Never. That man never listen to me.” I replied.

“Jesus..Jesus” she gasped almost as if she as cursing when in fact she was praying. I crouched down once again to face her and whispered,

“Jesus ain’t here and he sure as hell is not gonna come a rescue you now is he?”

“He forgives! I forgive! You can be be one of my babies. It don’t matter what you’ve done in the past I forgive! I can take you in!” she screamed and tried to grab ahold of me. It took one electric touch from her frail fingers on my shoulder to swiftly pull out my gun and shoot her right between the same mind that led her to believe she could be saved. I pulled the trigger three times; one for her own sake, one for her god, and one for her prayers.

Race in "Streetcar"

Aiken Tong

ENL 10C

Blog Post 2

            At its very core, Tennessee Williams’ “A Streetcar Named Desire” is about the conflict between Stanley and Blanche. Williams’ characterization of Stanley is very complex; due to his sexual attractiveness and blue collar work ethic, on the surface Stanley is seen to be somewhat of an ideal of American masculinity, but it becomes apparent early in the play that this ideal is to be deconstructed. Due to his overt masculinity, Stanley has developed an array of complexes such as machismo and misogyny, which puts him at odds with Blanche, whose haughty and elitist demeanor in his own home fuels his rage. Born ethnically Polish, Stanley is insecure about his heritage, believing that America is the greatest country in the world and therefore his ancestors’ origin is only thing that can possibly detract from his status as both the alpha male and the aforementioned ideal of American masculinity, and this insecurity leads him to violent outbursts in his attempt to assert his dominance. By establishing the insecurity and motivation behind the antagonist through race, Williams gives momentum to the central conflict of the play which allows it to develop and deteriorate.

            Williams uses Stanley’s race to emphasise the differences in class between him and Blanche, in order to exacerbate their conflict. In Blanche’s breakdown during her first argument with Stella, she reveals that she resents Stella for not staying in Belle Reve. She cries, hysterically “Yes, accuse me! Sit there and stare at me, thinking I let the place go! I let the place go? Where were you! In bed with your--Polack!” Originating from a prestigious and well regarded family with a large estate in the South, Blanche has quite a conservative mindset. The notion that a lower class, blue collar worker, such as Stanley, who is a descendant of Polish immigrants, is married to her sister, and for Stella to speak so openly about her sexual desire for him (I can hardly stand it when he is away for a night... When he's away for a week I nearly go wild!) is nothing short of offensive to Blanche. The underlying themes of class and race in the play are highlighted by Williams, with Blanche representing the conservative values of the South, as her dislike of Stanley before even meeting him is already established because of his race, and her inability to tolerate or understand the interracial and inter-class relationship between him and Stella. This causes her to deliberately present herself to be superior toward Stanley, because even though she lives in the same house as he does and is possibly even poorer than he is, her values cause her to be unable to reconcile the fact that they are now equal in class. Her anti-immigration views also reflect the opinions of even modern conservatives, as seen in her breakdown where she quite literally blames her problems on Stanley, believing that her estate was lost because Stella’s marriage to Stanley meant that she was not able to stay home and contribute financially.

            Williams highlights the fragility of the male ego through Stanley’s insecurity about his race. Through his characterisation of Stanley as an alpha male, Williams effectively portrays him as someone who is deeply aware of and proud of his status, and thus will not allow anything to undermine his status. Stanley is extremely sensitive about threats to his masculinity, therefore he is keenly aware of Blanche’s condescending treatment to him because of his race and class. This is the one thing that he will not tolerate, and therefore he responds violently whenever it is brought up. He yells at Stella over a seemingly innocuous comment about his fingers being greasy, saying “Don't ever talk that way to me! "Pig--Polack--disgusting--vulgar--greasy!"--them kind of words have been on your tongue and your sister's too much around here! …I am the king around here, so don't forget it!” This reaction is ironic, as Stella is the strongest proponent of Stanley’s manhood, and no other characters in the play attach as much meaning to race as Stanley and Blanche. Stanley’s fragile ego is the making of his own insecurities, as he actively resents his roots, claiming “People from Poland are Poles, not Polacks. But what I am is a one hundred percent American… so don't ever call me a Polack” believing that his immigrant origins somehow detracts from his status. Stanley’s own insecurities about his race, and Blanche’s fallacious and bigoted opinions, and the role of the two in exacerbating their conflict thus provides commentary on the values put on one’s race in society.

Kennia Gonzalez

ENL 10C

Katherine Anderson

 Topic: "Sonny's Blues" jazz song

            In this blog I will compare and discuss an actual Jazz song with the song that is portrayed in the ending scene of James Baldwin’s, “Sonny Blues”. In “Sonny’s Blues”, the relationship of two brothers, one being a teacher and the other being a musician who is overcoming a drug problem., is at the focus of the story; the brothers reunite and it is tricky for them to understand each other because of their very different outcomes. However, with all the walls being put up and the older brother trying to play the role of knowing what is best and the tension between both of them, the ending scene brings forth a lot of emotions and closure that was very much needed between Sonny and his brother.

The song and the narrative both depict a scene where everything that is held within comes pouring out. Sonny decides to let his musical ability speak his feelings for him and it works because then his brother is able to see what Sonny, his little brother, has been chasing and feeling. Sonny’s brother questions what and why he did what he did and Sonny feels that his cookie cutter brother wouldn’t understand even if he explained it to him. Sonny playing the piano is a way for him to speak what has no words and to allow his pain and his journey be transferred through the melody that he is playing.

            The ending scene can almost be heard when reading it because of the great details that are put within the story. I can picture everything that the author has written on the paper. One song that stands out to me, and can be a real representation of the “imaginary” song that we hear described within the story, is “So What” by Miles Davis. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZrfzenYhv9w&index=2&list=PL8F6B0753B2CCA128

(Hopefully this link works and allows you to listen to the song).

            The song starts off with only the piano, slowly and as if trying to find and build confidence, just like Sonny does in the music scene. Baldwin mentions that Sonny lays his fingers on the piano keys and tries a melody and then quits it, tries again and finally gets the rhythm to the song that he is trying to play. The next instrument that is heard in the song is the joining in of the cello. It’s more quiet and suppressed than the volume of the piano and the instruments that then decide to chime in. It could also mimic Sonny’s older brother’s quiet life compared to that of the loud and center of attention that a piano commands—just like Sonny is taking command of the stage with his music.

            The song picks up with the subtlety of the drums in the background and the saxophone then takes the center stage. In this song, there isn’t a whole lot of low and melancholic notes; there is however, the prominent and inviting notes of the saxophone just like Baldwin describes. “The dry, low, black man said something awful on the drums… the horn insisted, sweet and high…” (Baldwin, P. 20). The horn would be the saxophone in this case because it is loud and smooth like it would be in the song that Baldwin describes. The piano then chimes in again around the seventh minute and is more prominent—this reminds me of when Sonny is playing the piano and his brother sees the emotions that Sonny is putting out there for the world. Baldwin mentions the highs and the lows that the song contains, which parallels those of the feelings that are hidden within Sonny.  

            Music is a language that speaks to the soul regardless of where you come from and where you go in life. And that is why music is a big factor in the story, “Sonny’s Blues”, because him and his brother come from a neighborhood where everything was set up for them to either die young or amount to nothing. However, we see two different outcomes of two different journeys and maybe a song could relate to the both of them and allow both to relish within each other’s company and allow the emotions that they feel take over. Just like that last scene where Sonny plays and his face shows the pain and the trials that he went through, and his brother finally saw what was unspoken before. He sees the hurt in Sonny’s expressions and the way his body moves with the music. Sonny and his brother embrace the music, just differently. Sonny is speaking and reliving his pain, meanwhile, his brother is just discovering and understanding the truth.