Michael K. Williams - Scenes from My Life: A Memoir

We all are works in progress. Everybody is a work in progress.

Michael Kenneth Williams

M ichael K. WilliamsMike, to those who knew himdied on September 6, 2021, a few weeks before we were due to turn in this manuscript. He and I had been working for two and a half years on various drafts and iterations of this book, which began as one thing and gradually evolved into another. After his passing, the book was completed off of the extensive interviews he gave me.

Mike was open to sharing his personal story and experiences because he thought his journey, his openness itself, could offer solace to others. He was adamant that the book he wanted to write shouldnt be about self-glorification but was instead an honest chronicle of what hed been through and how it informed the man he became.

He wouldnt want to hide the fact of what killed himhis addictionand he spoke openly about the daily struggle the disease was for him and for so many others. There are references in this book to how he thought he was one false move from having it all slip away, about the fragility of life, and how it all could be snatched away at any moment: these are all directly from him. This is how Mike felt and how he spoke.

Early on in the process, he finished telling me an embarrassing story connected to his drug use and I asked if he was okay with putting it in the book. Yes, definitely, he said. I dont think I have the liberty of leaving that out. The liberty of leaving that out. It told me so much about himhow he felt his struggles had to be about something more than just himself. How he suffered and how it was not in his nature to deprive anyone who might benefit from the sharing of that suffering. He knew how pain kept inside multiplies and how pain shared subtracts. This idea would come up again and again in our work.

Sometimes my phone would ring and it would be Mike in a frenzy, that deep and raspy baritone, excited about some news piece he saw on television, some kid who had crossed his path, or some memory that had sprung up. Hed tear up retelling a story and his voice would catch and the pain would find a way to settle. Then hed get worked up about something else and his voice would go up an octave and hed find his way back down before moving on. He had so much love, passion, hunger, and ideas that sometimes it all just spilled out of him and you had no choice but to just let it flow and marvel at it.

Mike had an indomitable spirit and gracious energy, and Im not sure where it all came from. On some calls with me, hed be out on the street and I could hear strangers walk up to him and just start talking. He was always friendly, knowing that exchange was real for them, that it mattered to them. So it mattered to him. It was never a burden, being a recognizable face in the community. It wasnt the fame that fueled him but that connection. He knew he was playing a part. And in his final years, he had grown more and more comfortable with the responsibilities and the possibilities that came with that part.

His friend and activist partner Dana Rachlin told me that Mike understood that his greatest role was not Omar Little or Chalky White but being a community member and doing the work, partnering with and mattering in young peoples lives. And he grabbed it with both hands. In the week before his passing, he was in a really good place: optimistic, positive, energized. He was reminiscing to me about his old theater days and talking about his community work with that insatiable energy that was uniquely him.

Mike was open to the world in a way few are. As we age we tend to close off for protection, but Mike did the opposite. He wanted people to see in, and because of that he was open to other forces getting in as well. It was like he didnt have a layer of protective skin. It was a blessing and, sometimes, a curse.

When I think of Mike, I think of that line from Terence, the Roman playwright: I am human, and I think nothing human is alien to me. That was Mike. Nothing was foreign to him, whether it was what was in peoples hearts, their needs, their dreams, or their fears. Wherever he went and whatever he was doing, he was tapped into the human experience. He took it all in and put all of himself back out.

Thats why its so hard to let him go. He remains where he chose to bein all of us.

Jon Sternfeld

New York

November 2021

We cannot make good decisions from a distance. If you are not proximate, you cannot change the world.

Bryan Stevenson

W ay before I was anything or anyone, I was an addict. That was my identity, what people thought of me, if they thought of me at all. Into my mid-twenties, I was on the verge of being discarded, like so many of my brothers and sisters who never got a chance to be something else. But through Gods grace, I am still here.

Not a day goes by when I dont think how easily it could have gone the other way. So I live my life as testimony to that fact. The closeness of the ledge keeps me sharp. Taking nothing for granted keeps me honest. And letting each tough or tender moment drench me like waterthat keeps me, me. I get through it all by feeling it all, taking it all in, and putting it back out there as honestly as possible. I still feel one false move away from losing it all. So I do what I can in the time that I have.

When I say I cant forget where I came from, I dont mean that casually, like yeah, you know, deep down Im still just a kid from the projects