Literary Journal - The Muse - Dominican Academy

Corrupted by Rock Alone
Lyla Cerulli
Was it really him standing over there with the bags under his
eyes and the cigarette in his hand? What happened to the altar
server with long hair and a sharp smile? I couldn‟t help but stare
from behind a car in front of me. Slowly, I walked along with him on
opposite sides of 86 th street. Pulling my hood over my head, I began
to quicken my steps to keep up with him. We were side by side,
separated by cars, the street, and our extremely different worlds.
I began to think what led him to his current state. He began to
stop going to mass. He was no longer there every week, and
suddenly… he never came back. Rumors spread that he joined a
rock band. He was said to be the lead guitarist and no longer had
time for altar serving. Another rumor had said that he had dropped
out as quickly as he had joined. But he was now seen smoking in
the Great Lawn on a regular basis.
I abruptly stopped at the corner as he began to cross. His
shoulder brushed up against mine and he stopped briefly and
looked back at me as if—he was remembering. “Remember me,” I
whispered to myself, “Remember me and everyone else you knew
before you changed.”
“Carmine,” I barely said aloud.
But he kept walking. He did not remember. And I began to
think, “Was it really something as simple as a band that had
corrupted him?” He was now simply a boy with long hair, corrupted
by rock—that was so unfamiliar to my eyes.