by Tiana Laveen
His voice trailed at the end, and he wondered if he should stop before it was too late. “If any of you have ever lost someone you were in love with, then you know how I feel tonight.” The room became so quiet, he could almost hear his own pounding heartbeat. “For those of you that don’t know, this might be your first time here, or uh, you just don’t know the details. Something terrible happened, all right?” He swallowed hard, mustering the courage to go on. “My girlfriend, my soul mate, my soon-to-be-wife, my queen, my better half, my everything. She uh, she was accidentally shot and killed not too long ago.”
He could hear people murmuring while others were yelling out words of encouragement. “Some days, I get up and think, ‘Today, I’m okay.’ Other days, I stay in bed all day. I just lie there, looking at the ceiling. It’s just how it is.” He shrugged. “So, I’m not going to delay this any longer. I just want to vibe with you all for a minute. I wanna say something to you all, and to my baby, my Brooke. Can I do that with you tonight?” The room erupted in applause. “That’s what’s up.”
The music grew louder as he stood in the middle of the stage. The lights dimmed all around the club, but a red spotlight now beamed down upon his head.
“I was that rough Black kid from Brooklyn who grew into a man. Had two hardworking parents with pensions and a plan. But I saw the world differently, couldn’t sit still, would bend God’s will, amen…
You know, the hood had my heart, smart kid that hung out in the streets. Beautiful, lovin’ mother, strong Black father who refused to ever show weakness,
But I confess, I was a mess…Damn. So much strife and stress. One autumn day,
I was hearing a song…a voice that had wings.
I grew up in a matter of seconds, put away childish things to hear this Nubian queen sing…
She stood at the crosswalk wearing a tight pair of jeans…
And I tapped her on her shoulder, but she ignored me and kept doin’ her thing…
No ring…Cool, she’s single, at least no king…
But she must’ve smelled my doggish ways and wasn’t impressed by the little bling.
I didn’t have much back then, but I fronted, tried to play the role, you know,
To get the baddest chicks you had to pretend you ran the show.
She saw through that; she was not a new jack. She was in control…
And she left me standing there as she went on her little stroll. Alone.
I could still smell her perfume. It was like love libations, beehives and honeycombs. I was sticky from her soul, suddenly feeling forlorn…So I stepped out and chased her, like some dog on the roam, and she paused…
She paused…
She paused…
She turned to see me, said, ‘Don’t follow me. Why don’t you go home? I don’t want the shit you’re selling; there is nothing you could say. Even if you were invisible, you would still be in my way…’
DAMN!
She said, ‘I don’t like your energy, your vibe. I don’t like the way you sway. Your vibration is low like valleys, and I’m a mountain with sunrays.’
She didn’t hurt me with her words, but she cut me with her eyes. I knew she was different from the rest. This was authentic, no disguise.
And still I rise…in every sense of the word, because this woman turned me on, so I ignored what I heard. Undeterred.
I asked her out on a date. She laughed and said, ‘Boy, be gone…’
‘I’m no boy, I’m a man—now I gave you time to talk. I followed you from a distance, because I like the way you walk. If you are willing, ready and able to try something new out for size, you’ll see that I’m great, a prize…I’m more than meets the eye.’
She said, ‘Oh really? I’ve heard that all before…This is the part that I choose to ignore.’
I told her, ‘I am not infatuated with gold diggers, bimbos, and whores. You caught my eye, ’cause you’re classy, show a little skin, not a lot…just enough, to feed femininity, make me respect you and make me hot.’
She said, ‘It’s summer, what did you expect?’
I told her, ‘A date and a kiss on the neck…’
I come correct.
I come prepared—
‘Try me out, if you dare…’
One week later we were fine, at a restaurant, sipping wine. She told me she sang, I told her I worked. She said that’s good, paychecks are perks…
Now I’m not gonna lie, Brooke was fly. She caught the eye of most any guy…
But the sexiest part was her lack of care. Her confidence made me declare…that this was it.
If she was with another, I’d have a damn fit…
All other women aside, I had to have her. I could not hide…my true intentions, but did I mention…her kiss? Her kiss…her kiss…I died, and came back alive. It was her touch that became my biggest wish…”
He took a deep breath, his heart skipping beats, challenging the rhythm of the music, then continued…
“Weeks turned into months then years, she was healing my soul like a shaman…
I couldn’t believe there was someone like me; we had so much in common. And she fixed vegetarian meals while I was still eating pork chops and ramen…”
Rustles of laughter radiated throughout the room.
“My temper isn’t the best. She was the only person who could calm me down. People knew not to fuck with me, if my girl wasn’t around. Incredible Hulk—I was sore, she was my Band-Aid, and so much more. I was cancer, she was chemo…I was lost, she was finding Nemo…” He smiled sadly.
“She found my ass, dusted me off. With her I could be vulnerable and soft…
Out in this world, the injustice of it all. I wore Timberlands to feel tall when sometimes I felt small. Marchin’ with my Latino, African, and Black brothas down the street, wavin’ our flags, demanding justice and peace…
There was a time when I was in the thick of it all.
Fightin’, heavily strapped, ready to go to bat for the wrong damn thing…
Her voice became my elixir, I’d heard heaven sing.
Love changed me, made me realize I had to get this lady a ring…
Make this shit official, make her Mrs. Davis, ASAP, but some dude that I marched for, fought for, got put in jail for, came in and changed all of that…
The same mothafuckas that I begged the cops to stop killin’ were ready and willin’ to steal my joy. Stole the mother of my unborn baby girl and boy, from the vessel I’d planned to plant my seed…
But now the only seed I see is in a bad batch of weed…so I need a reason to get the fuck up in the morning, because the nights are covered in liquor and the days are a hazy blur…
I found myself fuckin’ the sheets, dreaming she was beneath me, thinking my damn pillow was her…
I just wanted to touch her again…you know, to feel her hair and get a private taste…I just wanted to touch her heart and feel her sweet, warm breath against my face.
I just wanted to hear her complain about the rain, or some dude she almost had to mace…I just wanna hear her laugh about when we first met – how a dog named Cameron gave chase…
I just wanna wake up tomorrow and someone tell me that this entire time has been a dream…And then I look over to the other side of the bed, and there’s that mountain with the sunrays…and there lying beside me is my Queen…
They say the good die young, but that’s bullshit.
We all know fucked up people that died way after age thirty…
We know babies that die as soon as they take their first breath, and for life, surely they are more than worthy.
People have told me it gets better with time, but the wine is telling me that’s bullshit, too…
Time don’t do shit but draw out the pain. It stops tickin’, and then what can you do?
Some say I’ll meet someone else, as if that’s what this is even about. I don’t do shit for clicks and views, like on YouTube. I am not one to chase clout.
I don’t gi
ve a shit about someone else to screw, someone to date, or the belief that things will get better. I’m not a glutton for abuse, and that’s the truth – but how can you accept storms when you lived in a place always blessed with sunny weather?
I loved her from her thorny crown to her polished toes, and yeah, I know she’d want me to move on, to heal, not live this life, allowing time to stand still and impose. That’s not how this goes. That’s not how she rolled…
She saw everyone as fluid. We’re energy, just sharing space and time and walking the path we chose…
The flesh is just an illusion, and in her conclusion,
life never ends, time is always prime. It just fast forwards and rewinds…
She told me no one ever truly dies; there is no such thing as death…
Well, if that’s true, Brooke…then, uh, why doesn’t my heart know that yet?
’Cause the damn dog was wailin’ for a week, and for days, I could not speak…and your mother told friends that pain is sometimes bittersweet.
So, that’s what we do – we cope, we tell ourselves these things, so we don’t commit suicide…but deep down, we know that shit is all lies.
We’ve always known that it hurts, and it never goes away, but there are pieces of you, leftover clues, that are destined to stay…
I still find your hair sometimes. I used to complain about you clogging the drain…
Now I spend hours, just whispering your name. I know you’re gone though, baby, but I’m so damn glad that into my life you came…
I don’t own you – you had to go, so on your soul, I have no claim…
I’m so sorry for bein’ selfish, and questioning God’s plan for my life. It’s just hard when he showed me my rib, and I knew you were going to be my wife.
So through this strife, I’m coming through, the lessons you taught me I won’t forget…
But this love I have for you…what am I now supposed to do with it?
It’s just…here, you know? It’s big, taking up all this space.
I guess you’d say, give it to myself, or to the next woman…
But you can’t be erased or replaced…
Everybody loved you, Brooke. You didn’t have a single foe. To know you was to love you, completely…heart and soul…
So, I’m standing here tonight, cryin’ my eyes out, but celebrating your life. I’m going to try to do what’s best, I know, I know…tryna do what feels right.
’Cause I can feel you standin’ around me. You can’t even cross over right.
Because I haven’t let go! You make me wake up in the mornings, you send Opium, or the alarm is real fucking loud. You’re a familiar smell in the kitchen, you’re a strange whisper in the crowd.
I’ve been drinkin’, I’ve been sleepin’, I’ve been getting high as a kite.
The other day, you shoved me and said, ‘We’re not doin’ this same shit tonight!’
I swear to God I felt you push me, and I don’t even believe in ghosts like that, but you made me a believer, telling me, ‘Stop it, that’s not how to act.’
I realized I had to get this out, say my piece, and at least try…but you got my ass up here, makin’ me fall apart and cry. Got me lookin’ like a pussy, when I’m a boss…but then you died…
You died…
You left me, baby, I tried,
then I lied to myself,
said, ‘That’s all right!’
Your mother told me the other day, ‘Cameron, God is in control.’
I said, ‘If He is, and he’s the Wiz, then tell Him to restore my Heart and my Soul…’
Your mother said to me, ‘He did! Her heart beats still to this day.’
Her soul is part of the human tapestry of the world. That always stays.
I want to tell you that I’m sorry, for anything I said to you in a hurtful way,
And I want to tell you that I’ll always love you, Brooke, until my final day…
I know we’ll be together again, but for right now, I am setting you free!
The next time you see me, I won’t be sloppy drunk. I won’t be all up in my feelings…This is it. The last of it…It’s a good time to call it quits. But baby, you were a real one…Beautiful. Authentic. Legit.
I can’t wait to look into your eyes again, and it’ll happen, one of these days.
It took me years to be on your same soul vibration, but now, I’m at the top of the mountain with the sunrays…
Bye, baby…I gotta do right by you.
Because you’re my heart and soul—you’re the best part of me.
So with these final words, I’m lettin’ go…
You’re finally free…
to just…
be…”
His voice trembled and his knees buckled as hot tears streamed down his face. People jumped to their feet; the applause was deafening. In seconds, a small crowd rushed to the stage, each person wrapping their arms around him, pulling him in a tight embrace. He dove within himself, going to a quiet place. A safe place. A place where he could breathe…
Inhale. Exhale.
One solitary, labored, celebratory, healing breath at a time.
Chapter Six
On Repeat, Like a Broken Record
Face the Music sat wedged between a coffee shop with a tin roof and a little store with a red door that, according to the signage, sold vintage dirty movies, dildos, and obscene practical jokes. Emily entered the music store and immersed herself in an entirely new world for her. Some musical artist by the name of Marsha Ambrosius was featured on a glossy poster plastered in a lopsided fashion on one of the store walls. Emily paused and inhaled. The strong scent of sweet incense perfumed the air. People milled about, eyes focused on the shelves and racks, many of them sporting dreads, twisted braids, or long, stringy platinum-blond strands. So odd looking. So bizarre. Their bodies were clad in unusual attire, from weathered, fringed hippie vests to worn sneakers. Emily rubbed a palm nervously over her dark jeans, feeling out of place.
I shouldn’t have come here. Why did I come here? Oh yeah.
But then, she remembered. She’d awakened that morning, desperate for a bean fix. After preparing some vile decaffeinated coffee, she went to her computer and turned on her new playlists at high volume and danced about her apartment, without a single care in the world. Moments later, she’d gotten a wild hair up her bottom to find some place to purchase physical albums, the kind she could hold in her hand. She didn’t want the new stuff but older, classic tunes from legendary artists, but it shouldn’t have come as a surprise; she’d been on a music binge for the past two weeks. It had gotten so bad, the desire to hear the music now interrupted her sleep. But there was a welcome payoff: the nightmares had ceased.
She’d get up at three in the morning like clockwork, turn on her computer, and search for songs she dug, music that reached inside of her and danced with her soul. She’d sway and groove all over her house, sometimes butt naked, becoming intoxicated from the sounds. Musicians she’d never heard of before, she suddenly fell deeply in love with, and proceeded to purchase their music from iTunes and Soundcloud. But it was never enough; it didn’t stop there. She needed more. This was when the research began.
She was soon reading articles about the life of a musical duo called “Outkast.” She abhorred rap and hip-hop music as a rule of thumb, and yet, she liked this group. Something about their style of rap music was different; it felt futuristic in some way, and the lyrics, though at times belted out at a fast pace, she could understand. On occasion, she could even relate to them.
Emily’s digging didn’t stop there, though. That was only the beginning of the madness. Some strange musical genre called neo-soul, one she’d never heard of that sounded like poetry married to seductive, slow guitar riffs and deep drums, became her ear-gasmic lover.
She’d stumbled across an eccentric and outrageously brilliant woman named Erykah Badu via her research on Outkast. Apparently, one of the men had dated the woman for some time, eo
ns ago, and they shared a son. Emily was done once she heard Ms. Badu’s voice. That was the moment the dark purple rabbit hole got deeper…much deeper. She’d watched enough YouTube videos of the singer’s concerts and interviews to practically know the lyrics of several of her hit songs.
And then there was her entirely different journey to the land of rhythm and blues and classic jazz. The final piano stroke, denoting her fall from grace, was when she admitted that this was her new addiction, and it felt amazing to float on cloud nine, so high. Classic jazz and southern blues were now an obsession in the truest sense of the word. She simply couldn’t let it go. This was completely out of the ordinary. In the past, her preferences were stuck to a few pop and contemporary country tunes, not quite minding Celine Dion’s masterpieces, Charlie Puth, Adam Levine, Meghan Trainor, and Ed Sheeran’s newest selections. Now, the possibilities were endless. The gates had been blown wide open.
“Hey, how ya doin’? You look like you might need some help. Can I help you with anything?” a tall Black man asked, rocking and rolling her out of her deliberations of how she’d ended up there in the first place. His skin was so opaque, it reminded her of rich dark velvet one may find on the lapel of a 1974 suit jacket collar. His thick black hair was dreadlocked, pulled back in a ponytail, and draped down his back like ropes. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was clean. Did it smell?
“Uh, no, thanks though. I’m just uh…just browsing.”
The man nodded as his smooth, purplish lips curled in a smile, showcasing almost perfect snow-white teeth, one on the bottom row a tad bit crooked. For some reason, that fit him, made him all the more beautiful. Beautiful? Yes. The whites of his eyes were practically sparkling like crushed stars blended with the brilliance of the Milky Way, and though she tried to not stare, it was damn near impossible. Emily looked into those eyes and a strange sense of peace came over her. She wasn’t looking through him, she was looking at him, and he was mesmerizing. He wore a poncho-type shirt in vibrant stripes of lemon yellow and lime green, and his slightly wrinkled tan cargo pants had large pockets, one of them clearly holding something heavy. She wondered for some odd reason what was in it. Perhaps a phone or wallet.
