The LyricsTo His Song

by Krystal Armstead

  Karen took a deep breath. “Sean was drunk and high out of his mind last night. I told you not to go home to him, didn’t I? Those niggas that he hangs with do all types of hallucinogens! I’m sure Sean doesn’t even remember what he did to you!”

  I couldn’t believe she was making excuses for him. “Karen, okay, so if he didn’t know what the fuck he did to me, why is he proposing to me with a ring that his ass can’t even afford?”

  “He’s been talking about proposing to you for months now, Audrey!” Karen defended him. “He’s working with A.J. Miller just so he can afford to pay for this ring!”

  “Did you know that he had a baby with Brenda Morris?” I asked.

  Karen was reluctant to nod her head, but she did. “Yes.”

  “Did you know that the baby was born the same day that my baby was supposed to be born?” I whispered.

  Karen nodded, her eyes sparkling. “Yes, honey, I did. But that’s all water under the bridge now. It’s over with Brenda. He pays her child support; he spends time with his kids—”

  I interrupted her. “Whoa, wait a minute now! Kids? What got-damn kids?”

  Karen sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Fatima’s two-year-old son, Quan.”

  I laughed out loud to keep from crying out. When I saw Fatima’s face, I was going to fuck her ass up. “Does Snare know about this?”

  Karen shook her head. “Of course not, and you need to pretend that you don’t know either. That’s their business.”

  “No, Karen, it’s mine!” I squealed.

  “No, what’s your business is this.” Karen pointed to the stack of paperwork that Vita-Jean held in her hands. “You’re about to be rich. No more struggling. No more worries. Marry Sean and ignore his bullshit. I’m sorry about what he did to you, but you can’t even imagine the shit that I’ve been through with Ervin. The niggas in this industry do us dirty, but that’s the life that we chose. They mistreat us, they cheat on us, they beat on us, and yes, sometimes they violate us. But at least the nigga you’re with hasn’t let his friends have sex with you, whichever way that they like, just to pay off of his debts!”

  Vita-Jean and I both looked at her.

  “I can’t tell you how many niggas he let up in our house to rape me! You’re crying because your boyfriend had sex with you a little too rough? Try the loan sharks, the realtor, gang leaders, other musicians, drug dealers, hit men, my own got-damn father-in-law!” Karen wiped the tears that escaped from her pretty brown eyes. “Sean was high as a got-damn kite when he did that to you! Has he ever put his hands on you before? Has he ever raped you before?”

  I hesitated. “That’s not the point, Karen!”

  “It is the fuckin’ point, Audrey! When you see him today, I guarantee you that he’s not going to remember he did this shit to your face or whatever else he did to hurt you! I promise you! That ring isn’t an apology gift from last night. It may be a guilt ring from the other shit he’s done, but it’s not from what he did last night. Chuck the shit up, and move the fuck on, Audrey.” Karen sat up in her chair.

  And I leaned back in mine, pissed because I knew that once I told my mother what happened to me, she was going to give me the exact same speech. So, I decided that those two were going to be the only ones who knew the truth about what Sean did to me.

  “Now, you were supposed to be here early this morning. Antwan has been in the studio all day working with his brother. His brother works with Trey Benson at BAM Inc., ugh. Apollo would be a perfect addition to our label, but unfortunately, we can’t offer him the perks that BAM can.” Karen huffed, sliding me more documents to sign.

  “Antwan told me to come in at 11:00. Said that I should take my manager out to lunch after rehearsal, but my manager refused. He wasn’t too happy to see me go. Korey has done so much to help me, unlike the nigga whose proposal you’re telling me to accept.” I watched Karen rolling her eyes.

  “Anyway,” Karen pursed her lips at me, “I hope you brought a few songs for Antwan to work on today. I’m trying to get this nigga away from gangsta rap for this next album. I want him to cross over into the pop world, and I know you’re just the one to help me. I heard this nigga singing one day down in one of his houses. He says he has a piano that I never knew that he had. This dude wrote a song for his mama, Audrey. I want you to get him to sing it to you. You have his mama’s heart inside of you; I’m sure he’d do anything for you.”

  I looked at her, my anger subsiding a little.

  “Drizzle, Snare, Apollo, and Antwan are in the studio right now. I invited Queen Gates over.” Karen watched my eyes widen a little. Karen grinned. “After finding out that you won the contest last night and accepted the position, she agreed to come work for Antwan as your vocal coach.”

  I shook my head, “Whoa, wait, hold up. I was hired as Antwan’s songwriter. I’m not a singer. I just looked over the contract this morning. The terms of the contract were that I write for Antwan, and that’s it. It didn’t say anything about singing hooks or—”

  Karen cut me off. “You can write hooks though, right? Well, then your ass can sing ‘em, too. You are very talented Mrs. Audrey Gibson-Lee. Don’t underestimate yourself. Don’t sell yourself short. We can draft up another contract. You can be his songwriter, and you can be my singer.”

  I shook my head. “The stage isn’t where I belong, Karen.”

  “Haven’t you been behind the scenes long enough, Audrey?” Karen reminded me. “Just think about it.”

  ***

  “Bullets flying over top of you; you dropped your gun, what you gonna do? Shouldn’t have fucked with the Royal crew; you stomped on our ground, we gon’ murder you. Kidnap your bitch and your daughter, too; you fired shots, we gon’ fire, too. Put the dick in her mouth, right in front of you; you asked for this shit, now enjoy the view…” I watched Apollo and Antwan spit lyrics through the mic, behind the soundproof glass of the recording booth.

  Drizzle sat in front of the equipment, head bopping to the music and the lyrics flowing through the twins’ mouth. Queen Gates stood alongside the wall. Snare stood beside her, hands moving as if he was pretending to play drums to the beat of the music. I wasn’t gonna lie; the lyrics that flowed from their lips was phenomenal. A little intimidating, but that was what gangsta rap was. Every other word that came from their lips drilled into your soul. They spoke on everything from killing their rival’s entire family to having sex with their rival’s girl while their rival watched the shit. I was blown away. My heart leaped in my chest to the beat of the music that flowed around us.

  Antwan signaled Drizzle to stop the music once he caught sight of me stepping into the studio, closing the door behind me.

  Apollo looked up at me. Apollo had a pecan brown complexion with light eyes and brown dreads. He rocked purple from the purple baseball cap on his head to the purple bandana draped around his neck to that crisp Giuseppe plaid shirt to the purple high-top Giuseppe’s housing his feet. Antwan, on the other hand, was dressed in “The Hood Raised Me” apparel, a clothing line created by the two brothers. Antwan wore all black; even his Gucci watch was dripping in black gold. Though the brothers weren’t identical, that smile of theirs was the same. That little conniving, manipulative, yet adorably irresistible smile.

  “What’s up, Lyric?” Antwan greeted me as he stepped out of the booth with Apollo following close behind him, brown dreads shining under the studio lights.

  I eyed the nine millimeters that both had tucked in their jeans. As a matter-of-fact, Drizzle, Snare, and Queen were strapped too. I looked back up at the twins. I felt like I was walking through the hood as I strolled down the hallway that afternoon to the studio. Every hood nigga that Apollo knew was chillin’ in the hallway.

  “The whole hood is in the place, I see.” I had to comment.

  Everyone chuckled a little.

  “Y’all know I don’t go anywhere without my hittas.” Antwan looked me over, gold grill gleaming. “You know niggas always actin’ strange. Pops g
ot his niggas around here lurkin’ and shit. I don’t trust that nigga.” Apollo looked into my face. “So, what do you think about my new single, The Right One? It’s hittin’, huh?”

  Antwan looked at me.

  They all looked at me.

  I swallowed hard, spotlight on me. “It was alright, I guess.”

  Antwan laughed out loud as the cocky expression disappeared from his brother’s face.

  “‘A’ight?’ Fuck you mean it was just ‘a’ight’?” Apollo felt some type of way about me and my worthless-ass opinion.

  I shrugged. “I mean, it’s just so… ruthless. So… hood.”

  “Shit, we’re some ruthless, hood muthafuckas.” Antwan laughed at me.

  I sighed. “Try something different for a change, huh; that’s all I’m saying. Why don't you try raping about something other than shooting and killing?”

  “That’s all I know, Lyric.” Antwan shrugged. “Shit, that’s all any gansta knows.”

  “Try rapping about love.” I suggested.

  “I never knew anything about love.” Antwan seemed ashamed to say.

  His brother, Apollo, nodded in agreement. “Hell nah.”

  “Ok, Antwan, Apollo... Rap about that.” I grinned a little, hoping someday I’d be blessed to teach him.

  “I don’t know, Ma.” Antwan wasn’t so sure.

  “Well, think about it. I mean, that entire song is about killing a dude after making him watch you both have sex with his baby mama.” I watched the twins give each other dap. I rolled my eyes at their ignorance before spitting a few lyrics from their song that I remembered. “‘Body pumped full of lead, took ’bout fifty shots to the head. The last sight that you saw, was my dick in your bitch, me fuckin’ her raw.’” I was disgusted that I even knew the lyrics to the song and even more disgusted that Apollo was proud of the lyrics to that song. “Apollo, did you write that triflin’ shit?”

  Apollo frowned a little, laughter fading quickly. “Yo, where you from, Ma?”

  “I was born in Florida, but lived in Maryland all of my life. I was raised in Hanover, right outside of Fort Meade, in the Provinces before Dad got a better job, and we moved out to Columbia.” I looked around at everyone who was looking at me.

  “Okay.” Apollo nodded, grinning. “Which neighborhood?” He looked me over. “Your daddy is a lawyer, right? Your mom works for the Library of Congress? Yeah, you probably lived off of Harpers Farm Road, huh?”

  I nodded. “Yes, as a matter-of-fact, we moved there when I was in the ninth grade.”

  “You had both parents in your life, huh? Who both had high paying jobs and shit. Daddy probably came back home to Mama every night at 6:00. Probably had an office in the basement where he did all of his work. I’m pretty sure y’all ate together like one big happy family every night, huh? Mama in her lil’ white apron; Daddy still in his suit and tie. Mama probably ironed his clothes, draws, and the nigga’s socks. Daddy gave you everything you ever asked for, made sure his princess didn’t want for anything. Didn’t he?” Apollo scoffed, gritting his teeth.

  I folded my arms, resenting the fact that he thought he knew me. “You don’t know shit about my life, Apollo.”

  “And you don’t know shit about ours to call our lyrics triflin’ either, shawty.” Antwan defended his brother.

  I looked at Antwan. “Do y’all have any idea of how many siblings I have outside of Brandie? My father had six children while he was married to my mother! Does that sound like a happy marriage to you?”

  Everyone in the studio laughed a little.

  “Are you serious right now?” Snare muttered to himself. “I wish cheat was all my got-damn father did. I grew up in the back of a crack house. My father was a pimp. I lived with my father and about fifteen other women, and my dad had at least two children by each and every last one of them hoes.”

  My eyes widened a little before I exhaled deeply.

  “Shit, my father beat the shit out my mother just about every day.” Drizzle spoke up. “One night, he beat the shit outta Moms because she cooked Kraft Macaroni and Cheese instead of Velveeta Shells and Cheese. He beat her so bad that he knocked her right eye out of its socket. Mom went to sleep that night and never woke up the next morning. Before my dad could get arrested for what he did to my mom, he shot himself in the head at the breakfast table, in front of me, my little sister, and little brother. My brother was six years old at the time; my little sister was two.”

  We all shook our heads to ourselves.

  “We’ve seen some shit that we shouldn’t have seen at a very young age. Shit that your spoiled eyes couldn’t even imagine. The shit I’ve been through would have killed you or at least killed your spirit, shawty. You think the shit we spit is too hood. Nah, shawty, the shit we spit is too real.” Antwan’s eyes sparkled under the studio lights.

  “Did you know Queen Gates is our cousin?” Apollo nodded his head towards my favorite local poet and songstress.

  I looked at Queen.

  She winked at me, her thick, natural hair sitting on top of her head like a crown.

  “When her mama—my Aunt Hanna, died of a drug overdose, Uncle Walter took her in and raised her in an apartment right next door to Grandma’s. You have no idea how many times my uncle sold her to feed his crack habit. I can’t tell you how many times he kidnapped us from Grandma’s house and tried to sell us for sex to all types of dealers and rich muthafuckas!” Antwan exclaimed. “My uncle sold me to this rich white couple when I was just eight-years-old. As soon as that nigga’s pants came down in front of me, I tried to cut that nigga’s dick off! Once Grandma died, Uncle Walter and his twin, Clyde, who lived at Grandma’s apartment, raised us. They beat the shit out of us every chance that they got. I took hundreds of beatings for Queen; everything she did wrong, they were going upside her head. Once, the nigga shaved her bald because she snuck out one night to be with this dude who lived in Pioneer City.”

  “Uncle Dante, their older brother, was this big time drug dealer years ago before he was ratted out and sent to the Feds.” Apollo continued the story. “He was the entire reason that Uncle Walter was strung out on drugs the way that he was. When Uncle Dante came over and saw the bruises that were all over all three of us, he took us from Uncle Walter and moved us in with one of his girlfriends who lived a few blocks away in Meade Village. Shit, living with Sasha wasn’t any better. Once Uncle Dante was arrested, Sasha had us doing everything to help maintain the lifestyle that Uncle Dante had her living. Had Queen selling drugs and sex for her. Had us dealing and killing for her. We were twelve years old then.”

  “When I went to juvenile detention at the age of twelve, that’s when I met the mayor.” Antwan told us. “She came in my room, sat down, and talked to me for hours. I felt like I’d known her forever. I felt like there was finally someone who understood my pain. She cared about what I was talking about, and she actually listened. She gave me her number and told me to call her any time. She told me that she was sorry about the life that I lived, but it was up to me to make a change. That I wasn’t the person that I showed everyone else. That I was a good boy. That she believed in me. When she left, my counselor called me to her office. Ol’ girl was like, ‘oh, I see your mother stopped by to see you today.’” Antwan shook his head to himself. “Up until that point, I was told my mother was dead. Grandma never talked about our mother, except to say that she’d taken us from our mother because our mother couldn’t love us. I met the mayor that one day and never saw her again until I saw her lying in her casket, four years ago.”

  “Yeah.” Apollo nodded, temples twitching. “And I didn’t find out the nigga, A.J. Miller, was my father until I had the nigga at gunpoint the night of Mom’s funeral. I visited Uncle Dante that day in prison. He told me that night that Mom gave us up because our father raped her. When I asked him who our father was, he told me it was A.J. Miller. When I saw that nigga at Mom’s funeral service, yeah, I pulled a gun on the nigga in church. Been beefin’ with the nigga ev
er since. As soon as I see that nigga’s face in this building, I’ma get that nigga, too.”

  Antwan shook his head at his brother. “Nah, nigga, let the shit go. Stay away from that nigga. You know the power that nigga has. Before you can get one bullet in him, there will be ten nigga’s aiming at’cha ass. Mama didn’t give a fuck, Pops didn’t give a fuck; nigga, it is what it is. Just let the shit go. Fuck.”

  I looked at Antwan, watching his nose flaring. I could feel his pain; his mother’s heart thumping inside of me with every word her sons spoke.

  “So.” Apollo changed the subject. I felt his eyes tracing my profile, watching me looking at his brother. “Now you know why we spit the lyrics that we spit. So, tell me more about you. Bruh says you’re the recipient of our mother’s heart.”

  I hesitated, looking at Apollo and then back at his brother. “Ummm… Yeah.” I looked back at Apollo.

  Apollo nodded. “A’ight, that’s what’s up. You’re all we have left of her, all we’ll ever know of her. Her blood runs through your veins, too, so you’re family now, shawty. Our little sister. So you know we’re gonna look out for you.” Apollo nudged me in my arm.

  Drizzle sat at the equipment, a mid-tempo beat flowing through the speakers around us. Drizzle was from the West Coast, so just about everything he mixed together reminded you of The Chronic album. But that day, he threw a little Chesapeake Bay into the mix. Queen hummed to the beat. Snare started beating on the wall like he was beating on his set of drums.

  “So, what’cha got for us, Ma? Since you said we’re too ‘hood’ and shit, lemme hear what you came up with. None of that Keith Sweat, Jodeci, Chris Brown, all-we’ve-got-is-fifteen-minutes, fuck-you-back-to-sleep, let’s-make-sweet-love-til-the-muthafuckin’-morning shit either.” Antwan shook his head at me, standing alongside his brother. “Gimme something I can relate to. Something that pays homage to the struggle.”

  Everyone focused their attention on me, to see what I could come up with at the drop of a dime. Like I was a freestyler or some shit.