Antebellum

  I turned my head away. Even though his eyes were closed, I couldn’t look at him. My voice cracked as I tried to speak again.

  “...I never thought anything like this would ever happen, man. I swear. It was all supposed to be fun and games. I get my four best friends together and we all go ballin’ from state to state. I record some albums, do some shows, do some interviews, and make more money than any of us had ever seen in our lives. What nigga don’t wanna keep himself and his mans iced out, huh? And we find dat sticky in ev’ry city, homie! E’rywhere we go, we blazed—and we da flashiest niggas around, right? Ha ha!”

  When I realized I had been laughing, I thought I’d lost my mind. My smile slowly dissolved into a sea of confusion. I had to go inside my head and separate reality from fantasy before I could keep talking.

  My friend was in a coma, and I was sitting beside him trying to figure out if I was alive or dead myself.

  “It wasn’t worth it, Henry.” I could tell my sanity was back, because my words felt like needles. “None of this, none of it was worth it. I took it too far, homie. They threw some money at me and I jumped into this beef headfirst. You lyin’ here in this bed ’cause I couldn’t turn down a bonus. You lyin’ here ’cause of my greed. So you see? That’s why you gotta wake up, man. ’Cause I’m not worth givin’ your life for, dogg. I never was.”

  My words exhausted me. I leaned forward and lay my forehead on the edge of the mattress.

  Before I could whisper, “I’m sorry,” I was asleep.

  5

  “Yo, I just had this wild dream, cuz. Yo, wake up, man, I just had this crazy dream...”

  Coming out of a deep sleep makes the world seem like a damaged CD. Before you awake fully, everything scratches and skips, and you can’t really tell whether you’re coming or going. Add waking up in a strange place to the equation, and you run the risk of being downright delusional.

  I felt my head and shoulders shake before I actually opened my eyes and I found myself wondering what was going on. I didn’t smell the fresh hotel linen scent that I was so used to, and I was fairly sure that I was bent over the edge of a bed instead of lying flat on a pillow.

  Either something wasn’t right, or I had gotten seriously wasted last night.

  Still, I wasn’t fully awake yet. I tried to ask where I was, but my words came out as a mumbling mess. Someone was still pushing on my head and shoulders, trying to wake me up. I blindly reached out a hand to push the person away, but they persisted.

  Annoyed, I finally lifted my head up. Everything was in doubles for a few seconds, and I couldn’t make out the person in front of me. I looked around and realized I wasn’t in a hotel room at all.

  “Where...where in da hell...”

  My vision started to clear. I saw the chairs and all the medical equipment, and memories from last night started to come back in small drops. I was in a hospital...Phil Winters Show...guy with a gun...Orlando went crazy...I was in a hospital...

  And I looked up to see Henry sitting up in his bed, staring back at me.

  Olympic long jumpers have never been airborne as long as I was. I jumped clear across the room, knocking over two chairs and a small table.

  “WHAT THE HELL? WHAT THE HELL, HENRY? WHAT THE HELL?”

  A nurse outside heard the commotion and came into the room.

  “Is everything okay, Mister...Oh my God, he’s awake!” She ran out of the room, yelling out loud. “Dr. Ahmed, Dr. Ahmed, come quick! He’s awake! Baldwin is awake!”

  I still had my back against the window on the opposite side of the room. Henry looked at me as if I’d sprouted a second head and was singing a duet, and I returned the gaze.

  “What’s up with you, man?” Henry always spoke with his eyebrows cocked upwards when he was confused about something. “Why you actin’ all funny? And...” He stopped mid-sentence and looked at his garments, and then hesitantly looked around the room. He tried to hold his arms up, but the pain from his gunshot wound shot through his left one. He screamed out.

  “What the hell is wrong with my arm, man? And why am I in da hospital?”

  Dr. Ahmed burst into the room, followed by another doctor and three different nurses. They all seemed to be stampeding toward Henry, who instinctively jumped out of bed. I winced as I watched his face. It contorted like a cartoon character in slow motion. He’d forgotten about his arm just that quickly. As soon as he got both feet back on the floor, he used them to collapse beside the bed, pulling one of the machines that was attached to him down to the floor with a crash.

  The doctors and nurses all ran over to help him, but he had used his one good arm to pull himself up to his knees. He balled up his one working fist and looked straight at the hesitant medical staff.

  “Hold up, homie, hold up! Back up, nigga! Don’t touch me!”

  I jumped in front of my friend before he socked one of the nurses in the eye.

  “Yo, yo, Henry, chill, dogg, it’s me, Moe! Be easy, homie!”

  “Moe, what’ss goin’ on, man?” His eyes darted from side to side like a crackhead’s.

  “You ’member anything ’bout last night?”

  “What? What you talkin’ ’bout? What’s goin’ on?”

  “I’m tryin’a tell you, dogg. You remember anything ’bout last night or not?”

  He lowered his fists two inches and paused for a moment.

  “Naw, man. Last I remember we was sittin’ at the TV show watchin’ you onstage...” His eyebrows cocked upwards again.

  “Aight, listen, man, don’t worry ’bout it, aight? I’m gonna explain everything, but you gotta trust me, though. The doctor’s gotta come in and take a look at you, man. Go ’head and lay back down in the bed, and I’m gonna go call Brian and ’em and tell ’em to come through. Soon’s I get back, I’m gonna fill you in on what went down, aight?”

  He turned and looked me in the eye. He wanted to trust me, but he was still uncertain.

  “Aight, look, you lay down, and I’m gonna call dem niggas from right here beside the bed, aight? That way I ain’t gotta go nowhere, cool?”

  “And you gonna tell me how I got here, right?”

  “Hell yeah! I’m only callin’ them first ’cause the whole conversation probably gonna take like three or four hours, and if they find out you was up all that time and they ain’t know, they gon’ be mad hurt! We was thinkin’ you might die, dude!”

  That last part must have hit him pretty hard because he dropped his fist and climbed back into the bed without any hesitation. No sooner had his head hit the pillow than I was on the phone speed-dialing SaTia. I could tell she was already up when she answered.

  “How’s Henry?” she asked.

  “This nigga awake like he jus’ had a fresh night sleep!”

  SaTia dropped whatever else she was holding. I heard it thud against the carpet on the floor of the villa. “What?”

  “He awake, man! Straight up, he’s right here layin’ in bed talkin’ to the doctors! See?”

  I held the phone up against Henry’s ear, which clearly got in the way of a test one of the nurses was trying to administer. She gave me a dirty look as SaTia’s voice echoed out of the receiver.

  “Henry? Henry, are you alright?”

  “What the hell happened last night, SaTia?”

  I put the phone back up to my ear just as she was beginning to explain.

  “He awake, but he don’t remember nothin’ from the show or the rest of the night.”

  “Oh wow...”

  “Yeah, I know! Y’all need to get down here quick!”

  “We’re on our way, Moe. The driver’s outside waiting. We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  Two hours later, Dr. Ahmed seemed to have checked everything on Henry, from his breathing to his muscle reflexes. He said that this type of retrograde amnesia was fairly common in people who had been through a traumatic ordeal, and there was really no telling how long it would last. He made sure the nurses cleaned and dressed his wound regularly,
and placed his arm in a sling so that he wouldn’t try to use it.

  When he was done, Dr. Ahmed gave Henry a clean bill of health. He said they would hold him for another few hours, and nurses would come in periodically just for observation, but after that, Henry was free to go.

  We spent the time trying to explain everything that had happened last night. Henry was sitting up in bed, a little sluggish from the pain medication, and careful not to move the left side of his body between his neck and waist.

  I didn’t think his eyebrows would ever come down.

  “Wait...so...I got shot?”

  “Yeah, man!” Brian answered like he was announcing a movie. “You, me, and ’Lando ran up on dude while he was pullin’ his gun out! You was the first one to him, and you tackled that nigga like a linebacker! When y’all was rollin’ ’round on the floor, the gun went off and hit you in your arm.”

  “And after that I came here?”

  “Yep. You was bleedin’ all over the place, dogg. It was like somebody turned on a water hose! It was squirtin’ and sprayin’ all over people...yo, it was crazy!”

  Henry’s memories seemed to be on the tip of his tongue, like a random forgotten fact that bugs you all day. “Anybody else get hurt?”

  “No, Mr. Hero,” SaTia chimed in, in good spirits. “Just you.”

  “Then where’s ’Lando?”

  We all looked back and forth between each other. It was the one question we were hoping Henry wouldn’t ask. I decided it should be me who answered it. “’Lando flipped out.”

  “What you mean, ’Lando flipped out? Like he in jail?”

  “Naw, I mean like he flippped out on me.”

  Henry shook his head. “That don’t make no type’a sense, man.”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s what I thought when he did it, too. But he flipped out, dude. He found out you was in a coma and he came through the office wid a hammer. I tried to tell ’em he was trippin’ and he started callin’ me a pussy for not tryin’ to go after P. Silenzas.”

  Henry knew that wasn’t enough to prevent Orlando from being here in the room.

  “Okay...then what happened?”

  “I pistol-whipped him for talkin’ trash.”

  “You pistol-whipped Orlando? What the hell, Moe? That’s yo’ mans! We all boys, man! Why would you do that?”

  I stood by what I had done.

  “You wasn’t there, dogg. ’Lando wasn’t himself. He tried to punch SaTia.”

  “What? What did you say?”

  “He tried to punch SaTia, man.”

  You could see when Henry’s expression changed—he knew that was the straw that had done it. Everyone who knew me was aware that there was always something between SaTia and me, but Henry, Orlando, Ray, and Brian knew better than anyone. We had all been together since I got famous. They assumed we would get married as soon as I decided to stop bagging groupie chicks.

  “So where is he now?”

  “I don’t know. I made him gimme back the Visa and we left him with security at the office.”

  Henry closed his eyes and shook his head again, massaging his temple with his one good arm.

  “I don’t believe this, man. This is too much. I got blasted, my homie flipped out, my arm is busted...what da hell am I s’posed to do now?”

  “I’ll tell you what we doin’ now...” I stood up from the bed, figuring this was a good enough time to tell everyone what I’d already decided. “Soon as we get Henry up outta here, we headin’ straight to the airport and we goin’ back home.”

  The shock hit everyone at the same time. SaTia mouthed a whole sentence before a word actually came from her mouth.

  “You...you mean...you mean back home to D.C.?”

  “Yeah, back to D.C.”

  “Umm...I hate to break this to you, Moe, but you’re booked up with shows and appearances for at least the next six months...”

  “I’m cancellin’ everything till further notice.”

  “You can’t. It’s in your contract. Failure to...”

  The last thing I wanted to hear about was a contract. My voice got louder than I meant for it to. “I don’t care what’s in the contract, SaTia!”

  My outburst caught her with her mouth still open. She glared at me for a second, then closed her mouth and turned her head away.

  “My bad,” I said after I had gotten control of myself. “I ain’t mean to yell. But I don’t...I don’t care ’bout no contract. SaTia...” I waited for her to turn and look at me again. She was stubborn, but I finally connected with her eyes again.

  “SaTia, look around, man. We in a hospital ’cause some niggas is mad at my battle record and wanna kill me. One’a my mans is lyin’ here busted up, and another one went nuts. I gotta get someplace safe—where I can get my head on straight.” I turned from her and looked around at everyone. “We been travelin’ for months now, y’all. It’s the same routine, right? Get to the city, bag chicks, blow they backs out, find da dope boy and get twisted, do a show or two, drop a few G’s at the mall and strip club and leave. It ain’t just me that needs a break; it’s all of us.”

  It was hard reading their faces. I couldn’t tell if they were mad that I would even consider stopping, or if they were dumbfounded that I finally decided to do so.

  “I’m sayin’, in the end, y’all all grown people. Really, y’all can do whateva y’all want. But I’m gettin’ on a plane and goin’ back to Chocolate City. If y’all wanna use this as some vacation time or somethin,’ do you. I’ll let you know what’s good.”

  “What we look like goin’ on some vacation when niggas is after you, man?” Ray stood up from his seat. “You already know, my nigga, we goin’ wherever you goin’.”

  I looked from Ray over to Brian, Henry, and SaTia.

  “Y’all feel the same way? It’s cool if you don’t.”

  They all nodded in agreement.

  “Aight, cool. Let’s go home.”

  Six hours later, we were all sitting in first-class seats of a Boeing 787. Henry’s arm was wrapped up in a sling and pulled closely to his body. The pain medicine they had given him made him giggle at the passengers as they walked by.

  Although it was funny watching him make a fool of himself, I couldn’t enjoy the moment. Two things were taking up my thoughts. The first was a conversation I’d had with Henry on the way to the airport. I was sitting in the back of the Escalade, starting to doze off, while Henry came and sat gingerly beside me. This was before he had taken the Vicodin that the doctor prescribed for him. It seemed as if his every movement was a labor. The fact that he made the effort told me he wanted to talk about something important.

  “Yo, you up, man?”

  I’d had my dark glasses on, and he couldn’t tell if I was just sitting quietly or crossing over into sleep.

  Though Henry was almost back to his old self, it was hard forgetting how he looked while unconscious in the hospital bed. The memory made me really appreciate his presence. I sat up to let him know I was listening. “Yeah, man, I’m up. What’s good?”

  “You ’member me sayin’ anything in da hospital ’bout a dream I had?”

  I thought for a moment.

  “Umm...yeah...when you woke me up you was talkin’ somethin’ ’bout some dream you had to tell me. I was so shocked to see you conscious, I don’t think I let you finish.”

  “Aight, well, check this out—when I was out, right, I had this dream that you was a slave...”

  Henry stopped and I imagined flashes of his dream came up in his mind. Each one seemed to prick him like a sewing needle. When he looked back at me, he seemed like he had just come from a funeral. “Yo...I could see your face when they was beatin’ you, dogg. I could hear your screams...”

  Immediately I thought back to the words I’d told Henry while he was still unconscious. His dream was probably just a manifestation of the things I’d said. I thought briefly about telling him of my confessions, but decided against it. There’d be plenty of time for tha
t back home. For now, I just laughed quietly and turned back to my friend.

  “You sure they wasn’t giving you no drugs befo’ you came out the coma?”

  I could tell by his face that my humor wouldn’t be reciprocated.

  “Naw, man, I’m serious.”

  “Don’t be, cuz. I know where it came from.”

  My nonchalant attitude caused my injured friend to get frustrated. I could see the firmness in his gaze, and I figured it was the just the pain in his arm showing through.

  “Aight, man, look, if the dream was what I think it was, then it happened ’cause I took some time last night and spilled my guts at your bedside. I only did it ’cause we ain’t know if you was gonna die or not, but I put out some real talk. I don’t really feel like talkin’ ’bout it right now, but when we get back to D.C., I’ll tell you everything I said. It fits with what you’re tellin’ me, though. That’s why I’m sayin’ don’t stress it. I know where it came from.”

  Henry seemed uneasy about letting it go. I leaned over closer to him and pulled my sunglasses off.

  “I promise, man, soon as we get settled in D.C., we’ll talk about it. Aight?”

  He hesitantly nodded his head.

  “Cool.” I put my sunglasses back on and settled back in my seat again. Henry waited a few seconds, and then started to move to his seat.

  “Hey...” I called out to him, and he stopped and turned around.

  “It’s good havin’ you back, my nigga.”

  “Thanks, man...” He waited there, looking at me while something on his tongue held his legs in place. Finally, he let it go and went to sit down.

  The second assailant of my peace of mind was the reality that I was actually going back home. Back to the realities of my life before music, money, drugs, cars, and women had become my day-to-day routine.

  And if I ever tried to come home and forget who I was, my family would be quick about jogging my memory.

  To me, home meant a couple of things. It meant the two-floor brick house that had been in my family since my great-grandparents took their blood and sweat to the bank in a pillowcase. My grandmother was thirteen when they moved in. She took one look at her parents’ faces when that balding white man grudgingly handed them the keys, and she vowed to herself right there that she would die before she let anything happen to the house. When my great-grandmother died, Big Mama’s husband had already been killed in the war. She moved back into the house to help take care of Papa Jenkins, and she brought Marcus Jenkins, my father, with her.