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suitcase trailing behind.
Didn’t hear me hearing you
dial the digits,
shift your tone from
stone to honey,
words whisper-soft …
I’m on my way.
See you in a few hours.
But I did, Papi.
And I wanted to raise my voice,
scream that I wanted to escape,
get the hell outta Shohola, too.
But most of all,
I wanted to demand
you tell me who,
of all people in the world,
held the power to pull you away
when I needed you most.
Because you knew I was hurting
the second Shak
ripped the music
clean off my skin.
Merc woulda never left me like that.
But you did.
Left me crying,
once again,
as tires rolled
against gravel-covered road.
I cried for you,
up there on the roof,
for me,
for us.
The us we once were,
the us we were slowly
becoming.
Me: I can’t sleep. Hurts so much.
Dali: Me too.
Me: I keep replaying everything in my head. We gotta fix things with Shak.
Dali: Facts. I know just the place we should meet. I’ma text her.
Me: Think she’ll come?
Dali: She’d be dumb if she didn’t.
spent at Shohola Falls,
we watched the sun
hover above the mountains,
acoustic guitar in hand,
Shak and Dali harmonizing by my side
as if that waterfall,
and that sun, was made just for us.
Like an earthly gift,
a Magic Eraser of
the bad (like that time me and Dali almost flunked freshman year)
and
the sad (like when Shak’s parents got deployed)
Dali and I waited for Shak
to show up at our spot,
so we could apologize,
explain the how, the why,
the what’s next???
But as sun turned to moon
and blue skies turned pink,
she never arrived,
even though she promised.
But we sure got that text though:
Guys, I’m done. For real.
We don’t lose friends.
We just learn who the real ones are.
And right there up on that rock,
beneath a glowing white moon,
Dali’s head nestled in the crest of my shoulder
I realized one thing:
Shak wasn’t there from the beginning.
Elementary all the way to high school.
But the girl next to me?
Always was,
always would be.
And that
was not a “phase.”
At all.
01905554506: How’s my star? Feeling better?
Me: Much better. Sorry I overreacted. I just never got that messed up b4.
01905554506: I woulda lost my shit too if I woke up like dat.
Me: We got some drama going here. Shak said you called and asked her for bikini pics?
01905554506: Nah, chill. I don’t get down wit lil girls. We did ask for measurements tho. The wardrobe team needed it.
Me: Ahh, k.
Me: Our parents found out we been sneaking out. And they flipped. Now they wanna meet you.
01905554506: Bet. We’ll make it happen. Lunch in the city soon.
Me: Annnnnd Shak dropped out the group.
01905554506: Good.
Me: WHAT?!?
01905554506: Denver, ain’t no room for liars n my crew. If there’s nuthin else you’ll learn ’bout this business, remember this:
Every
body
is
replaceable.
Five years old,
Teterboro Airport.
Me on the left
Gwen on the right
You nestled in between
hands held tight.
Inside the hangar,
our steps toward the Cessna 210
slow, deliberate.
Gwen was afraid to fly,
but I wasn’t.
You said I was born with wings.
In the pit,
you placed me on your lap
while Gwen sat,
eyes glued
to the ground below.
You let me press every button
on the control panel, up!
told me to close my eyes up,
and picture myself going up,
Together, we soared above magical, distant lands,
powered through turbulent clouds,
never losing our stride,
not even for a second.
The memory of it all
follows me to this runway now,
in the heart of Atlanta,
as the ramp agent runs
our belongings through security.
And for some reason,
I know I’m safe, Papi.
Just as safe as I was
all those suns ago.
July 17, 10:34 a.m.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you for leaving us.
I hit the delete button.
Fast.
A text for Shak
(part deux)
July 17, 10:37 a.m.
I miss you.
I miss you.
I miss you.
I miss you.
I miss you.
I miss us.
My fingers tapped
out the words,
erased them
before I clicked send,
before I could tell her
it wasn’t supposed to
go down like that.
This text was better instead:
July 17, 10:37 a.m.
I wish you were here.
Because for three years,
we made magic with our voices.
I brought the funk.
Dali brought the sauce.
Shak brought the soul.
And on that day,
it shoulda been the three of us
in the van
with our parents
on the way to New York to meet Merc.
Instead, I spent the whole ride
staring at the two empty seats
in the back row.
One for Shak.
And one for you, Papi.
You gave me the wings of music
and you couldn’t even take
ONE day to sit back and watch me fly …
A day off
for Ma and Tía Esme
was like
Halley’s Comet.
That sacred,
special,
unheard-of event
that only came around
once in a blue moon.
“Reservations, compliments of Mr. Ellis?”
Ma had her Bad & Boujee voice on.
“Right this way, ladies.”
The hostess led us
through the ground floor
of the Lobster Club
to a private room
where Merc stood
with a bunch of folks I didn’t recognize.
Except Meat and Marissa.
The whole time Dali’s mom
was oohing and aahing
at how nice the restaurant was.
But Ma was unbothered,
unimpressed,
untouched.
Meanwhile, Merc was ready to
wine us,
di
ne us,
feed us
with hope,
promises,
security.
“That’s Dr. Lafleur to you,”
Ma said
soon as Merc
dared call her MRS.,
but Ma wasn’t done yet.
“Honestly, I never heard of you until recently.
My husband and I don’t really listen to, what’s
it called? Trap music?”
If lightning could have
bolted through the roof
and turned me to ash,
that would’ve been a good time.
“That’s not his only genre, Ma!”
The words slithered between clenched teeth.
But Merc was cool AF in his Armani suit.
Didn’t even flinch at Ma’s verbal lashing.
“Dr. Lafleur, my artistry is quite versatile.
Not so much, as you call it, trap music.”
And then he flashed
that fly-me-to-the-moon
smile.
All the other times we’d linked up,
it was singing hooks,
tossing back shots,
laughter with no expiration date.
That day?
Merc was all business.
“I’m Esmeralda, but please call me Esme.”
Merc went to shake Tía’s hand,
but instead, she stood on her
tippy-toes, hugged him,
and said,
“Ay, so tall!”
Marissa invited us
to take our seats
at the large table.
A team of waiters filed in
with our first courses in hand:
miso soup and crispy squid.
No sooner than those
plates hit the table,
Ma popped off at the mouth.
“So let’s get right to it, shall we?
What thirty-nine-year-old man
records music with teenagers—”
“And doesn’t talk to
their parents first?”
Tía Esme came in with her two cents.
Merc swallowed before responding.
“I assure you, Dr. Lafleur and Ms. Gómez,
eh-hem, Esme,
that I was under the impression
everything was copacetic.”
“Well, it’s not.
They’re only seventeen.
Not even done with school.”
Typical Ma,
forever bringing up the s-word,
steady forgetting
I was ’bout to be a WHOLE adult!
Another round of waiters.
Next course?
ALL the sushi!
“What are your intentions with our girls?”
Tía Esme,
shoulders out,
back straighter,
Ma’s juju
rubbing off on her
like sweet jam on toast.
“Oh, I have the best of intentions
for their future and their career.
This is why I wanted to have a
meeting today with you and my whole team.”
“Go ahead.” Ma separated her chopsticks. “We’re listening …”
Producer
Vocal coach
Music instructor
Security guards
(led by aikido-trained Miguel “Meat” Parker)
Personal assistant (Marissa)
TUTOR
Merc started running down
all their credentials:
Award-winning this …
Professionally trained,
college-educated that …
Ding! Ding! Ding!
Homeboy said the magic word.
Or so I thought!
You’d think that
whole college/tutor bit
would be enough for Ma?
Negative!
“This is all impressive,
and we appreciate the offer,
but how about this?”
A compromise …
Ma:
“They can record with you
but Esme, myself, or my husband must be there.”
Tía Esme:
“Pero not too much. Because I run a business
and I’m working all the time.”
Ma:
“We need a proper arrangement …
in writing.
Also, come September,
they can’t be missing school for this,
because senior year is not a game.”
Tía Esme:
“Got that, Señor Mercury?”
“Definitely.” Merc flashed that million-dollar grill.
“In fact, I thought you’d bring that up,
which is why I brought these …”
Contracts—
the basis
for any business relationship.
“For security—
for you ladies.”
Merc had nothing to lose.
He was gonna make bank,
whether we made it big or not.
That contract locked in
every promise he made
to Ma and Tía Esme
and us.
Made every
single
what-if fade into the Milky Way.
Merc made two copies for
Ma and Tía Esme to review.
And when he passed it to Ma,
I moved in close,
chin propped on her shoulder.
She kissed my forehead,
and it was everything I’d hoped for.
Me, Ma
silently reading
the map to my dreams.
Every word,
every letter crashed
into the next.
A black hole, of sorts,
bursting with flashes of starlight …
Reference is made to exhibits A, B, and C attached hereto aterms incorporated
Whereas ARTIST is a professional entertainer
Merc World Productions will hold all master recordings
Demo to be produced within six months
If Nondisclosure this N to be executed upon signatu acceptance of saontract.
Artist
Album
acceptance
need four
Signature:___________
could see
my unraveling,
heartbeat bursting
through
shell of skin.
No one could see,
feel
that but me.
Because that contract meant
it was legit,
not just some pipe dream.
A real chance
at a real future.
And just like Cardi B,
I was like,
WHERE’S MY PEN?
’Cause I was ready to
sign that joint!
Looked like I wasn’t
the only one who thought that.
Specs slapped on tight,
Tía Esme
oohed and aahed
through each word,
Dali nestled in her mother’s embrace.
“My Dalisay is gonna be a star!”
Next thing I knew,
she whipped out a pen from her purse,
and Ma whispered
something in her ear.
And in my mind,
I knew Ma
was asking to borrow a pen.
Tía Esme signed with a quickness,
asked Merc for a selfie with her and Dali
so she could WhatsApp
this moment to all her peeps
back home.
The waiters served up
the final course: dessert.
Ma folded up that contract,
tossed it right in her Chanel purse,
and plopped a
green tea mochi in her mouth,
like that co
ntract
and that moment
never,
ever,
mattered.
“I gotta talk to my
husband and lawyer first.”
with a yes
a sorry-not-right-now,
and my
loud-ass sighs
the whole ride home.
But still I felt frigg’n amazing.
Because …
If that night of overdrinking with #TeamMerc,
and that morning of Family Feud after
broke me,
and filled me with doubt,
then that day with our moms meeting
Merc in the city
put me back together again.
For real.
Now Ma just needed
to sign the damn contract!
01905554848: How was that?
Dali: You were perfect, corazoncito.
Me: Yeah, YOU were. My mom? Not so much.
Dali: See you when you get back from LA?
01905554848: Sure thing. And Denver, get mama dukes n check, aight? Can’t have Say Say goin solo.
there lived a mom
and a dad
and a sister
and an other.
The mom
and dad
and Gwen
fit into a perfect box.
Each line straight,
each angle perfectly
perpendicular.
But an other was just that.
The other.
Crooked.
Bent.
Jagged.
One day the mom
and the dad
packed the sister
and the Other.
Big city left behind,
whisked away
to mountain-covered
country,
better schools (& brand-new jobs).
Full of hope that
the Other would
learn and mold
and fit
into this new box
they squeezed her in.
Little did they know,
the Other
would go on
to build her own.
sat on the kitchen counter
collecting cereal crumbs
for what felt like
two thousand
seventy-leven
days.
Un bothered
Un impressed
Un touched
Dali shoved a spoonful