Muted

by Tami Charles

And for me,

  hours spent in the

  great big black room

  on Pristine Road,

  where Merc said I had to stay,

  only to leave for dog walks and meals.

  Nothing but time to kill,

  guitar on my lap,

  song book at my side,

  lyrics took over …

  Written by Denver Lafleur

  Verse:

  There was a time I was down

  and no one else was around

  but you … you knew

  just what to do

  to make me feel that

  Chorus:

  I’ll rise

  (with you here by my side)

  I’ll soar

  (your love, it makes me fly)

  I’ll touch

  (the stars and the sun)

  I’ll reach

  (all the way to #1)

  Everything I could dream,

  it’s because you love me.

  So, I’ll rise.

  1. A pre-Thanksgiving concert (right in his old ’hood)

  2. Free tickets, free food

  3. A brand-new show

  Bags packed

  First-class plane tickets purchased

  Georgia to California

  Operation #MuteTheHaters was in full effect!

  (just before dawn)

  It all happened so fast,

  I thought I was dreaming.

  The swish of the door,

  the tap-tap of Chance’s nails on the floor,

  bolting down the steps, happily breaking free.

  I didn’t feel her hands

  wrapped around my shoulders.

  It was the tearing of skin

  from manicured nails

  that blasted me awake.

  Black eyes,

  red hair,

  illuminated by a silver moon.

  “Where is it?” Marissa whispered.

  “Where’s what?” I asked, voice yawn-coated.

  “You took something from Merc.”

  Lights flicked on,

  Marissa began pacing my room.

  clothes, hangers,

  books, drawers

  tossed like mad.

  I kept my eyes on her,

  refused to look at the floor …

  that hidden wooden cave,

  keeper of chips, a business card,

  and two tapes I’d never fess up to stealing.

  “Maybe you’re the one

  who took something from him.”

  My words, a threat,

  slowed the movement of her steps.

  And then she got all up in my face.

  “I told Merc he’s too trusting, that he needs cameras all through this house. You’re lucky he’s afraid of his shit being hacked, otherwise I’d have you on tape with your little sticky-finger ass! Never understood him bringing you and your little lover girl up in here anyway.”

  Just before storming off,

  Marissa hit me with one final blow.

  “Clean this shit up!”

  Then she slammed that door,

  and I begged my whole body

  to stop trembling.

  That night, I was sure of three things:

  1. There was no surveillance in that house whatsoever.

  2. There was something on those tapes that I wasn’t supposed to see.

  3. Marissa ain’t trust me. Not even a little. And if she wasn’t watching me before, homegirl was about to start. For real for real.

  Breakfast: nothing

  Lunch: nothing

  Dinner: See above

  Snack: 71 plantain chips

  The human body is

  a confounding thing.

  We feed it,

  stretch bellies,

  skin,

  limbs

  to the limit.

  The body splits itself

  in two.

  The before

  and

  The after

  The before was for me;

  an imperfectly sculpted

  shell of who I chose to be.

  The after,

  that is for him,

  or I guess,

  them.

  The world that is filled

  with sweet melodies,

  whispering in your ear:

  Perfection is near.

  Keep going.

  Seemed like all of Crenshaw

  showed up for the free

  holiday meal

  and of course

  to see

  the King of R&B

  unplugged,

  talent

  unmatched.

  Vocals stripped

  down to just him

  and the music.

  No booty-twerking

  backup dancers.

  No Sharmaine,

  no Althea,

  no me.

  I stood

  by the

  backstage curtains

  and watched that man

  rip and belt

  through acoustic versions

  of his hit songs

  until he reached

  the end of the set.

  “My last song is an exclusive.

  Singing it for the first time …

  wrote it just for y’all. It’s called ‘I’ll Rise.’”

  Then he had the nerve to look at me …

  and wink.

  Heartbeat ripped through my chest,

  every lyric

  ripped from the pages of

  MY BOOK

  from

  MY ROOM

  poured from his mouth

  leaving me feeling

  robbed,

  touched,

  naked.

  Made me wonder …

  What else did he take from me?

  I pictured myself running onto that stage,

  grabbing that guitar,

  that mic,

  and giving the song its rightful home.

  Because I never gave it to him.

  Never even sang the melody for him.

  He took my words,

  flipped it

  slipped it

  dipped in …

  But I’m frozen in place

  because much as I hate it

  what he’s done with the song is …

  genius.

  But he built that genius on something

  that wasn’t his to take.

  The crowd applauded

  like thunder

  at Sunday church service.

  Lights flashed

  People chanted

  Merc!

  Merc!

  Merc!

  Screaming,

  begging

  him to sing

  that song,

  my song,

  one more time.

  And I just stood there,

  like a dumbass,

  watching him

  swallow up my shine.

  In the dressing room,

  just us,

  away from the lights and the crowd,

  my mouth became a torch.

  Accusations,

  rapid fire,

  heat building up

  “How could you do that, Merc?

  I shoulda been up there

  singing my own lyrics,

  getting my shine,

  my credit

  as a SOLO artist.”

  Hands gripped on shoulders,

  Merc slammed my back against the wall

  over and over and over …

  “You got a lot of nerve, Denver!”

  My breath came out fast and hard,

  skin on my back

  tingled, puffed,

  red-black-blue

  slowly building

  I stared into his eyes

  counting veins

  weaving through

  blackened pupils.

  Like a monster.

  Is that who he truly was?

  P
api, you woulda been so proud of me.

  Ma, too.

  Cuz I slapped him right in his face.

  Merc inhaled so loud

  I thought he might swallow me whole.

  I cried,

  one burning tear,

  splashing right on his hand,

  gripped around my arm.

  Something about that seized him,

  woke him up,

  the monster slowly fading,

  left me wondering

  if when

  he’d be back.

  Merc served up his apology

  with a side of grown-man tears.

  “I wanted to surprise you, baby gurl.”

  Pulled me in close

  held me tight

  a fatherly touch

  I didn’t realize I needed.

  Tears leaked rapid pace

  my mind swirled with hunger

  and loss

  and longing

  for the familiar. Dali, Family, Home.

  “I’m so sorry I got angry with you.”

  Merc poured on all the reasons:

  grueling schedule,

  big things on the horizon,

  lack of sleep,

  fighting the haters

  tryna bring a brotha down.

  “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

  And he did.

  Merc went outta his way:

  gifts on Thanksgiving,

  nights out on the town,

  that track recorded with MY name as cowriter,

  plus it turns out

  the whole song mix-up was my fault

  —left my lyrics in the kitchen by accident one day—

  Merc thought it was a gift … from me to him—

  not like he copped it from my personal space.

  Was it all enough

  to make me stay?

  The bruises on my back

  said one thing,

  but then $25,000

  said something else.

  25 g’s secured in a trust fund,

  money that, according to Merc,

  I’d made for writing “I’ll Rise.”

  The same song that

  a week after performing,

  blazed the radio airwaves.

  The more the song played,

  the bigger that number would get.

  25 g’s wasn’t enough

  to break away,

  step into my own spotlight.

  Not yet, at least.

  Still! I had an instant #1 hit! A future record with Queen Yeli on deck!

  I wanted to shout all the way to Shohola

  so that you and Ma would know

  I was making moves … and I’d be just fine. See?

  I thought I understood

  the meaning of love.

  Until I got to Atlanta

  and learned that

  love sometimes equaled

  rules

  and

  pills

  and

  bruises

  and

  memory loss

  and hunger

  both

  literal

  and metaphorical

  and

  gifts

  and

  promises

  andandandand …

  The type of love

  where when I looked

  at the image in the mirror,

  I barely recognized

  the me I

  allowed myself to become.

  Yet, still

  hidden beneath

  Denver2.0

  pianissimo notes

  so, so soft

  brewed within,

  singing almost hauntingly …

  Wake up, girl …

  And every morning,

  it was Chance who woke me up,

  licking,

  panting,

  scratching at

  walls,

  vents,

  doors,

  really anything

  to feed his curiosity.

  And as silly as it sounds

  to be inspired by a dog,

  something about him

  resonated with me.

  I decided to be more like Chance.

  Light a torch beneath questions

  simmering within …

  about this whole

  situation I put myself in.

  It was time to dig.

  BlackHollywoodReporter* Follow

  BHR STAFF: Alex Rodriguez @AnotherARod

  SEAN “MERCURY” ELLIS LANDS LEAD ROLE IN BIOPIC

  The King of R&B is ready to flex his acting muscles! According to Entertainment Weekly, the “I’ll Rise” chart topper has signed with Warner Brothers for a biopic of the legendary soul singer Marvin Gaye. Filming in Atlanta begins early December, followed by shoots in Los Angeles and DC. Read up on the latest. Link in bio!

  Liked by RealQueenYeli and 512,049 others

  View all 12,962 comments

  Simm0625: Look at God! You get’em Merc!

  Rissa914: When they go low, we go high. #BlackBoyMagic

  Honeypie: That’s my dude right there!

  LeeLeex: SMH! Marvin Gaye is turning in his grave right now!

  1:21 a.m.

  Sometimes when I slept

  I heard

  an endless stream of

  different voices.

  A cry here,

  a scream there.

  That night, it woke me up

  and I saw Chance

  scratching at the air vent,

  his little voice letting out

  the saddest whimper.

  “What’s wrong, my pup?”

  The noises I dreamt about weren’t there—

  maybe it was Chance crying

  but he was still scratching

  like he was looking for something.

  Or …

  maybe I needed to take lil’ man

  outside to handle his business.

  1. Squirrels are equal parts friend and food.

  2. Open fields are too hard to resist.

  3. And so are holes in chain-link fences.

  I should have probably

  thanked Ahmed

  for the supreme running stamina

  ’cause my feet flew fast enough

  to chase Chance

  past the peach trees

  all the way to that glorious

  hole in the back fence.

  I threw my arms around his body,

  right before he sprinted through.

  And thank God,

  because behind that fence was

  something that was missing

  from the front of Merc’s house:

  an actual road

  with moving cars,

  streetlights,

  civilization!

  Hands gripped tight

  on Chance’s leash,

  we walked through the grass,

  past the pool house,

  a crack of the front door

  stopping me in my tracks.

  “Can I get something to eat now?”

  a voice whispered.

  I whipped around hella fast,

  almost tangling myself

  in the leash.

  Two eyes pierced the darkness.

  “Who are you?”

  Silence.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Nobody.”

  Then “Nobody” closed the door.

  “HEY! Open up!”

  Heartbeat quickening,

  I twisted

  and pulled

  on that knob,

  open-hand-slapped

  the door on repeat,

  the sound of each slam

  echoing all around the yard.

  Inside the main house, the kitchen light

  flicked on

  and Merc swiftly emerged

  into the dark.

  “Yo, Denver, what’s the problem?”

  Anxiety
on 100,

  words poured like lava.

  “There’s someone in there!

  Who is that, Merc?

  Why is she asking for food?”

  “My cousin Natasha,”

  Merc cut me off midflow.

  “She’s visiting from New York.”

  “Why wouldn’t she come out?”

  “Somebody’s extra nosy tonight.

  She’s sick. Probably thought you were the maid

  bringing her soup.”

  Here’s the thing.

  The maid was gone for the night.

  And that girl didn’t sound sick.

  She sounded … lost.

  “Get back to bed, Denver.”

  He stepped forward, I stepped back.

  “But …”

  Warm hand laced into the coldness of mine,

  voice changed from stone to honey.

  “Come on, baby gurl.”

  Merc walked Chance and me

  back to my room,

  but sleep was the last thing on my mind.

  Eyes wide open,

  I had a dream that night.

  I stood on a mountaintop,

  eyes scanning the clouds.

  In the distance,

  beyond green meadows,

  rushing rivers,

  and sky-kissing castles,

  a beautiful sculpture of a man

  clenched his fists,

  limbs, muscles, veins

  transforming from human

  to green-skinned dragon.

  In the moon-crescent of his eyes,

  the target of his hunger …

  me.

  Wings spread wide,

  he flew above the clouds,

  licked his fangs at the sight of me

  standing mountain-tall,

  fire gathered, belly-to-throat

  I drew my arrow,

  steel-coated,

  lightning fast

  and let it soar,

  the arrow lodging in its left eye,

  the fire-breathing dragon,

  went tumbling

  down.

  And I tell you, Papi,

  it was the realest

  fucking nightmare

  I ever conjured up.

  Merc’s new movie role

  meant my time in the studio

  went from seven days a week

  to negative zero point nothing.

  Then one night …

  “Wanna watch some Marvin Gaye

  classics with me, baby gurl?

  Help me get into character before I head to set?”

  Merc, standing in my doorway,

  for the first time in days.