He looks over and spots Wayne and C-Boy. C-Boy heavy into the music. Da Hit Squad is gettin’ it in. Though they haven’t looked his way once, he could’ve swore some of those one-liners were aimed at him. Now ain’t the time to get paranoid …
Just as Lil Chris is about to look away, Wayne taps C-Boy and gestures in Lil Chris’s direction. C-Boy looks over; he and Lil Chris make eye contact. The homie gives him a nod of recognition, and that’s enough.
The C’ster knows in that moment he’s where he needs to be. By his lonely, standin’ on his own two. Plus, he just made his mind up.
On the other side of the building, No Love slides into Rise and whispers something in his ear. Rise gives an almost imperceptible nod. Signals two of his rollies to pull in. He and No Love discuss some things. When the gathering breaks, Rise heads toward Lil Chris. On the way to him, he hits Gary Law in the ear before pushing to the lil homie.
Mansa, who’s been in the seating section across the room, has been on top of the play from the word go. He’s more than disappointed that he’s lost Lil Chris, but he had to make him pick a side. His influence was too detrimental to just leave him standing in the middle. No Love crossing is what he didn’t anticipate. Since there is no way of intimidating No Love, Lil Chris, or Rise, all Mansa and his people can do is sit back and watch the night slip away from them.
After Da Hit Squad’s first set finishes, Gary Law steps to center stage with a little more pep in his step for real. The “Friends” sample kicks back in to hold him down.
“Yeah, it’s about to get thick in here. Y’all ready for the jump off?!”
The crowd roars.
“I know y’all didn’t think it had already jumped off, did you?”
Mumbles. Grunts. It gotta be more to it.
“Nawl, it ain’t yet. But, it’s ’bout to. First though, we got a surprise for you. That is, unless y’all have any objections?”
Silence.
Anticipation.
“We go’n bring Lil Chris back up! To—”
Gary Law can’t finish. The crowd amps out. They wildin’ in the A Building tonight.
“Well, we go’n bring up Lil Chris. Better yet, he says now y’all can call him … The Sun o’ Man!”
There’s more yelling. Beating on tables. They feelin’ this young cat.
“Following him, we go’n bring the newest mystery member of Vanguard right on through.”
Silence. Brothers is looking crazy with this one.
“Y’all hold that under your hats, though. For now, let’s see The Sun o’ Man. Lil Chris!”
Crazy applauds erupt as Lil Chris steps back up to grab the mic. The “Friends” sample fades. This complicated bass lick and drum kick floods the room. It’s the instrumental beat behind Biggie Small’s “What’s Beef?” Yeah, they bobbing they heads. Wow. It’s on.
The C’ster steps to the stand and takes the mic. Clears his throat and releases.
“I feel fire burn cold
Heated seven times, a tragedy untold
Say what? … Criminal mind
Adolescent but heavy
Now, you know you gotta
Cook the blood out
Seasoned in simmerin’ hot grease
Intentions speak loud, homie
You wit’ me or what?
Actions talk, now … Speak up.
I’m for peace but when I speak
They are for war
Duppies got game, galore
You despise my witness
What for?
Yeah, you would slay me
If you thought you could take me
But, you ain’t tryna see
Really, apprehensions speak volumes, playa
Listen for the still, small, voice
Not in the wind
Not in the earthquake
But, after the fire …”
As Lil Chris is rappin’, two soul-jahs in black hooded robes step up to either side of the stage. Heads down. Identites concealed. They began to sway in rhythm with the music. The C’ster draws to a close with a fever.
“Until all of eternity
Condense to one point in my mind
Ghetto ghost of Ashanti
I feel you, Witherspoon
Thoughts burst
Searching for room
Gas and dust
A coon for the stars
Big Bang Theory
I’m for peace but when I speak
They are for war!
Troubled seeds
Shakin’ the curse
Tryna get off they knees
Dyin’ of thirst
Thoughts ooze … Unforgettable
Permeatin’ minds
Take this, as a sign of the times
We’ve all learned!
Sunrays got me burned
For the Love o’ God!
Bake me deep chocolate
I’ll wear it wi’ pride
Tough times got
Blood in my eyes
Yeah, we all know this livin’ is hard
Why we actin’ surprised
I’m for peace but when I speak, really!
They are for war
The most vicious kids I ever saw
I’m for peace but when I speak
They are for war.
That’s self-explanatory, mayne,
My story goes …”
Boom!
All the sudden, the beat changes. The hyperactive highs and synthesized sound of Jay-Z’s “Dirt Off Your Shoulders” comes pumping through. It got that hop to it. It’s pickin’ ’em up.
One of the brethren in the black, hooded robes, the one on the right, steps across the stage and takes the mic Lil Chris hands him. They both stand there a moment, heads bobbin’.
Lil Chris makes as if he’s brushing dirt off his shoulder. Then, with both hands, he wipes down his shirt. Like he’s brushing the lint off or something. He pats the thighs of his jeans and each knee to shake his pants leg off. All in sync with the drums. Flossin’. Fly showmanship. He getting’ his thing on.
The cat in the robe turns toward the crowd. This guy is amped already! As the beat rolls around, Lil Chris pulls the hood off his head … It’s No Love!
He looks up and eyes the crowd. Choices. He’s just taken the stage as Vanguard. No turning back now, whatever the fallout.
He makes brief but certain eye contact with Mansa. Then spits these words:
“Inclined to the best
But, yo!
A hidden essence
Ten compromises. One forbidden message
Married to everything known
As esoteric
From ancient B.C. to modern Man’s presence
Modern Man’s blessin’ is me
The Don DaDa
Call me Manotha
The German head rocker
Like the finest kind o’ wine
My homies define time
One time for your mind …
Hum …
Wake up! Call brothers.
Young Tommy is back!
Yo! Attackin’ cats
Like we engaged in combat
Scriptural knowledge wit’ Egyptians
We done that
At war wit’ these heathens over lyrics
We won that
What the hell with these cats
Engulfed in actin’ hard
Define the word, retard
Scandalous lil’ boy!
Never been worthy for brothers to call you
Lord
Hatin’ your religion
Ignorance, your god
Imagine a cat who destroys
With ram rods
Your hormones is next …
What you? Y or X?
Have you seriously
Contemplatin’ your chosen sex.
Yo!
Throw you out the game
For a foolish tech
; The only thing that I want
Is your head on a platter
Don’t even much matter
I like it raw
It was ripped from your neck
Wit’ my Lion’s paw
There’s a rule in the jungle
Don’t ever! Roam alone
Snatch you out your home
Split your dome
It’s Vanguard to the death
Whether right or wrong
Cat’s enchanted by my psalms,
Like the ‘Song of Songs’
Entire history
Written on … both my arms …”
Boom!
Silence reigns.
The crowd explodes into whooping and hollering. Claps and yells.
Then the Lil Wayne instrumental for Cash Money’s “Go DJ” starts in. No Love throws his hands up and begins to chant, “Go! Go! Go! Go!”
The crowd joins in and now everybody throws their hands to the ceiling, yelling, “Go!”
The last man standing, his head dropped and hooded, wearing a robe, steps to center stage and stops beside No Love. Stock still. No Love is still hyping the crowd.
Slowly, the figure begins to nod. A deep bob. All in the shoulders. This brother’s bobbing is so hard he’s almost bouncin’, springing up and down from his knees.
He takes the mic out of No Love’s hand. The crowd still yells and chants, “Go!”
The figure starts nodding so violently his hood bounces, threatens to come off. Lil Chris walks over and pulls the hood away.
It’s Rise.
Sweat pours. Already! Teeth clenched. Lips drawn away in a growl.
“What? What!
Show ya’ mind, true liberation
Young Rise, my profession
Influence!
Sow blessing for my congregation
Feeble mind remedy
Spit peace but I garner enemies
Fake hearts
Feel that!
Vanguard go getta!
Menes was my grandfather
One God worshipper … go figure
Think large, wit’ a
Rod, for ya’ guidance
I’ll spank ya, listen here!
Ain’t no idiots livin’ in here!
No Love
Would you make that clear?”
“Aight!” No Love yells.
“The revolution will not be televised,” Rise continues.
“Partake. Free ya’ mind
Ask Fredrick Douglass ‘bout my life
We been a long time
At Golgotha!
Resurrect, Brothers!
For real! Where you at, Brothers?!
What the deal? Introspect, Brothers!
Live with these thoughts
Speak wit’ these thoughts
Breed with these thoughts
Look how wrath was wrought
Monotheism!
Amenhotep the fourth!
Back! Thuthmoses the fourth
Come! Ramses
Two of these
Cat’s didn’t get the memo
Why you immolatin’!!!
Truth!
Poppy gotta get his self in order, huh?
Bring bacon, work harder, huh?
Y’all don’t hear me
All hail three kings
Mend broken rings
Hold the noise down!
I’m tryna think!
Bet ya we work out!”
Boom!
The low-end base frequency carries the moment into history. Legend.
Rise, Lil Chris, and No Love all throw their fists in the air and begin chanting “Vanguard, woof-woof! Vanguard, woof-woof!”
The crowd catches on and before long, the whole building swells with one voice, chanting the same battle cry.
After everything settles down, C-Boy, Lil Chris, and No Love are on stage, rocking the crowd.
Rise slips out of his black robe. He walks to the back of the room, where people have pretty much cleared out. As he sits down, he feels the legal mail that’s been in his back pocket all night crinkle under his weight.
He lifts up and pulls the mail free.
Just sitting there, he stares at the envelope for a moment. Meditates on it, even.
What the hell.
He tears the flap. Pulls the paper out. Two sheets.
His eyes move with a cold, detached disposition. He looks at the heading. Sees his name on the case title.
He reads the first few lines. All formalities. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Blah, blah, blah. He shuffles and flips to the second page. Cuts to the chase, goes to the last line.
He reads.
Pauses. Takes a breath.
He reads again.
He sits heavily back in the chair. Numb. After a moment, he nods slowly. Tears threaten to fall.
He smiles. Exhales.
He’s going home.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
What it is that
Burns in my soul
What it is that
Burns in my soul
Could it be Mahalia
That sung the song
that enflamed my spirit
wrought like magnetic
the groove was low
I could barely hear it
Brought like prophetic
Fossil music … reclaimed my bones
Estranged from home
Still a caged bird
But, they reframed my tone
This land I roam
In a crowd
But, it feel like I’m all alone
My love is strong
If I say I’m wit’ you
Trust that. It’s on
Light
That was seldom shone
Caught knowledge
Once seldom known
Couldn’t go wrong
I’m a go-getter
I won’t be here for long
Conflict within me
Won’t let me sleep
I’m on a full-scale revolutionary creep.
Action!
Confirmation from my faction
Visionary men
These are the suns of men
Fac’ affiliated
Truth stated
Why debate it?
I’m like,
‘God! Can I move
It’s been propagated
I’m righteous, Dude!’
One with the Universal
Atomic Nucleus
Dynamic spirit
Within me. Hear me
That’s what it is
That burns in my soul!
HE STANDS AT THE DESK watching her.
Her skin is bright. Reflects the early morning sunlight.
Water drips from his face. He didn’t bother to take a towel to the sink with him when he went to brush his teeth. He rubs the fingers of his right hand over his chin. Flicks the water off, carelessly, to the side. He understands this environment so much. To the point that he feels he’s in his element now. But his tolerance for ambiguity is low. The consequence of his recognition that the stakes are so high. Life for Lil Chris has become deep waters. He’s all in.
“So, what’s happenin’ wit’ you?”
“Don’t come over here wit’ no foolishness, Lil Chris. It’s too early in the morning for that!”
“What makes you think I’m on some foolishness, Cynthia?”
“Boy, don’t be—”
“Can’t nobody hear me, girl. The fan is too loud. Watch your face. What? You forgot how to play the game?”
“I don’t feel like playin’,” she pouts.
“Chill out, chill out, man. Don’t trip.”
“And I done told you,” she angrily cuts him off. “I ain’t no ‘man.’ That’s what your problem is, anyway.” She sits up and begins to shuffle paperwork around on her desk.
“You’re right, you’re not a man,” Lil Chris heatedly counters. “If you were, dealing with you wouldn’t be so complicated. And confusin
g.”
Cynthia stiffens. Takes a sharp breath, as if he had just dashed her with cold water.
He realizes he went too hard. Remorse.
“You forgot,” she mumbles. Pulls short.
“And there it is,” Lil Chris recovers. “You know these circumstances better than I do. If you see I lost it, stop fuckin’ playin’ and help me remember!”
“ … How to talk,” she finishes. Shakes her head, like, A damn shame.
“Look, check this out, Sergeant Roperson,” Lil Chris begins calmly, using her formal title with emphasis. He’s got her undivided. “Otherwise, why are we friends? You might as well just do your job.”
Silence.
“Now, write me a pass to the A Building,” he whispers.
“What time?” Her voice is hoarse. Stripped down a bit. Damn.
“8:00,” he says, and struts off.
Rise sits alone in the A Building.
He rose early and got there before anyone else was even stirring in their sheets. The weeks that passed since the court ruled in his favor were slow indeed. The prosecution appealed to the highest state court. The original decision was upheld. It took 35 long days, but Rise will be released tonight. At midnight.
He has one last thing to do before he leaves. It’s funny how these things have worked out. Six months ago, he appointed Lil Chris to be sergeant-at-arms. The lowest post on the chess club’s executive board. Shortly after, his vice president got locked up. Dirty piss test. Then, his treasurer got swung to a satellite camp. When his secretary refused to step up in the order of ascension, it placed Lil Chris right beside him as vice-president of the Prison Chess Players Association.
The order of the day is to step down as president and install Lil Chris as his successor. What better occasion than today? It’s the P.C.P.A. annual banquet.
My mind will flow in all kinds of directions, Rise muses as he considers what lies before him. But my actions will hold true to what I stand on.
At about 8:30 a.m. the members begin pouring in. A few club officers come over to greet Rise and get some final instructions for how to carry out the business of the day.
C-Boy and Lil Chris stand over by the security gate. Receiving the club sponsors and visitors as they come in from the streets.
Rise looks over and spots his rolldog. He makes a skullnote to be sure and vibe with Lil Chris before the day plays out. No use in tryna holler now. C-Boy has him hemmed up.
“S-s-say, brah. You see Ms. Sam? That thang off the chain, huh?”
“Look out, man. That’s somebody’s visit you trippin’ on. I ain’t go’n pull nobody off you. So, you need to watch what you do with your eyes.”
Lil Chris is all business this morning. Guess you could say he’s feeling hisself. The responsibility he’s about to be entrusted with is weighing down on him. He plans to take his post seriously.