(Instead of us just dipping off?)
What woulda happened if y’all said no?
Would Merc forget about us, and find the next best thing?
’Cause like he said,
every
body
is replaceable.
Those questions
percolated in our minds
as we did the math of how long we had to act.
Thirteen days before torture school started
Soon enough, Merc would hit the road—
whether we rolled or not.
The verdict was in:
Dali and I couldn’t let that happen.
we needed a plan,
a proper way to say
goodbye.
Of course, I figured it out,
told Merc about it
right before we wrapped up
in the studio.
“Oh, baby gurl, that’s perfect.”
Merc whipped out his phone,
started pressing buttons like mad.
“What’re you doing?”
Dali tried to peek over his shoulder,
but he pulled away,
big grin slapped on his face.
“Chill, Say Say.
Just a little something
to put that plan in effect.
You’ll see when you get your phones
on the way out.” He winked, walked down the hall,
and disappeared behind one
of the doors.
Meat escorted us to the first floor,
where Marissa waited,
our Androids in each hand.
“Safe travels home,”
she muttered and then clicked the buzzer.
We headed outside,
frozen in August heat,
among hustling,
bustling New York streets,
and waited for our phones to turn on,
notifications ringing in perfect unison:
A $1,500 deposit from Cash App!
An email in our inboxes:
Two tickets to Atlanta
FIRST class!
“OMGOMGOMG!”
we screamed
loud enough to pierce
a hole through the sky.
Jumped up and down,
tilted our heads to the sun.
Ten floors above
Merc stood,
half his body
dangling out the window.
“How’s that for a plan?”
his voice thunder-
bolted city streets.
“Thank you, papi-i-i-i!”
Dali sang that last bit
full-chest voice,
jazz scat
rich enough to
make Ella Fitzgerald
rise from the dead.
If my
feet could
grow wings,
I woulda
flew up there,
squeezed
the hell outta
Merc
till he couldn’t
breathe.
Of course
he went all out for us,
the next stars in his universe.
Merc wouldn’t have it
any other way.
Goodbyes
were permanent.
But see you soon?
Well, that
sounded better,
hopeful,
something to cling on to.
on Chickasaw Lane,
$1,500
perfectly placed
on Tía Esme’s altar,
like a palm tree,
a fan, of sorts,
to cool the words
written
in the language
of love,
ink bleeding slowly
on the paper beneath it.
Querida Mami,
Un regalo, para ti.
Con amor,
Dalisay
I took the tips of my fingers,
ran them through Dali’s hair,
making music out of it,
like a harp,
woven down
chin,
shoulder,
arm,
hand.
“We could stay, if you want.”
“No.
Mami will be happy for the gift.
There’s more coming,
Merc will make sure of it.”
Backpack gripped
on stiff shoulders,
Dali slid the trailer door shut,
and didn’t look back.
on a granite countertop
on Winding Brook Road …
there sat
A VASE
filled with calla lilies.
(Ma’s favorite)
A REPORT
of my online summer school GPA
—3.06—not bad, right?
and
A LETTER
written to you both
Dear Ma and Papi,
I’ll make you proud. You’ll see.
Denver
I left that $1,500 right in my possession,
because let’s be honest,
did y’all even need it?
Tossed our luggage in the trunk
of my Honda Civic,
stuck the key in the ignition,
and before I pulled off,
whipped out my phone.
Me: Sis, hope the offer still stands. Me and Dali are on our way.
Gwen: OMG are you serious? Yay!
Me: But I got a secret and I’ma need you to keep it.
Gwen: You mean from Detective Ma? LOL! What is it?
Me: Tell you when I get there. You owe me this one.
Gwen: I know. DON’T REMIND ME. Geez!
Me: See you in a few hours.
beneath the 4.0 GPA,
the scholarships,
clubs,
sports,
teams,
there once lived
a sister with a secret
of her own.
A classic high school tale
of boy meets girl.
Chandler Pierce:
Captain of the football team
with the river-green eyes
that turned chicks
into human puddles of
omg-he’s-so-frigg’n-hawt!
Gwen Lafleur:
Valedictorian by day,
Chandler’s brown little boo thang by night
A love (lust?)
tended to
beneath dark skies
where no one else could see
And by no one,
I mean Chandler’s
Confederate-flag-waving parents.
And you, Papi, with your
“no dating until twenty-five”
and “don’t even THINK
about bringing no white boy home”
policies.
Hands on belly, brimming with heat
both hearts taking turns to beat
A longing look that begged
What if we’re making the wrong decision?
What if we keep it? (her?) (him?)
Real love looked like
soft tissues mopping up
falling tears
waiting for the nurse
to call out:
Patient Gwendolyn Lafleur?
Right this way.
Chandler wasn’t there for none of that …
but I was.
Dartmouth College was …
Too green
Too rich
Too smart
Too quiet
Too
CORNY
for
my
Black
ass!
a reminder
of all that you and Ma
had ever dreamed for us.
You both went there,
the same.
Gwen followed in y
our footsteps.
As for me?
Well, I never been one for tradition.
(but you knew that, didn’t you?)
When receiving a hug
from a sister you
hadn’t seen in months,
it was best to
lower expectations
of breathing.
“I can’t WAIT to show you guys around!”
Gwen peeped.
Our campus tour
was a stretch of:
Collis Center
The Hop
Leede Arena
Baker-Berry Library
and the Organic Farm
where they made homemade pizza.
In other words,
the tour was a big yawnfest.
Pizza was bangin’ tho.
“Bet you two
want to apply here now!”
I almost spat my food out laughing.
“Nah, we wanna see the world,” Dali reminded Gwen.
“But you can,
which is why I’m
studying abroad
in Paris starting next month.
Putting our French to work, Denny!”
See what I mean?
Perfect. Freak’n. Daughter …
Three amigas
sprawled out on the grass
in front of Dartmouth Hall,
pepperoni wasted.
Sun hidden within clouds,
a breezy battle of
heat and cool.
“So tell me, guys.
What’s the big secret?
I can’t wait a second longer …”
1. Damn girl! You waited this long to tell me THAT?
2. PLEASE take me with you!
3. Wait. They don’t know? You want me to tell them WHAT?
4. Girl, Ma and Papi are gonna KILL you something good.
Gwen: Attention parental units: Denny and Dali came up for a college tour! They’ll stay on campus with me for a week-ish.
Papi: Bon nouvel! Good news! Best way to celebrate your birthday, Denver!
Ma: THANK YOU FOR THE NOTE, REPORT CARD, & FLOWERS. PROUD OF YOU, DENVER!!! EDUCATION FIRST. MUSIC CAN WAIT. PRIORITIES!
Me: Don’t worry. I’m finally getting my priorities straight. Wishing the same for us all.
Ma: ???
Me: Love y’all.
A promise is a promise
The next morning,
I placed my car keys in Gwen’s hand,
she held on to mine two seconds
too long,
staring me down
with those begging brown eyes.
“You sure about this?”
I’d never been so sure in my life.
“You just better be the first one
to pump the hell out of our
music when it drops!”
“Consider it done.”
Our private car pulled up—
a white Cadillac Escalade stretch limo—
The driver grabbed our bags.
Gwen folded me and Dali in her arms.
“Be safe.
And, Denny? Happy (early) birthday.”
We hopped in the limo
and made our way to
Manchester airport.
Phone on mute
because nothing else
mattered at that point.
Eyes to the sky.
I knew I’d be up there soon.
the second we arrived:
Miss Lafleur,
Miss Gómez,
follow us!
The airport greeters took our bags,
zipped us through check-in,
security, and straight to the lounge.
Leather recliner seats
Floor-to-ceiling windows
A full view of the runway
First-class seats on the plane
“A bon voyage drink,
compliments of Mr. Ellis,”
the waiter said.
Merc had magic like that.
He wasn’t even there
and he was taking care of us!
I took a slow sip,
let the alcohol-free
coolness work its way down.
Wished it was something harder
to wash away the small piece
of doubt that still remained.
Taking a deep breath,
I closed my eyes.
thinking of the past.
Like that summer of eighth grade.
A sky full of stars,
twinkling in summer heat
Lips touched
One second,
two?
An electric jolt
stopped
before it went too far.
A whispered promise
we’d never mention it again.
But some words
had a way
of building up
inside
even if they never
crawled their way
OUT.
it was only right
to try one last time
to fill the empty spaces
with hope.
Dali’s request.
One final group text,
one last attempt
to let Shak know
that no matter what happened
in the past
that wouldn’t change the fact
that together we built
memories
to last us our whole lives.
Me: Shak, it’s been too long. We love you. And miss you.
Dali: And we forgive you, too.
Me: Hope you can forgive us one day?
Dali: We’re leaving for a little while.
Shak: Before y’all do something stupid, tell me one thing. How well do y’all know Merc?
Dali: Umm … very.
Shak: https://thedailygossip.com/parent-claims-merc-holding-daughter-captive
Written By: The Daily Gossip Staff
PARENTS CLAIM SEAN “MERCURY” ELLIS IS HOLDING DAUGHTER CAPTIVE
During his 24-year career, Sean “Mercury” Ellis has sold nearly 50 million albums.
But it wasn’t always this way. Born in the inner city of Crenshaw, California, Ellis was raised in a single-parent home with seven siblings. Poverty and gangs plagued Ellis’s childhood. His mother raised him and his siblings in the church, where he honed his vocal and instrumental skills. At the age of fifteen, his soul-stirring performance on Showtime at the Apollo resulted in a production deal with Vibe Records. The rest, as they say, is history. Five Grammy awards, two Billboards, and a whopping seven American Music Awards.
But the cost of fame is high. In 2006, a videotape was discovered that allegedly featured Ellis and an unnamed minor engaging in sexual activity. The case, which took three years to go to trial, resulted in Ellis being acquitted of the charges because there was no evidence or testimony to verify that it was indeed him on the tape. This, however, did not derail his career. Instead, the case and dropped charges made him more successful in the R&B/hip-hop community.
Since then, Ellis has been hailed as a savior of sorts, having been responsible for the rise of such popular artists as Lil’ Mega and Shades of Black. Collaborations with megastars in pop and country have increased Ellis’s popularity and crossover appeal.
Now rumors are starting to swirl again. In an exclusive interview, the parents of a young woman we’ll call M allege that Ellis is holding their daughter captive.
“I haven’t seen or heard from my daughter in six years.” M’s mother claims Ellis met her daughter at a Chicago video shoot. The 19-year-old left home shortly after.
In response to the accusation, Ellis’s publicist, Raymond Markowitz III, stated, “This woman and her husband have contacted our office on two occasions threatening to sue if Mr. Ellis did not provide hush money for ‘kidnapping’ their daughter. It is unfortunate when ill-intentioned people insist on defaming an
artist who adores his fans and works tirelessly to give back to his community. Perhaps that is the price of fame, but please respect Mr. Ellis’s basic right to privacy, by ignoring unfounded rumors.”
hearing that
know-it-all sass in
Shak’s voice,
thinking back to
all the other times
she was wrong about Merc.
I wished I could press
the mute button in my brain.
Sure he was a little strict,
but perseverance breeds results.
Didn’t take a genius to understand that!
And you know what?
We tried with Shak.
Tried to do the right thing.
Be nice.
Make amends.
But the truth was clear as day.
Shakira Brown was a hater.
Guess she always had been.
Took her
sending me that
lying-ass article
to finally see it.
I couldn’t wait to show Merc
that garbage in person!
He warned me
about how
some folks flip the script
when you’re on the come-up:
The second they see it,
they do anything to knock you down!
I scrolled through my contact list,
till I got to the letter S.
Mannnnn, my fingers couldn’t hit
that delete button fast enough!
I took off,
only to take off again,
but this time with you.
We’re boarding now, Papi,
and though we won’t be
seated together
—you gotta step up your pilot perks, bruh—
I’ll spend this flight
praying that you’ll hear
the apologies running
through my head,
feel the cold darkness fade
and the light pour in,
as I beg for a do-over.
I-85 North:
I had never
ever
ever
ever
seen a highway
THAT congested.
Dear Atlanta,