That’s when I knew I wasn’t dreaming at all.
there was
cake (red velvet)
and candles (ages 1−9)
and
family
and
kompa music
and careers on pause
least for that day,
sometimes longer.
But that all stopped
many moons ago,
leaving me
to start traditions of my own,
with my girls.
Tonight brought me back
to the memory
of forgotten birthdays.
No need
for codes to
unlock phones,
to check for texts, calls,
a message or two,
because
time told the real truth
Pretty sure I stopped mattering
to y’all
a long time ago.
Yet, other thoughts
arose, unshakable:
Was this the surprise Merc had for me?
Birthday turnup with a side of isolation?
Did Dali forget about me, too?
I undressed myself in the bathroom,
tried to rinse it all off
but there wasn’t enough
soap in the world
to wash away
the questions
that remained
three layers deep
beneath my skin.
Day Three: Makeover
Before the sun
kissed the sky,
Marissa tapped on
my bedroom door.
“Rise and shine, Denver.”
Her voice,
surprisingly syrupy sweet.
“Is Merc back yet? I need to talk to him!
What’s with Meat locking my door? And where’s Dali?”
I hated how desperate I sounded.
“You’ll see everyone soon enough.
Merc really wants you working hard
on yourself. Even if that means staying in your room.
Separation breeds focus, remember?
Now get up, let’s get you all the way
together. Starting with this tragedy …”
Marissa grabbed a thick chunk
of my hair,
grimacing when her fingers got stuck
halfway through.
“This needs work, sis! Get dressed and meet
me in the salon in ten.”
And then she bounced.
Two hours later …
Every hair follicle,
from the crown to the kitchen,
Marissa braided into submission
hella-long extensions,
all silky-n-smooth,
stared at my reflection,
like
New hair,
who dis?
When she was all done,
Marissa snapped her fingers.
“Yas! Now this, honey, is a lewk!”
I liked it and all.
Woulda liked it better if Dali was there to see it.
August 14, 3:01 a.m.
Gwen: Ma and Papi called on your birthday and the next night, too. What’s our next move?
Gwen: Denny, you there?
Day Four: still no Dali
But there was this …
A six a.m.,
Listerine-spiced
SHOUT:
“Wake up, superstar!”
Merc hovered over me,
jolting me outta my sleep
and I just about tackled him to the floor.
“Looks like somebody missed me,” he said.
And I hit him with questions, rapid fire.
“How come I haven’t seen Dali?
Or much of you, for that matter?
Why aren’t we recording music?”
“Whoa, slow down! Say Say’s fine.
I just took her on a little trip is all.”
And something about that felt like,
I don’t know … a threat? A game.
“Without me? Where? Why?”
Each question a siren, sounding off
inside of me.
Merc threw some extra honey in his voice.
“I’ll let you see her soon, but first, put this on.”
Then he handed me a pair of Nikes, some yoga pants,
and a T-shirt.
“Come downstairs. I got somebody I want you to meet.”
cut-up,
ripped-up,
veined-up,
muscle of a man,
aka personal trainer to the stars.
Hired by
Merc
to mold me
into someone
I wouldn’t recognize
come the dawn
of the New Year.
His words,
not mine.
stretched to
the end of
God-knows-where.
Trees hovered.
Sun hid.
I hadn’t been outside in days.
“It’s so quiet out here,” I said
to Ahmed.
“Better be.
Merc’s nearest neighbor
is over a mile away.”
Geez.
And I thought our crib
in Shohola was bad!
Ahmed blew his whistle.
“Buckle up, Denver.
Time to put in that work.”
Merc winked at me
and then disappeared
inside the house.
Pain is …
running the entirety
of Merc’s campus-sized
grounds,
not once,
but twice
while Ahmed drill-sergeant-yelled,
and Meat hung in the shadows,
half watching,
half glued to his phone.
Pain is …
pushing,
grunting,
while picturing yourself
singing for thousands of fans
Pain is …
squatting
through muscles
hidden beneath
cushions of the flesh
that needed
smoothing out …
a few pounds
here,
a few inches there
to snatch the
lady lumps
to a size
suitable
for TV,
magazines,
the
WORLD.
Did I like it?
Negative.
I call bullshit on the whole
notion that less is best.
But if having a certain type of body
was gonna make my voice heard,
then I had to make it do what it do.
I’d been told a
thing or two
’bout this body—
too thick for Shohola guys,
just right for Caribbean eyes—
See ’cause where
my people came from,
big bodies
on small islands
were a stamp of wealth,
prosperity,
success
But to level up to that grand stage
it’s funny how I had to shed
parts of myself,
school,
family,
friends,
and now this body.
A loss for a win,
of sorts,
the cost of fame
was expensive AF.
And I’d only just begun
paying off my debts.
became a endless
repetitive
necessary routine
of six a.m. workouts
nasty-ass,
bland-ass
egg whites,
turkey burgers,
spinach
s
erved by silent employees
—a new one, each time—
who wouldn’t even look me in the eye
Me eating meals by my damn self,
or worse, with Marissa hovering
And sometimes …
No food at all.
No songs recorded,
no beats swimming through
headphoned ears.
Only new lyrics written,
guitar chords played
in the corner of my room.
And still NO DALI.
“Are you playing some sick game
that I can’t see Dali or record
until I fit some kinda model image?
“When can I call my sister?
My parents?
“Because
when they figure out
I’m gone gone,
they gonna beat my ass.
Twice.”
Responses
“It’s important that we’re careful how
we reach out to your folks.
And you’ve done so good, baby gurl,
being patient and disciplined.
How ’bout tonight we
finally make some magic?”
Those words tumbled
off Merc’s lips like sap
slow-rolling
down the bark of a tree.
August 20, 8:48 p.m.
Gwen: Denny, call me ASAP. THEY KNOW.
Finally!
Merc brought Dali to my suite.
A reunion that
started with
a laugh, a hug,
a lift, a burst
of home.
“Don’t ever leave me like that again!”
And I said that with one eye on Dali, the other
aimed at Merc. “Where have you been?”
“Château Élan.”
Dali spoke in a fake-ass
French accent.
Fireworks sprang in my chest.
“You left the country?” I tried to rein it in,
but damn.
Merc laughed.
“Nah, baby gurl, it’s a resort,
with a state-of-the-art spa,
here in Georgia.”
But that didn’t help. One bit.
Especially since I was here
all this time. Alone.
“I got a makeover, like you.
If you think my hair is short here,
you should see the rest of me.
I have, like, zero body hair now.” She giggled.
“Oh, and I got my teeth done.
See? Ta dah!” Dali flashed
a braceless grill.
Dali’s hair,
once cascading
like dark waterfalls down her back,
now barely touched
the tips of her ears
A spiky,
choppy,
badass
blond of a girl,
complete
with a silver ball
pierced through
a swollen tongue—
that had never
existed before.
“You stayed there? At the resort?”
“Well … yeah.”
“Together?”
“Whoa!” Merc cut in
before she could answer.
“Slow down, baby gurl.
No, not at all.”
Dali and I stood,
eyes locked on each other,
pieces of us both
slowly drifting,
changing.
“Look at your hair.”
Dali ran her fingers through it.
“So pretty!”
Merc coughed.
“Should I leave or something?”
And I swear, right there,
I wanted to kick Merc out my room
and lock the door.
Instead, Dali laughed it off,
like that look and that touch
didn’t even matter.
This is the spell Dali cast on me:
the ability to drink me in,
and spill me out at will.
I’d played her game
for years,
but a tiny voice inside wondered
Is she the only one playing me?
A look …
Unforgettable
“I’m just trying to get you two to look like a unit.”
Merc grazed his hand across my waist.
“See, baby gurl, you’re getting there. Keep it up!”
A sound …
Iconic
“When I’m done with you, folks will be calling
Untouched living LEGENDS!”
And speaking of sound …
The time had come to work on ours.
“Say Say, Baby Gurl,
I wrote a new joint for y’all.
Now let’s put in that work!”
Relief
washed over me.
She was back.
So was he.
And together, that felt like
H
O
M
E
I think.
Really, I couldn’t think
of any other way
to describe Merc’s studio.
You would’ve loved it, Papi!
State-of-the-art
keyboards,
mics,
soundproof walls,
digital converters,
amps …
a secret,
hidden
paradise
to sing …
“Alone.”
I felt the whole planet
pause on its axis when he said that.
“If Denver records by herself,
then where do I come in?”
But Merc ignored Dali’s question.
Just pointed a wordless finger
at the black leather couch.
Handed me a sheet of lyrics,
had Meat lead me to the booth
empty,
confused …
solo.
of a voice
muted
far too long?
I’ll tell you what …
mine turned into spiced air.
A welcome blend
of hushed tones,
belted riffs
over C minor chords,
blasting through
glass enclosures
soaring,
floating,
landing
next to
two brown eyes
that refused
to connect with my own.
Two takes
was all it took
to record “Just Breathe.”
And Dali refused
to look at me the entire time.
“That’s a wrap!
Did you hear that, Say Say?
That sound that came out
of Denver?
New?
Fresh?
Hungry?
You ain’t hungry enough.
Yet.”
I left the booth,
joined Dali on the couch,
whispering, “Olive juice. Next time.”
She pulled away and whispered back,
“It’s all good.”
(Was it though?)
Our (my?) session ended
in a reward—for both of us—
though I’m not sure you could call it that.
Because we both knew what was waiting
on the other end of the receiver
was anything but a prize.
Subject: Tía Esme
Dominican aunties be like:
“¡Muchacha de mierda!
Tú te estás volviendo loca, eh?!
¡Coño!”
With a side of:
“Cuídate.
Te quiero.
Mi amor, I don’t want to stop you from your dreams.”
And a promise from Dali to put out the fir
e:
“I’ll be careful. I love you, too, Mami.”
Subject: Ma and Papi
(yelled in the key of WTF)
“Where the HELL are you, Denver?
And don’t lie because we already
spoke to Shak and Gwen!”
UGH!
Traitors, número uno and dos.
But was it wrong that I smiled through the threats?
Was it wrong I was happy that …
Y’all were home.
Together.
For once.
Missing ME?
You didn’t see it yet,
but my leaving,
my journey,
had already started to fix us.
But my words meant nothing, apparently.
You:
“If you’re not home by tomorrow night,
I’m calling the cops on that sick pervert
for kidnapping you.”
Ma:
“It’s gonna get ugly real fast, Denver.”
Me:
“Kidnapping? Dramatic much?
He’s a musician, Papi, like—”
But YOU hung up,
leaving my words
harmonizing with the dial tone.
“Can they do that?” I asked.
According to Merc, y’all could try.
But it wouldn’t do much.
Because
his lawyer told him that
WE chose to leave home.
Merc didn’t force us (true)
And he didn’t threaten us (also true)
Plus, we were FINE!
So, it was all good.
Not everyone needed to be
close to their family …
or their friends.
Success came with sacrifice,
just like Merc said.
Weight: 8 lbs down
Breakfast: Roasted oxygen
Today’s workout with Ahmed: Cardio (aka hell)
Around the big brick house
on Pristine Road,
Ahmed and I jogged
and I thought about Dali,
like always
Same house and yet
two different corners
of the world
I ran past
a pond
with some ducks,
a green forest
full of blood flowers,
a row of trees bearing
red-cheeked fruit,
and behind it,
a metal gate
with a big ole hole …
begging for repair.
And for a split second,
I pictured myself
running through it,
if for nothing else
to see what existed outside
La Casa de Merc,
the place I’d been trapped in all month.
But who was I kidding?
Everything one I needed
was right in that house.
Ahmed thought otherwise though.
“There’s a whole world of opportunities
outside of this place,