She just doesn’t wanna talk to you.
Or me. You gotta let her go.”
Letting go
was never an option.
How could he not see that?
“Denver, you’re gonna cry
yourself into a fever.
Here take these.”
“What are they?”
“They’ll take the edge off.”
I thought back
to the night Dali took that pill
Merc offered.
Strange as it sounds,
I wanted to take them
if for nothing else,
to transport me back to that night
of her, me, together in my bed.
I popped two pills in my mouth,
gulped down the large glass
of water he handed me,
praying it’d be enough to do enough.
“That’s my girl.”
Merc tucked me in,
just like Ma used to do
when me and Gwen were little.
He pulled the curtains open
so a patch of moonlight
poured through the window
and down on my face.
“How am I supposed
to do this without Dali?”
“That’s easy,” Merc said.
“Like every other solo artist.
One song,
one lyric at a time.”
Solo
never
fit the image
I dreamed
for myself.
How was I supposed to be hopeful
when I felt
SO
LOW?
times
the
very
best
dreams
take
root
with
your
eyes
wide
O
P
E
N …
First day of third grade
backs pressed against
the playground wall.
Two new students
silently watched,
children playing,
world moving,
barely existing.
Took in the wonders
of a world that was new to us:
Shohola, Pennsylvania.
Transported from different places:
me from Brooklyn,
and Dali,
from Dominican Republic.
Two boys—one scrawny, one tall
ran up to Dali.
“Say something in Mexican!”
Dali twisted her face, in classic WTF.
“Like tacos!”
the other one laughed.
“I’m not Mexican. I’m from Santo Domingo.”
Dali’s words barely
broke through the playground noise.
“What’d she say? Burrito and finito?”
Skinny ass teased.
Tall one laughed,
like it was the greatest
joke ever told.
Little did they know,
when you were from Brooklyn,
iron knuckles cracked easily on loose lips,
induced racist white boy tears,
made feet scatter like roaches.
Some friendships
are born from
coincidence,
knuckle sandwiches,
and
school suspension.
(with a side of música)
That was the beginning
of the story of
us.
October 19, 1:02 p.m.
Me: I know you’re coming back here, so stop overreacting. I’m waiting.
Dali:
October 22, 4:29 p.m.
Me: I’m sorry. Can you forgive me? I’m still here, waiting for you.
Dali:
October 26, 2:36 a.m.
Me: I can’t stay here any longer. Not without you. I’m coming home.
October 26, 2:37 a.m.
Dali: Don’t.
I dialed
and dialed
and dialed
breath paused.
It rang
and rang
and rang
calls ignored.
I paced
and paced
and paced
until she left me
no choice.
Packed my bags,
under the cover of darkness.
Told myself,
Tomorrow, I’m going home.
First, the smell
woke me up.
A mixture of
meat, heat, and mildew.
Then it was the sound,
heavy, constant
panting.
I opened my eyes,
and staring back at me?
A little,
happy
bundle of fur,
licking,
slurping
my face
like an ice cream cone.
“You got a puppy?”
I wasn’t sure who was
smiling more,
Merc or the dog.
“You mean YOU got a puppy.
I couldn’t watch you moping
around here another day.
Thought this little guy
would cheer you up.”
“Omg, thank you! What is he?”
“An Otterhound,
rare British breed,
can get up to 125 pounds.
Sucka cost a grip, too,
so you better like him.”
I wrapped my arms
around that ball of fluff so tight,
it almost made me forget about my plan.
“Oh, I love him! I think I’ll call him …
Fluffy!”
“Nah, too fairy-tale.
How ’bout Chance?
Something to describe the journey,
ya know?”
Merc stayed dropping wisdom.
“Yeah, Chance.
That’s perfect.”
Merc placed Chance’s leash
on my nightstand,
started for the bedroom door.
“Get dressed and meet me in the studio.
I got another surprise for you.”
“Merc, we should talk
about Dali …
I need to go—”
“Trust me, baby gurl.”
Merc hit me with a
wink-smile-nod three piece.
“You wanna see this.”
1. Dali came back.
2. Dali came back.
3. Dali came back.
4. FOR ME!
I washed my face.
I brushed my teeth.
I combed my hair.
I got dressed.
I
never
ran
so
fast
in
my
life
!!!
Down the steps,
past the kitchen,
past the library,
past the
gym
spa
salon
the music boomed
LOUDER
stronger.
Our songs,
Untouched,
masterfully retouched,
trumpets blazing,
harmonies grazing
the inner pieces of me.
I heard that
classic Denver-Dali
blend
as I turned the doorknob,
swung open the studio door,
screamed over the bass,
“I knew you’d bring dat ass back, chiiii … ca!”
Two leather chairs
swiveled around,
Merc on the left, camcorder in hand,
and NOT DALI on the right.
Instead,
a candy-lip-coated,
&
nbsp; Timberland-wearing,
finger snapping
Nayeli Terron.
Aka
Queen Yeli
Aka
female rapper
who knocked
Cardi B off
the #1 Billboard spot
not once,
but four times …
this year!
I don’t remember
who spoke first
but that smile
and that hug
sucked up
every word
that raced through my mind.
Merc recorded that whole moment,
my reaction, that squeal,
Queen Yeli laying it on
hella thick …
“So nice to meet you, Denver!
Your vocals are crazy dope!
We definitely gonna have to collabo!
When I get back from my European tour fo’ sho!
I got the perfect song for us!
You’ll still be here in December, right?”
Two hours spent
chilling in the studio
with the hottest artist
on the charts,
she took selfies of the two of us
making kissy faces, tagged my name
and posted on Instagram for
the WHOLE world to see us flexin’!
Every passing second
felt like
freedom
amnesia
bliss
a middle finger to the one
who called this dream of mine little.
After Queen Yeli left,
Merc and I took a walk around
the grounds of his massive property,
the Atlanta sun
playing coy behind thick clouds.
At the pond,
we tossed food at the fish
as autumn leaves
drifted in the breeze.
“You believe in fate, baby gurl?” Merc pointed to
the heavens.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Denver, what we got, our music, this empire
we’re building? That’s just for us. Nobody else. Time
to start cutting folks off, you feel me.”
I felt something, all right.
Equal parts
Yes-and-no-and-maybe.
“Now, where’d you wanna go again, Denver?”
I tipped my face to the sky,
surrendered my voice to the wind.
“Nowhere, Merc.”
(I wasn’t going nowhere at all.)
I tucked away my exit strategy,
remembering Dali’s text.
She didn’t want me around, no how.
So why leave,
when the chance to fly
was right there in Atlanta?
(and beyond)
(Almost) back to normal,
Merc ramped up my schedule again,
minus the workouts with Ahmed,
—Homeboy don’t match our vision, Merc said—
We recorded music on repeat,
hit up the hottest clubs
and hookah lounges at night.
An added bonus,
taking Chance for walks
around the property,
just nowhere near
the hole in the fence
by the peach trees.
Merc cautioned me
to keep away from the front gates, too.
Why?
Because on the
other side,
paparazzi monsters
lurked in the shadows.
October 31, 11:10 p.m.
Papi: Pitit mwen, my little one, how I miss you. Please return to us.
November 1, 12:01 a.m.
Ma: WE WON’T GIVE UP ON YOU. WE LOVE YOU, DENNY.
sun turned to moon,
sky filled with stars,
vocals laid over
thumping beats,
Marissa headed to sleep
and Meat finally off the clock,
which left me
and Merc
and that duffel bag on the floor
in the studio …
a
l
o
n
e.
“Let me hit the head
before we call it a night,”
Merc said.
He walked down the hall
and that bag,
half zipped open,
and for a moment
I wondered …
Was the video of me and Queen Yeli in there?
And if it was, maybe I could send it to Dali,
with a love note, maybe even a new song.
Would it be enough to bring her back?
The duffel bag was filled with VHS-C tapes,
but no camcorder.
I quietly ran my fingers across them,
sloppily tossed around the bag,
no organization whatsoever.
Each was labeled with a name
the first was Marissa
the rest were some names I didn’t recognize.
Until I saw two
at the bottom of the pile:
Dalisay
Denver
I was sure
those were all
the homemade tapes he’d made,
Studio sessions,
life on the road,
clubbing,
all the good times
on repeat.
I could send her ours,
a peace offering of sorts,
a reminder that it wasn’t all bad here
when we were together.
I looked around the studio
for a VCR and saw nothing
that remotely looked like one.
I was sure he had one at least,
somewhere in that
castle of a home.
I was also sure he wouldn’t miss
the two tapes, if I borrowed them
for a little while.
I just wanted to see Dali again,
even if it was through the screen.
I tossed the tapes in my AliExpress bag.
The bathroom door clicked open,
and I Supermanned it to the couch
hella quick,
put on my best show.
Merc dried his hands
on his tee,
stopped short,
looked at his bag
and then back at me,
dozing-dozing-dozing,
and then he shrugged.
“Somebody’s tired,” he whispered.
“Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
I yawned
and stretched
my arms like wings.
Merc grabbed his duffel bag,
swung it around his shoulder,
then grabbed mine, too.
And that right there
pressed fast forward
on my whole universe,
mind racing
dontopenit
dontopenit
He walked me to my
bedroom door, those tapes
hidden in my backpack
pressed against his back.
“Good night,” Merc said, walking away,
“Oh, almost forgot to give you this.”
He handed me my backpack
and closed the door softly behind him,
as I clutched it to my chest,
exhaling,
finally.
Those tapes weren’t
the first thing I stole from Merc.
Something told me they wouldn’t be my last.
At night
when I lay in bed,
next to Chance,
I pretended it was Dali,
which I knew was stupid
given the way she played me,
but it was enough to
chase away the
lonelies.
Another random confession:
In the big brick house
on Pristine Road,
there lived a girl
in a big black room
with a loose floorboard.
The perfect hiding place
for bags of plantain chips
stolen from the pantry
(because celery dinners were boring AF),
a police officer’s contact card,
a SanDisk with my song I stole downloaded,
and
two tiny VHS-C tapes.
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CONCERT CANCELED AMID ALLEGATIONS
Crossover R&B star Sean “Mercury” Ellis was scheduled to perform at Pepperdine University this Saturday; however, after a petition from students and faculty, the Los Angeles school has decided to cancel the concert. Link in bio for more details.
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GwennieLafleur: My sister @denverlee01 went missing after @kingmerc kidnapped her. Denny, if you can see this, PLEASE reach out to your family! We went to the @kingmerc Detroit concert to find you. His squad shut us down. We are #hurting so bad sis.
Damnboi23: Dumb move Pepperdine. Nobody turns down the KING!
GoneFlying: @gwennielafleur I just saw her w Merc @HaloLounge downtown Atlanta. She ain’t missing. She just don’t miss YO ASS! #drama
MommaBear: @gwennielafleur can you DM me? My daughter @IsabelFaddenBae went to Merc’s concert in Detroit too and never came home. I called the cops, the news, no one cares cuz #BlackGirlsDontMatter
WeStillMatterOrg: DM for details on the next #MuteMerc protest, coming to a city near you.
that post on Instagram,
never saw the comments,
only heard the aftermath
of Marissa telling Merc
about the concert being
canceled.
And I thought:
Mannnnn …
cancel culture was
alive and well!
Dumb folks
sure loved
getting
trapped
By rumors
By hearsay
By lies
By FAKE NEWS!
Canceled shows meant
hours-long meetings
in the studio,
with lawyers,
executives,
every single important
#TeamMerc decision maker.
An epic scramble to
clean up traces of dirt,
the residue of lies
spread online.