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,
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!
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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.
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.