Antebellum (16 page)

That night I dreamed of my father. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and walked to his own soundtrack. I was sitting in the audience, and he winked at me as he climbed onstage and began playing his saxophone in a local club. Every few minutes he would look over at me to check and see if I was still there. I never moved from the spot I was sitting in, but each time he looked for me, his eyes would go wide with concern until he found me, and then he would smile and continue playing.

Then, suddenly, the music sped up. One moment I was tapping to the rhythm, and the next, my foot couldn't hit the ground fast enough. I looked around to see how everyone else was reacting to the change in the music, and realized that they had somehow changed from their nice, fancy suits and dresses to dingy cotton pants, shirts, and overalls. No one was in their seat anymore, either. Everyone was up and dancing, and the faster the music got, the more they danced like wild animals. I grabbed the person closest to me, a dark-skinned man about ten years my senior, and shook him out of a trance.

“Why does everybody in here look like a slave? Why don't they put their nice clothes back on?”

The man smiled at me, revealing missing and rotted teeth.

“Dey was always slaves, son,” the man answered. “They was jus' hidin' it with those nice clothes, but they was always slaves. Here—come enjoy yo'self...”

He went right back to dancing like a madman, and my foot tapping turned into head nodding, and then body swaying. Before I knew it, I was flailing my arms and jumping around like everyone else.

My dad tried to look for me again, but this time he couldn't find me. He got so worried that he stopped playing the sax, threw it to the side, and walked to the edge of the stage, screaming my name.

I couldn't answer him. I could hear him, but whatever had gotten a hold of everyone else had gotten an extra tight hold on me as well. He screamed until his voice gave out.

“MOSES! MOSES! God, please...MOSES!...”

Then, defeated, he sat back down in his seat.

“Be strong, son.”

He whispered it, but I heard it as clear as water.

I woke up the next morning to the faint sound of chanting. It crept into my slumber like a termite and gnawed away at my snores until I could no longer keep my eyes closed. Both eyelids popped open at the same time, and for a split second, I couldn't remember where I was and how I'd gotten there.

It took the smell of ham and apple pie to remind me.

Everyone was already at the house. I could hear the different voices traveling up through the air vents. The digital clock on the dresser flashed 12:30 p.m. across its LCD screen, and I thought to myself that my dad must have kept me asleep so I could finish my
dream. Then I shook my head and laughed at myself. “Man, this house must really be screwin' with my head,” I said aloud.

I pushed the covers to the side and climbed out of the bed with the images from the dream fading in and out like the opening credits of a movie. As I stretched by the foot of the mattress, I realized I was still hearing the chanting noises that woke me up in the first place. They were coming from the window beside my old dresser. I yawned as I walked up to it, sleepily glanced outside, and then dove back onto the floor.

There were about two hundred people congregated outside the house. Most were standing. Some had lawn chairs and blankets, and were sitting either on the grass or on the sidewalk. There was a group of about ten pimped-out, customized sports cars sitting on the street, and another group of customized sport motorcycles. All the drivers were standing beside their vehicles. All the men were outside in all their freshest gear, and most of the women were wearing clothes that you could pluck off with a pair of tweezers. They all chanted the same thing.

“DA-NIG-GA! DA-NIG-GA! DA-NIG-GA!”

The police had formed a barrier so that no one could pass. I crawled on the floor over to my suitcase and begin to search frantically for something to put on. Just as I was taking out my jeans, someone knocked three times at the door.

“Who is it?” I said with more frustration than I meant to.

“SaTia.”

If it had been anyone else, I would have told them to wait for me downstairs.

“Aight, come in.”

I was in the middle of throwing my jeans on when she walked in. She made me stop with them around my ankles, as if I was preparing for a ride on the toilet. She looked like she used to look,
back in the day when we'd pass notes in class. She didn't have on any makeup, no Bluetooth headset looped over her ear; no dark sunglasses; no laptop in her hands; nothing. She'd put her hair in a ponytail with a scrunchie, and she wore the same jean skirt and tank top that used to make my boys ask if I would mind if they tried to get with her.

“Good luck,” I'd always answer. They never did have any.

She walked into the room and shut the door.

“I heard some noise up here and figured you had woken up. I told everyone to let you sleep; that's why no one came and got you when the crowd showed up.”

“You don't have no makeup on?” I felt like an idiot, but it was either that or “I love you,” and it was too early in the day for confessions.

“I'm home too, Moe. When I woke up this morning, I didn't feel like a famous rapper's manager. I felt like...me.”

I pulled myself away from her eyes and reached down to pull my pants up.

“Well, you look...you look like you used to back when we was in school.”

“I don't know if that's a compliment or an insult.”

Wanting to change the subject, I motioned to the window. “When did they get here?”

“The guys and I got here two hours ago, and there were about ten people out there. It's grown since then, though. It's ridiculous out there now. I'm trying to get the cops to make everyone leave.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because we didn't come back here for a concert, Moe.”

I chose to ignore her as I made my way across the room.

“Can you believe I walked up to the window with almost no
clothes on? What was I thinking? People could've seen me without my shades, my grill, my chains...man, I musta been trippin'.”

SaTia walked over and sat down on the foot of my bed.

“You're not thinking about going out there, are you?”

“Hell yeah, I'm goin' out there! Those are my fans!”

“Moe—people are trying to kill you!”

“What? I'm supposed to be scared of these niggas for the rest of my life?”

SaTia stood in front of me defiantly.

“The bodyguards will be here in two hours. You can go outside after they get here.”

I glanced out of the window at the sea of people who came to support me, and I decided not to wait.

“These people shouldn't have to wait no two hours, SaTia.”

“These people
should have never shown up here in the first place!”

SaTia was getting upset. Her voice was getting shaky and the chinks in her armor were starting to show again. She turned her eyes away from me and tried to compose herself. I lowered my voice and placed my hand on her shoulder.

“Aight, look, I'll just go out on the porch, okay? I won't even leave the house. I'll take Ray, Brian, and Henry with me, we'll stand out there for a couple seconds, hype up the crowd, and come back. And I won't do nothin' else without the bodyguards. Cool?”

She still would've preferred that I stay in the house, but she knew this was the best deal she was going to get. She nodded her head, conceding to my plan, and walked back over to the bed.

I began putting the rest of my clothes and jewelry back on. It wasn't until I turned around that I noticed the look she was giving me.

“What?”

“I don't want you to go out there, but if you insist on it, please give these people more credit. Moe, the people outside are here because they love you. Most of them probably remember you from high school battling and freestyling in the park. Honestly, I don't think they care about your chains. They want to make sure you're okay.”

“Whatever. They want the same Nigga everybody else want.”

“Why don't you go out there and see for yourself?”

I put my shades down and looked at her. “That's what I plan to do.”

“I mean, go out there with nothin' but some jeans and a T-shirt on, and see how much love you get.”

“Now you trippin',” I said as I grabbed my shades and put them back on. I was reaching for my cap when I felt a hand stop me. I turned my head just in time to see SaTia's hands reaching up to grab my shades and pull them back off of my head. With my eyes now exposed, she looked right into them. “You're home, Moe. Stop being Da Nigga for just one second. Show them the real you.”

Something inside me began to ache. I reached out slowly and grabbed my shades once again. They were heavier than bricks.

“This is the real me. In front of you, in front of Mama and Big Mama, yeah, I can be somebody different. But in front of them, this is all I know. Moses Jenkins ain't no multi-platinum recordin' artist, SaTia. Da Nigga is.”

I reached for my suitcase as SaTia's gaze began to melt the self-respect off of my skin. Her face grew more and more somber as I put on the shades, chains, and pinky ring. When I reached for my grill, she turned toward the door.

“See you downstairs, Nigga.”

She might as well have spit acid in my eyes.

When I got downstairs, Big Mama took one look at me and put her attention back on her chicken and dumplings. She whispered just loud enough for God, Mama, and me, who was next to her making gravy, to hear.

“...be damned if he comin' to the table like that...”

Ray was sitting in front of the television with a coaster under his glass of Kool-Aid. He was laughing at SpongeBob on the screen as I walked over.

“We been in six-star hotels where they got diamond dust sprinkled in the walls, and I ain't never seen you use a coaster for nothing,” I said as I walked up behind him. “What you doin' with one now?”

Ray jumped up from his seat when he heard my voice. He looked at me, then down at the coaster. When he looked back up, he shrugged his shoulders.

“I got mad respect for your moms, Moe. She tell me to use a coaster, then I'm usin' a coaster.”

I reached out my hand to give him dap. He clasped my hand and we both leaned forward to tap each other on the back.

“I 'preciate the love, man.”

“No problem, Moe. You know your peoples is my peoples, real talk.”

“Get everybody together for me, dogg. Think it's 'bout time we stepped outside and said hello.”

“We...umm...we was waitin' on you.” Henry and Brian came from around the corner with their mouths full of food. Brian spoke up for the both of them.

“Hope you ain't want us to wait on you to eat. Since you was sleep so long and SaTia wasn't letting nobody wake you up, Ma Dukes fixed us a plate to hold us over.”

“Naw, it's cool. Fix yourself up, though; we gettin' ready to go outside.”

“What we gonna do outside?” Henry's arm was still in a sling, and his face didn't reflect the excitement of the other two.

“Just hype the crowd up a bit, probably sign some autographs. You know, just show 'em some love,” I answered, and then looked back at Henry. His face hadn't changed.“Why? Is there somethin' wrong?”

He took a step toward me and lowered his voice.

“Somebody's tryin' to kill you, Moe. You came back here for a break, right? What's the point, if you gonna keep feedin' the public?”

I was starting to get frustrated with people telling me what was best for me, even if they were telling the truth.

“They out there yellin' my name, man! What you want me to do?”

“Send us out there. We'll tell 'em you came here to be with your fam and get your head on straight. Won't be no special appearances or nothing like that.”

“Naw...naw. I got my start here. My fans from D.C. put me on the map, man! And I'm supossed to ignore 'em now when they need me?”