Muted Read online

  (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,

  so you expected us to do

  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.

  Dreamt of the future,

  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,