So I’ve had a few people reach out to me asking what they would need to start their own podcasts and while I’ve been dragging my feet on compiling this shopping list, I couldn’t be more happy to share what I’ve learned so far.

So if you’re planning on dabbling your feet into podcasting and have no idea where to start in regards to equipment hopefully I can help out with my current setup!

When I was first starting I didn’t want to break the bank when it came to the equipment that I used so I would consider this initial list to be the budget friendly starter kit.

If your podcast will only feature you for now, the estimated before sales tax price (if you’re in a state afflicted with such) for this bundle is: $460

Here is a bundle that includes a Rode PodMic, Scarlett Solo, & XLR cable for $225 that might make getting your equipment a little easier.

Microphone

Rode PodMic — $99

This was a great starter mic that carried me through several episodes for my podcast, its a solid build and sounds great.

Interface:

Focusrite Scarlett 2i2 — $169

So at the onset of recording I knew I needed a mic and a computer but had no clue how the two were going to talk to one another. Now there are mics being built now that can plug directly into a USB-C port but if you’re looking for a little more control, having an interface is the best way to go and the Focusrite Scarlett 2i2 is the best way to go. It uses a USB-C connection so make sure you also purchase a high-speed USB-C cable for best fidelity.

Also if you’re not having guests or plan to only record one voice at a time here is the Scarlett Solo which is $120. It has one input rather than the two the 2i2 provides.

Microphone Preamp:

Cloudlifter CL-1 — $149

So when I started recording with my Rode PodMic I had to turn the gain all the way up my Scarlett interface which didn’t feel right. So upon a little more research it was discovered that I needed a mic preamp. So without purchasing a new interface that might have a stronger preamp, Cloudlifter was recommended on many websites as the best solution. And it has worked great for me so far! So while I’m considering purchasing other interfaces, that might have a little bit more power, I will always keep a Cloudlifter nearby just in case we need a little volume boost.

Microphone Stands:

OnStage Boom Stand — $38

OnStage Desk Stand — $20

Not much to say here but depending on your setup, you might need a boom stand and not a desk stand or vice versa. There are several other kinds of stands but these are the two that I’ve tried out for myself and I love my boom stands. The desk stand held me down until I changed my podcasting setup. Also you might be wondering how you will articulate your mic. The Rode PodMic and most condenser mics like it come with built-in brackets that allow you to move the mic up or down.

Cables

XLR Cable — $22 to $$$

To connect you mic to your interface or to a Cloudlifter and then your interface you will need XLR cables. These cables range in price based on length and what the cables are made of. My cables are on the lower end of the price spectrum where I haven’t spent more than $30 on my cables so the one I have linked should be best for you but if you need something longer than 10 feet or would like the contacts of the cable plated with gold then you might have to throw in a bit more.

Hopefully sharing this starter equipment list is helpful in your journey to becoming a podcaster!!

A mystical tale of sickle cell anemia and how it was first born into our world.

A love that inspired the rose moon to rise is used in violence, turning the rose moon red; forever afflicting the bodies of the destined couple and all their descendants

For an immersive audio experience, listen to the story here.

Many many years ago, when the first rose moon would move over the earth, there was a young couple.

They were madly in love. To be around them was to feel their love in your bones, for your blood to warm and your heart to race.

Their love brought joy to their people. No one could resist the feeling of love and joy that swelled in their stomachs when around the young couple.

The star readers were convinced the approach of the rose moon was of no coincidence and that if the young couple’s love was born of the earth, and adorned by the sun, then it stood to reason the moon would rise and bear its own gift of affection.

So it was decided they were to be wed under the rose moon to honor its gift and for its magic to bond and bless their union.

That evening as the sky began to darken and the sun took its leave, the people gathered in an open field at the base of the great mountain.

When the time came they would all journey to its peak, singing songs of family, wind and boar. When they reached the top of the mountain, where the heavens and the earth met, it was there the young couple would take their oaths.

As was the custom of their people, a farming and hunting tribe, the young couple would take their sickles, metal curved like the tusk of a great wild boar and perform a dance.

The young woman adorned in red and white silks and a headpiece of gold, the young man bare chested and furnished in the same, faced away from one another and began their dance.

They moved as one. Their sickles creating mesmerizing arcs through the air whistling of their own accord, a melody to match the drums beating around them. It was beautiful to behold.

To watch the ebb and flow of the young couple, freely creating movements with their bodies, their horned shaped blades as much a part of them as the blood in their veins. In the dance, the sickles could not touch until the very end, until the beat around them swelled with such magnitude the ground shakes, the trees bristle, and the winds are made still.

So a swoop and a dip, a jab and a spin, with each step, their blades would get closer, and then closer even still, until!

Right as the couple’s sickles were finally about to touch, fulfilling their tribal tradition, everything went still. The once bright and vibrant celebration, was darkened suddenly, a pall cast over all the people freezing them where they stood. Time had been robbed from them all save the young couple who looked around in panic as the darkness descended.

Out of the darkness a beast appeared. It was large wild boar, cast in the same darkness that had come over the people, but its eyes glowed with flame. It was so large that the young couple took several steps in retreat and still could not see over its back.

For a moment it did nothing but breathe, its nostrils drenched with cold, threatening to either blow away or inhale everything into its snout. A moment later the boar took a step, and began to transform until its massive body no longer was of a boar but was of a man.

“Greetings young couple!” The figure spoke, skin as black as the night, and teeth that glowed in the moon light. There was a glee in its voice but something dangerous and untamed behind each word.

“I am the boar king!” It said, in a tongue that was familiar to the young couple but older. “I am here to witness the greatest love the seamstress herself could not believe she had wove.”

The young man stepped in front of his bride to be, his hand tightening around the handle of his sickle.

The legends of the boar king were known among their people, it was a traitor to the great boar herd their people had loved and respected since they were born to their lands.

Instead of living in harmony with the lands, the boar king rebelled against it and its herd, leaving imbalance and violence in its wake.

“Such poor hospitality!” The boar king frowned in mock disappointment. “But I do suppose I did ruin such a delicate ceremony.” It grinned, amused with itself.

“What do you want?” The young man spoke in his native tongue, minding his footing for a moment to attack, the young woman behind him, prepared to follow in strike.

“Ah! I am glad you asked.” The boar king skipped and clapped with glee. “All I need from you is to go up the mountain and capture that beautiful rose moon for me.”

Noting the confusion on the young couple’s faces, the boar king then explained that the rose moon was a gift from the seamstress herself because their love had moved her to indescribable joy. So all they had to do was reach up and take it out of the sky.

Once he had this special moon, he would depart. For what reason it needed the moon it would not say. The young couple, were not moved, intent on attacking the traitorous boar king. Like their dance they moved as one, sickles bearing down and across where the figure had stood but only a moment before, whistling through the air.

The boar king laughed heartily.

“Oh your love is even more than I could have imagined! No wonder you have been given such an immense gift!! The way you moved! My! You almost got me!!” The boar king screeched in delight.

The humor was short lived. Smoke billowed out from under the black boar pelt that hung off its back. It flowed with purpose toward the tribe of the young couple, working its way into their noses or open mouths.

An affliction began to rack the bodies of everyone who was gathered, newly released from the petrification of time. They all cried into the night writhing in pain, calling out to one another, minds ablaze with agony.

The young couple dropped their sickles and pleaded with the boar king.

The boar king quieted the grisly scene, removing time from their bodies yet again. The stipulation being that unless they gathered the rose moon for the boar king it would let their people suffer for eternity, doomed to bear in their bodies the strikes of the young couple’s sickles meant for the boar king itself.

The young couple agreed, and made their way up the mountain. Once they reached the peak, the rose moon, shone brightly, the pink in its glow unmistakable, and warm.

They were immediately filled with sadness for having to remove such a beautiful thing from its place. They reached toward the sky and as they stretched their arms, the rose moon moved closer and closer to them, until their hands touched its rough surface, fitting into their palms.

A rush flooded within them, the love they shared causing the warm rose hue of the moon to brighten until its pale surface was completely covered by it. Tears formed in their eyes, and smiles warmed on their faces, the feeling was indescribable.

This lasted only for a heartbeat, the realities of their predicament rushing back with force. With all their strength they pulled, forcing the moon out of its place in the sky.

All the stars in the sky immediately went dark, all light was removed from sight.

The young couple took the rose moon, and with its bright light were able to find their way down the mountain. With every step they took the hue of the moon changed growing paler and fainter and with it they felt their love drain from their bodies, only to be replaced by a deep and untenable sadness.

By the time they reached the bottom of the mountain they were inconsolable, racked with the error of their actions. The love that burned brightly in their hearts, eyes and minds, the love that brought joy to their people, the love that inspired the great seamstress to offer such a great gift, drawn out of them, bitterly and without remorse.

“Wonderful!” The boar king clapped its hands gleefully. Before taking the rose moon out of there couple’s hands it gathered their sickles.

“I believe you’ll need these! After all you have a dance to complete! Not to mention a celebration to enjoy!”

When they would not acknowledge him, consumed with their grief, it threw the curved blades at their feet before rending the moon from the young couple’s hands, of which they had a deathly grip upon.

The boar king made a grave mistake, the moment the moon left their hands a madness possessed the two of them. The loss was too much to bear even for a moment.

As the boar king turned away from them preparing to return to it’s animal form, the young woman and man let out a scream born of the unnatural darkness that now moved in on them.

Sickles back in hand they moved with a speed and strength that could only come from the deepest wells of desperation.

Even without their love inspiring their movements, the loss of it drew their attacks together.

The boar king was fast and cunning but made a gross misstep in its hubris giving the young couple their horned shaped blades.

Where it dodge and slipped, they moved with wild anger and ferocity. As much animal as the boar king was they had become twice that.

Their dance of sickles proved too much for it to handle. In the sharpest of moments their sickles bore down with swift and definitive intention, cleaving the boar king in half. Their sickles collided in the middle of its body, sending out a reverberation into the darkness and out as far as the air would allow.

The rose moon fell into the crimson of the boar kings blood, drawing it in, changing its appearance so that its once loving and affectionate glow was now angry and chaotic.

Quickly the couple took up the stained moon and prepared to put it back in its rightful place. The spell of the boar king broke, and time was released but not the affliction it had cast.

In the darkness around them the people cried out in agony, the pain of the sickles cutting into their flesh bearing down on them repeatedly but leaving no mark.

The young couple mad with sorrow could not further bear the suffering of their people. With no other recourse and through grief unimaginable they looked at the stained moon and asked for their people to be released from the boar king’s affliction.

The red in the moon swirled and to their amazement, the smoke that made its way into the bodies of their people flowed out of them and was drawn into the blood moon.

Their people were set free and after seeing what had become of the young couple, the people helped them back up the mountain. But as the young couple’s love returned to them, the pain from the affliction that the boar king wrought also entered their bodies.

Fire seared through their veins, their blood boiled, distorting against the natural laws it once adhered to. The crimson that overtook the moon now seeped into their bodies glowing in a vicious red against their dark skin.

Their people urged them not to continue, reasoning that their love would return in some other manner, that perhaps the great boar herd or even the seamstress herself may gift them with a new love they could enjoy for their bravery.

Yet, the young couple would not stop. Though the pain was nearly unbearable, to live without the love they shared was a worser fate.

So they continued until they reached the peak, the fullness of their love back in their bodies along with the fullness of the boar king’s affliction; the pain of their sickles racking against their earth born frames.

They placed the moon back but it was changed, the stain was permanent, yet the gift was not completely ruined returning every light to the night sky. The blood moon shone brightly, the savage violence and imbalance the boar king caused no where to be found, instead, a soft glow of restoration.

The young couple stayed on that peak for a such a time, holding on to each other closely, the language of pain now as much a part of them as the language of love they knew so well.

A mythological tale behind one of our culture’s most prevalent hair styles, come to life.

Listen to the story here

There was once a young boy no older than six or seven.

He was from a fishing village off the coast of Angola.

His family and village were a people as warm as the sun’s reflection in the blue green waters that lapped against their shores.

It is said that they had the most fierce fishermen amongst all the neighboring villages.

They would venture into the deepest and darkest of waters to bring back the most plentiful and succulent fish any village had ever had.

So fierce were these fishermen that the seamstress herself, a goddess that wove life into their land, waters, and bodies had given them special nets because of their skill and bravery.

These nets it is said could rein in waves that could touch the sky, catching their chaos and force them into obedience.

Their language has long since died, however a rough translation of these brave fisherman is “wave tamers”.

The young boy’s father was among these fierce fishermen.

He would wait eagerly after his chores to see if that day was the day his father would return.

His mother would beckon for him to return home to eat and sleep but he would sit and wait and watch.

He would sit there so often that his eyes learned the waves, learned their dance, learned their language.

Even after his father would return and tell him stories of his adventures the boy would watch the water and see is father’s voyages play out as real as the sand beneath his feet.

As he grew the legends and myths grew with him and even began to outgrow the large swelling stature of his adulthood.

On his seventeenth birthday in alignment with the stars from which he was born under he set forth on his first deep sail as his father had done so many time before.

His mother and father now with white hairs beginning to crown their temples, watched with pride and joy as he set sail for the first time.

He became the greatest “wave tamer” of his age. It was as if he could speak to the water.

Even without the seamstress’ net he could wrestle the waters, bend them to his will.

Even the skies and winds conspired. Agreeing the the boy’s strength and ability to become like the water himself warranted a berth of sorts.

They did not wish to lose in contest to him.

Instead they went to the tribe of seas and pled their case.

The boy was too strong and as he grew they feared he would threaten even the waters themselves.

This was an incredulous notion.

They knew the boy.

They watched him grow.

Watched him learn of their ways and come to love them as much as they loved him.

They told the sky and winds to continue about their affairs and leave the boy untouched.

This served to only inflame the fury of the sky and winds.

The waters had given the boy too much and they would not allow for his might to go unanswered.

The boy and his people already had the sun’s favor, holding it’s fire in their brown and black skin.

Soon they would rule the earth, nature bending to their whims and desires.

So they consulted one of the grisliest members of the waters.

A creature of such terrible reputation it was cast into the place of the ocean where not even light could enter.

The ferocity of this creature could create whirlpools of such size and intensity that whole lands could be swallowed by it.

The creature was enticed by the words of sky and wind that it agreed to their terms but only if they could provide the seamstress’ net.

It was the one thing that could subdue the tribe of seas and the creature would have its revenge upon those who had banished it for ages to the remotest parts of the waters.

The boy was now a man with a wife and child whom had seen his birth stars return four times.

The boy’s legend had spread from the coast, to the forests, even as far as to the desert people and highland villages.

The “mighty wave tamer” they called him in their own tongues.

His legend was that he rode waves as one would ride a horse.

One morning the the boy who was now a man, prepared for a deep sail.

He kissed his wife and placed his hand on his son’s head.

He looked into his son’s young brown eyes, seeing the same language of the love not only for the waters but for him, his father.

“May the waves always be your guide and your strength and may they always lead me back to you.” The boy who was now a man said to his son before removing is hand.

“Love you baba” The child replied stopping at the threshold of their home to watch his father depart.

Three day after, the creature struck. It conjured the largest whirlpool that had ever been seen.

The boy who was now a man and his crew and their boat, were a mere speck in the clash of white rapids and sapphire waters.

Even the sky had darkened and the winds had turned against them forcing them downward.

As they were drawn into the center the boy who was now a man saw the large tentacles of the creature spinning forming the vacuum that drew them down towards their inevitable deaths.

The boy who was now a man looked to one of his most trusted fishermen and said.

“We must make it home!”

And suddenly with the seamstress’ net in hand he dived into the center of the whirlpool.

As if aware of his intention the net grew in such size it captured the creature and all of its tentacles.

And with all his strength, the boy who was now a man swam as fast and a deep as he could, dragging the creature back into the depths where no light could enter.

Trapped the creature raged against the net but it would not break.

The boy who was now a man held the creature in place long enough to let his crew sail to safety.

But even with the sun in his skin the darkness soon captured him as well, frozen in that moment forever.

The legend says that to this day that the boy was then a man still holds the creature at bay, kept whole by the waters he loved so much.

The seamstress who driven to sadness by the sacrifice of the boy who was then a man, wove a new net for his son, to tell the story of his fathers bravery and love for him.

The young boy never cast the net but covered his head where he last felt his fathers touch, the waves he had learned of becoming the crown he would wear every day of his life.

Centuries later, those with the patience and consistency can achieve the same crown, descendant from the boy who had become a man.

With the net that we tie around our heads to inspire the crown of waves, we capture the strength to subdue the conspirators of our demise.

With our skin that has caught the sun’s flame as long as the net is upon our heads tightened securely, may your enemies be rocked with the sickness of the sea, may they become dizzy from your spirals, may they awe at the whirlpool you’ve conjured and most importantly may you never forget that in you is the legacy of the “mighty wave tamer”.

What would happen if a celestial event unlocked your latent extraordinary abilities, what would you do with them?

When December 21st came around I like many others were gifted with abilities that we had only joked about until that point. The day started with pandemonium as people began to demonstrate extraordinary abilities. I wouldn’t characterize my gifts in this way but we’ll get to that in a little bit.

The world was turned on its head in a flurry of magnitudes that will be felt for centuries. Some people immediately took to caring for themselves, taking what they wanted from banks, Apple stores and whichever places sold Birkins. The retail inventory of Gucci and other luxury brands did not survive past the first few hours of the day. There was a young couple with gifts of flight and super speed who had an affinity for Louis Vuitton. They quickly became the first viral super-powered duo showing off their abilities looking like LV sponsored power rangers.

Others were more targeted, using their newly acquired skills to topple oppressive systems all over the globe. Some destroyed penitentiaries, while others literally upended entire homes from wealthy white neighborhoods and tossed them into the ocean. Police departments fared the worst. Especially the stations from recent memory involved in high profile murder cases of unarmed black people. They was effectively wiped from existence. But not without a fight.

There was no day clearer than on the 21st of the differing perspectives within our community. A few groups of gifted negroes stood tall ready to defend law enforcement from the forces of blackness. But humility came quick when the bayou boys showed up with an army of gators at their side along with the girls and their indestructible knees and mesmerizing choreography. It was simply too overwhelming for the black and blues.

Personally I was here for it all. The destruction, the reparations, the finally giving the world something to be afraid of since they wanted to be scary around us all the time. But more importantly I was here for the shenanigans. I was part of the gifted group doing stupid shit for fun, but that’s when things went left.

“Yo so where are we going bro?” Damietta asked me from the passenger seat as I continued down the 101 heading towards Pasadena.

“We’re going to see my boy.” I responded, trying not to laugh from the scheme I had spawned only an hour ago.

“Yeah but why?” Damietta continued, she was having so much fun around Oxnard conjuring illusions that either terrified or excited, when I asked her to join me.

She was the only one of my friends who got gifts. Apparently only a few people had their DNA unlocked by the great conjunction. Somewhere in the afternoon sky there was a tiny speck of light that was Jupiter and Saturn in alignment.

Once Damietta, Dami for short, discovered what she could do she went over to her ex’s and for an hour or two and made him believe he was in a spider pit and every spider had her face but that wasn’t all. For Dami’s grand finale she took a page out of the game of thrones book and emasculated him like Theon Greyjoy, repeatedly. Now Dami is my girl and that guy was trash but after I heard the story I felt a deep and immediate compassion for him but made sure I didn’t show it.

“Chill, just know it’ll be hella funny.” I say, looking over at her with a grin.

“Okay but look I’m not trying to be caught up in this all day.” She started, skin the color of oak never betraying an emotion until she was ready to show it. “Apparently we only have these gifts for thirty-six hours and there’s a few things I can do to get my moms straight y’know?”

“Yeah nah I feel you. I promise we won’t be here long.” I reassured her.

Dami was lucky. She had a gift she could use without hurting anyone to get what she wants. Well without hurting anyone physically. I had the dumbest power but the difference between fun and fatality was too close for my liking to use frivolously.

Twenty minutes later we pull up to a house in Muir Heights. I rap my knuckles across the door twice, paused, and knocked once more.

A few seconds later, the door opened about an inch.

“OH SHIT!” The door flung open. “My boy Jaxson! What’s good??”

Our hands collided in greeting.

“Come in. Come in.” Emmanuel said, ushering us in.

The small home was just as I remembered except there were a few things different. There was gold everywhere. Gold chairs, gold tables, gold Hennessy bottles, gold sneakers.

“This is my homie, Dami.” I say, trying to make sense of the bizarre scene. “What the hell is all this?”

Dami nodded slightly in Emmanuel’s direction. I knew she was trying to figure out what weirdo place did I bring her to.

“Pleasure.” He said in Dami’s direction before shifting his focus to me, “Man one of the homies has the Midas touch so he hooked it up. But whats up with you?? I haven’t heard from you in a minute until you hit me up today.”

“Well bro, I saw your IG before you took the post down and knew I had to come see you.” I replied, still standing, not wanting to give the appearance I was going to stay any longer than I had to.

“Ahhhhh.” He said, gesturing for us to take a seat on one of the two laminated couches. “Yeah it’s some wild shit right?? I saw a guy in LA who could get big as shit like Ant Man and they put three missiles in his chest. So I immediately took down my video. I’m not impervious to military grade ordinance y’feel me?”

“Yeah I got you.” I say sitting on the edge of the couch, Dami following suit. “But look man, I know you can amplify powers and I need you to help me right quick.”

Emmanuel had a tray on his grandmother’s coffee table his friend had turned into solid gold. Even the papers and the bud were gold. It did not look like it would actually get anyone high but I kept the science to myself.

“You know I’m down to help you out bro, but if you gonna try and do some wild destructive shit I’m not with it.” Emmanuel had a grave look on his face. I had an uneasy suspicion I wasn’t the only one to have sought him out.

“Nah nothing like that man. Just tryna prank. You know how we do.” I say trying to diffuse the tension. “You remember back in 9th grade when we mixed the instant coffee in the teacher lounge with those cannabis infused coffee grounds from your cousin?? We had them teachers LIT!”

“Mr. Parker was so faded he slumped in his chair and was out!!” Emmanuel laughed, loosening up. “Okay I got you bro. But look don’t bring no heat my way, aight?”

I wish after I answered with ‘say less’ I was able to keep my word. Emmanuel if you read this bro…I’m honestly truly sorry bro. I really am.

Emmanuel put a hand on my shoulder and the feeling that followed was incredible. I felt every nerve ending in my body flood with an electric tingle. I was bigger than life and more powerful than I could have ever imagined. Focus came easy. I pictured exactly what I wanted to do in a scope and reach unimaginable. Just as quickly as the power came it was gone. Emmanuel had removed his hand and went back to rolling.

“Did it work?” Dami leaned in to ask me softly.

“I think so.” I replied, still euphoric from the connection.

“Y’all tryna smoke?” Emmanuel asked, his precious metal cone rolled to perfection.

“Nah.” I say as I get up. “Thanks bro, I appreciate you.”

Before we could make it out the door Emmanuel shared words that made me question what I had just done.

“Bro, remember, this can’t come back to me. Destruction takes many forms and while I think what you did was hilarious, a lot of people will disagree on the most violent of terms, y’feel me?”

I nod, and shake his hand again. His words bringing a clarity that I had suppressed for the shenanigans sake.

“So what did you do?” Dami asked me as we got into the car.

“Take a look at Instagram or TikTok, I’m sure people are already recording what’s happening.” I reply as we pull away from the street.

Video after video made Dami cackle fiercely.

“YOU TOOK AWAY THEIR THUMBS???” She screamed laughed at me.

Every pale face or otherwise caucasian person within the continental United States found themselves inextricably without their opposable thumbs. Videos ranging between fits of rage to gasping for air in laughter quickly began to surface.

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen an influencer try to record one of those videos where they’re crying about being treated unfairly without the benefit of their thumbs but it is quite the hilarious spectacle. Especially when they lift their hands to the camera and it’s nothing but four gangly fingers staring back at you.

While we laughed the more real world implications of de-evolving the opaques became alarmingly evident. Some cars were still moving along the interstate but it was impossible to ignore the number of automobiles strewn along the shoulder, some damaged, some not, some unoccupied and others with passengers who were more than distraught and freaked out of their minds. It was a sombering moment but then a video came across Dami’s twitter feed of a gun-toting confederate stating that as long as he had his trigger finger he would fight for American freedoms. He then proceeded to shoot himself in the foot, unable to hold his shot gun upright. The southern twang of his cousin Bubba’s “oh shit Charles!” Sent Dami and I laughing so hard a stitch formed in our sides.

Our resumed merriment lasted two minutes before it was cut short again, this time by four individuals appearing out of no where. I slammed on the brakes only stopping a mere few feet from them. They were dressed in full blacked out tactical gear with Kente kufis or hairties as their only distinguishing feature from US Marines. Before we could respond we were no longer on the 101 interstate heading towards Oxnard. We were transported to a dank empty warehouse.

“Black out their vision.” I say to Dami quickly, my pulse beating a tattoo in my ear.

“Don’t do it!” Someone yelled from behind us. “Get out the car!”

“Do it!” I say sternly. But even as she tried, Dami wasn’t able to do what I asked. She strained for a moment, then went limp in her seat.

“What did you do to her??” I scream jumping out of the car and lunging at whoever was closest.

“Jaxson calm down!” Another said.

“How do you know who I am?? What did you do to Dami???” I could barely control myself, anger, fear, confusion rolling into a massive conduit of frenetic energy in my head. I immediately willed everyone’s bones out of their bodies, not knowing I could even muster such a desire.

What followed was a piercing screech that almost cleaved my mind in two. I was driven to my knees, every ability to hold on to a thought was out of reach.

“Mercedes over there is telepathic.” The leader said, crouching down to meet my eye line. “She put Dami to sleep and she is blocking your ability to turn us into skin bags.”

“Who are you?? What do you want??” I whisper. I couldn’t even focus on my fear.

The leader made a gesture and just like that it was over. I could see and think clearly as if nothing had happen. Dami was out of the car and by my side, teleported by which ever one of them had the ability.

“We need you to give the people their thumbs backs.” The leader spoke, answering my previous questions.

After checking on Dami to make sure she was okay, I stood up. The four of them didn’t remove their masks but they stood with attention that suggested some sort of training.

“Why?” I ask, a fiery indignation despite the circumstance welling inside of me, “Y’all the hoteps tryna stop us from having a little fun?”

The team turned their heads to each other, suggesting that they were sharing the same thought.

“Nah man, you can have your fun. We just have plans and right now you caused a big ass problem for us.” Mercedes said, walking from the other side of the car to stand in front of me.

“And what exactly are y’all trying to do?.” Dami asked this time, finally gathering to her feet.

Mercedes was the first to remove her face mask. The others followed suit.

“Sis we’re trying to erase your debt, his debt, your folks debt, all of our debts.” She said looking directly at Dami, clad in the same oak skin. “And we can’t do that on our own.”

As soon as she said the words I groaned inwardly. I would much rather have my parent’s debt or my school loans erased than laugh at white people not be able to hold a cup or a weapon.

“Okay look, maybe we can figure something out but y’all have to ease up.” I say cautiously, waiting for verbal or non-verbal confirmations before continuing. “I can’t do it on my own, but if y’all put us back where you took us from from I’ll give back the thumbs in less than twenty minutes.”

“That’s going to be a no-go man.” The leader said. “We approached Emmanuel earlier but he backed out when we told him our plans. We didn’t know this at the time but we were being watched. And when you two showed up, Dami having been logged for her abilities after her ex filed a report. The authorities showed up and black bagged him.”

The weight of his words made my chest compress. Air seemed to stop flowing into my body. My heart beat irregularly, fading in and out of rhythm.

“Y’all can teleport!” I say, “Bring him back!” My focus shifting on how to save my friend.

“We would,” Mercedes offered. “But black bagged means there is no way we can track him. Wherever he is blocks all abilities; telepathy and teleportation included.”

“Well if that’s the case I don’t know how to help you.” I respond, trying to keep my emotions in line. “I can only affect maybe twenty people at most. Without Emmanuel my reach is limited.”

Their body languages changed. I did not give them the answer they were looking for.

“We understand.” The leader said after a minute. “We were hoping your powers could affect more people at once but we can work with that.” Before I could ask exactly ‘what’ could work, he continued. “I know you don’t trust us but believe me we’re trying to do something that at the very least helps tip the scales in our favor. But it’s your choice if you want to help us get it done.”

“I’m Antoine by the way. Recon.” One of the other persons said as he put his hand forward. I took it, still apprehensive. The last of the group introduced themselves as Baps, the tactical specialist. Even Mercedes came over for a do-over impression. They were all different shades of melanated and had trained for something like this. Regardless if they were had powers or not they were going to pull off this heist one way or another.

“Okay, before I even decide if I’ll help y’all, get Dami back to her moms first.” I say taking her hand into mine. There was no reason she needed to be caught up in whatever they were going to have me do.

The Leader nodded and motioned that Dami should get back in the car.

“You’re stupid as shit. I’m not leaving you alone with the black umbrella academy.” She said, holding my hand tighter. “So what y’all need us to do? And are one of y’all bulletproof or can y’know generate a force field if things get hot?”

For the second time in as many minutes they all shared the reaction. This time though they all had smiles.

They didn’t have force field abilities or were impervious to harm but Baps affirmed that wouldn’t be necessary as their targets did not have significant security. The plan seemed simple enough. Hit Sallie Mae, Navient and Great Lakes to erase student loan debt and then hit Experian and use their connection to all three credit bureaus to give every self-identified African-American a 750 credit score along with eliminating the debt reported to said bureaus.

“Sooo this is beyond illegal. What happens if we get caught?” I ask, thoughts of ‘I should’ve stayed my black ass at home’ ringing off in my head.

“You took away the thumbs of 72% of all elected officials in this country across all three branches of government, not to mention, a significant portion of all law enforcement and our military are handicapped. You’re way past illegal.” Mercedes said side-eyeing me.

“See? Did you really need to put it like that?” I ask looking back at the building schematics pretending I understood how to read them.

Mercedes wasn’t wrong though. What I did could be considered at act of domestic terrorism. But in my mind it was only going to last a few hours. Everyone would be okay. They were just looking at the glass half empty and without a reasonable sense of humor. Although I will admit, I completely misjudged just how important thumbs are.

We were only able to infiltrate and hack three of our four targets. Sallie Mae evidently knew they were going to get hit and when most of their staff no longer had their thumbs everyone was told to go home and hunker down. Luckily we got to the other locations before they could carry out a similar exodus.

As the Leader explained the modified plan it was clear how I threw the biggest wrench into it. Initially they were going to have multiple floors of technicians, support reps and engineers working on systems to relieve debt. But with the limitation of my gift, and having freaked out most of the staff, we only had skeleton crews to work with. It was a lot. I don’t even know how Mercedes was able to keep her telepathic focus for so much longer than she had originally expected to endure. Surprisingly Dami was a huge help casting illusions that made the buildings we were in look like business as usual, fooling employees to continue their work, cleverly hiding that a heist was afoot.

By the end of it we were all exhausted. I was surprised that we made it back in one piece.

“Half a trillion dollars of debt, gone.” The Leader said, helping Mercedes into a makeshift cot, pulling a simple sheet over her.

After making sure Mercedes was comfortable he turned to us.

“We did good. Thank you for your help.” He said.

“Glad we could help. I know this would’ve gone a lot easier if I hadn’t disappeared all the white folks thumbs.” I share, participating in what felt like a heart to heart moment.

“You’re good Jaxson. Now that we’re done I fully plan on getting online to see all the jokes.” The Leader smiled, one of maybe two times I saw the entire time I was with them.

“But before that,” The smile was gone as quickly as it appeared, “Antoine and Baps let me know that they want to help you find Emmanuel. Thanks to other teams like ours, there has been some chatter online about a detention facility, they believe is where they’re holding the ones of us they could capture.”

Even though I couldn’t think straight, Emmanuel’s name ignited a new energy in my mind. I looked to Dami who had taken to the vigilante life like she was born for it and the intensity in her eyes was unmistakable.

“But don’t we lose our power in like seven hours or something like that? Can we really pull this off?” I ask aware that we had just pushed ourselves to the limit.

“Yeah, in seven hours we’re back to being regular negroes and without Mercedes, we lose a huge advantage. It would be danger close, meaning there’s a likely chance that one if not all of us may not make it back.” The leader stood in front of us, fighting the fatigue that creeped like crows feet at his eyes.

“Yeah nah, I can’t ask y’all to do that.” I say. The heist was one thing but the chance of actual danger then was low. This was radically different.

“We put Emmanuel in the same position you did. It’s our responsibility.” Antoine said cooly, from behind us.

“Man, y’all really about that honor, life and liberty, one for all and all for one shit huh?” Dami asked, with what almost looked like admiration.

“Kinda.” Antoine smirked.

“At least with our gifts our odds are better than they will be without.” Baps said joining the conversation, “plus I really want to see what his golden bud is as loud as he made it seem.”

We laughed. Then we got ready.

I want to say that I was heroic. I want to say I was about that life. But heroes don’t say stuff life that. We mounted the mission and it was danger close like the Leader said.

The information about the facility was correct, but what we didn’t know was the other nefarious activities were taking place there.

A guy who went by the name of Siphon took the abilities of the captured and broke them down into chemical compounds that would survive after the great conjunction was over. But that’s another story for another time.

Through some grit and some sheer luck we got Emmanuel. We were out of the facility and able to teleport but something went horribly wrong. Instead of landing back at the warehouse, the instantaneous transfer stretched into what felt like eternity, every atom of my body being torn from one another and then hastily rearranged again. Somehow Dami and I ended up in Winnipeg, Canada, practically landing in the middle of a frigid and deserted downtown street.

We have no way of knowing if Emmanuel, Leader, Baps and Antoine made it but I have to hope they did. Even now we’re trying to find our way back to Pasadena. We hope then we’ll be able to find our friends, new and old.

The great conjunction has passed. We are without our powers heading back to a country that has had a rough and moderately comical day and a half. Once we make it home, evading the authorities won’t be our biggest issue. We know the government has some of our powers and we need to be ready for the inevitable retaliation to come. Stowed away on this long ass train ride heading to Vancouver, Dami is passed out using the last bit of her powers to get us a suite. All flights to the US have been grounded amid the crisis. The world will really never be the same and even despite the danger this new change poses, I, like before and always, am here for it all.

This story is inspired by two songs: BGM by Wale and Just in Case by Swizz Beats, Rick Ross, & DMX.

Fastening the last few buttons to a close, the textured linen shirt still felt strange against my skin. I pull it’s cuff closer to my wrist from under my jacket’s sleeve, the Gold Rolex Day-Date peeking out slightly.

Glancing up, I caught my eye in the mirror and I saw who I had become staring back, but only for a second. There was a glint, a sharp moment where a pang of something missing squeezed at my heart. The thought of that one special person walking through the door, dressed to match my fly, flickered like a waning flame. A person to share the occasion with that was both my family and my muse. Someone I would want to cancel the night for because her presence was all I needed to feel wealthy. Someone who would love the me that wasn’t this tuxedo, or the CEO, but the man who fancies a quarter pounder with cheese just as much as a citrus note behind the oak of speyside scotch.

“Okay now you’re getting ridiculous” I tell myself, shaking my head. This was not the moment for such thoughts, the taste of citrus watering my tongue.

Taking a proper look, traditional Congolese designs were stitched into the silk borders of my jacket’s lapel, a small detail that Dapper Dan made special care to point out before leaving. A sort of pride replaced my poorly timed romanticism. My heart beat with excitement. Somewhere in the republic of Congo, there was a family my family had come from, who would be wildly surprised at where some of us had made it.

“If your head gets any bigger you’re going to be stuck in this room, man.” A familiar voice said from behind me.

I smiled and took one last look in the mirror before turning around.

“Come on G, look at us!” I said loudly. Germaine was casually leaning against the post of the door frame, a grin on his face. He was clad in the only other tuxedo in the world identical to mine.

“Oh I’m looking, should I be impressed?” Germaine straightened up as our hands collided in greeting.

“Of course!” I took the brush off the bed and gave my hair a few brushes for good measure.

“I would take all the money we’ve made to make you just a little normal.” Germaine laughed wryly. “Anyways you ready to roll?”

“Yeah I am, and what you mean?? I’m perfect as is.” I said, sneaking another peek into the mirror to make sure the waves in my hair were as immaculate as I recalled from a moment ago.

“Moms is downstairs waiting on you pretty boy.” Germaine scoffed slightly, all to familiar with my faux narcissism.

“Word??” I conducted a quick pocket check to make sure that I had everything that I needed before exiting the room. It was astonishing my mother was completely dressed and ready to go before I was.

“Hold up.” Germaine came into the room and disappeared into the bathroom.

For the moment it took Germaine to come back, my mind wandered again, teased by the Basquiat painting that hung in the hallway.

“Yeah you’re gonna need this.” Germaine reappeared with an ornate glass bottle of Kwame Alfonse cologne. He gave me four quick sprays, two on my neck and under my arms. “Hopefully everyone at the function won’t smell how full of it you can be sometimes.”

“If that’s the case you should give yourself a few sprays.” I meant the comment as an offense but Germaine nodded slightly and proceeded to douse himself in the fragrance.

We walked down the staircase to where my mother and Germaine’s sister, Celeste stood, waiting for us.

“Yo! Who’s mama is that???” I yelled reaching the last stair. My mother was a sight. She wore a black lace and satin Romeo Hunte gown. The intricate fashion was complimented with a gold lace headpiece that slightly obscured her face along with a companion scarf draped over her bare shoulders.

“The mama of a billion-dollar baby that’s who!” She smiled and moved with grace, embracing me tightly.

After she pulled away she held my face in her hands and looked at me lovingly.

“You already know how proud I am of you. I love you very much and am so glad you made it here despite everything that stood in your way.” Tears began to well below her eyes and under my own.

“I couldn’t have made it without you mama.” This was the moment. That moment when on the precipice of accomplishment you remember why you worked your ass off. The moment where the person who sacrificed the most for you can see all of their sacrifice manifested.

I turned to look at Germaine and Celeste.

“I couldn’t have done it without all of you.” I wiped the tears from my face and hugged them both, the magic of family bonded us in the absence of blood.

“So I hate to be this person, especially seeing you two all in your feelings, but we are not going to be late,” Celeste said, soft but firmly. “People need to see how incredible me and moms are looking.”

She was regaled in an all-black traditional Yoruba garb with a slight modern twist. Her headwrap was tied expertly resembling an unfurled obsidian crown. Her dress clung tightly to her curves and blossomed out at her knees to the floor, while a thin sash stitched with Yoruba designs was cinched into place around her waist by a gold antique brooch.

I looked at her and my mother and she was right. The world could not be deprived the essence of black beauty they exuded.

Arriving in downtown Manhattan, the Bentley’s heavily tinted glass could not obscure the volley of flashes from paparazzi cameras that accosted the vehicle. Several well-respected people were making their way down the black carpet, posing for the various media outlets who were eager to capture the extravagance of the evening.

Germaine and Celeste disembarked first. My mother and I followed.

“Juliane! Juliane!! Juliane!!!” Several voices shouted in my direction. My mother and I posed periodically as we walked towards the entrance of the 80-story building. Several reporters had a seemingly insatiable voracity for the questions they knew their constituents craved answers to.

“How does it feel to have earned a billion-dollar valuation??”

“What do you have planned for your company’s presence in Africa now??”

“Will we ever see a Mrs. Juliane Musa???”

We smiled through each question with poise. And even though I was fairly accustomed to the media’s appetite for my business and personal life, I received added serenity from my mother.

Past the entrance to the building, I greeted several colleagues and thanked them for their attendance, performing a dance of social niceties and affirmations. Eventually we got on to the elevator, on our way to the penthouse event space on the 75th floor.

“You know some of those reporters asked really good questions.” My mother didn’t look at me as she spoke but her smile revealed the true intentions behind her words.

“Don’t worry mama, I’m going to make sure he finds a wife soon.” Germaine chimed in before I could get a word out in my defense.

“How about you find a wife first??” I shot back, heat rushing to my face, a certain embarrassment for the daydream I had not two hours ago.

“Oh don’t worry about him, I’m working on it.” Celeste cooly expressed.

Germaine and I exchanged mocking looks but when the elevator dinged, we composed ourselves appropriately.

At the end of the marble hallway the elevator opened up to, a 180-degree panoramic view of New York, along with at least two hundred people, all dressed in black attire. Applause erupted at our arrival. The waltz of social graces that we started downstairs began again. Celeste took my mother in arm and disappeared into the crowd while Germaine and I, shook hands, and greeted several members of the consortium that had gathered at our company’s invite.

Germaine and I conducted curt, albeit, pleasant conversations with as many benefactors, investors, and interested parties as we could manage. A billion-dollar valuation was cause for celebration which meant doling out gratuitous thanks where gratuitous thanks were due and modestly accepting adulation when offered.

In the middle of a rather raucous back forth between myself and colleagues from Silicon Valley, Celeste took to the stage.

“Good evening everyone and thank you so much for joining us as we celebrate our friend, colleague, and brother, Juliane Musa.” Celeste looked in my direction as the applause erupted again. She waited a moment before continuing. “Please grab a fresh glass of champagne as we toast to the historical accomplishment he’s achieved, leading his company to its billion-dollar valuation!”

My heart beat a tattoo into my chest. Whoever said that CEO’s don’t get nervous was full of it. As people refused to stop clapping, Celeste invited Germaine and I onto the stage. She placed a flute of Armand de Brignac into each of our hands and had us take the podium.

“Well first, I just want to say thank you to the amazing people I have in my corner.” I turned to Germaine. “G without your drive, and sheer power to manifest things into existence I wouldn’t be here right now, WE wouldn’t be here right now. Thank you, brother.”

Chants of “G! G! G! G!” Rippled through the room. Once they died down I thanked Celeste for her unparalleled attention to detail that kept Kembe Industries organized and efficient, not to mention her taste in style that made sure Germaine and I looked the part of C-level executives. I also thanked my mother for her positivity and lending strength when I had none. Applause reached deafening levels in respect for her.

“A lot of people thought we were crazy to invest in Africa the way we did. They didn’t see what we saw. And now the continent has the largest highway and expressway infrastructure in the world!” Excitement burned through my extremities. “We have stimulated significant economic growth in multiple countries from South Africa, through the Sedan all the way to Tunisia. Not to mention that we have fostered a partnership between African-American communities and our African brothers and sisters in a way that has paid dividends not only fiscally but culturally, emotionally and socially. I’m proud of how far we’ve come and am looking forward to how much farther I know we will go.”

I raised my glass.

“To the future of black enterprise and the proliferation of prosperity for our people. For our sons and daughters and the generations after them.”

“Cheers!” Many people yelled, clinking glasses with their neighbors and friends.

“Now let’s party like we have a billion reasons too.” Was all the encouragement everyone needed. Discreet speakers built into the construction of the room began to play an assortment of jazz, R&B, and smooth soul.

“Great speech man,” Germaine said as we stepped off the stage. He let Celeste and my mother walk into the company of family friends, holding me back. He didn’t say anything else but tilt his head. A few strides later, navigating through groups of wealthy black entrepreneurs, I was face to face with one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen.

“Juliane, this is Mali and her associate Euphrates.” Germaine shepherded introductions.

“Pleasure to meet both of you.” I said taking their hands.

Mali met my eye line, her eyes were a severe and impassable black, if not for her gentle smile and warm demeanor, the encounter would’ve unnerved me. But it wasn’t just their depth, it was the feeling that neither Mali or Euphrates were from our time.

“The work you two have done is really remarkable.” Mali said, making sure her comment was shared between Germaine and I.

“Thank you.” We both said before I continued. “If you don’t mind me asking what work, are you two involved in?”

Euphrates spoke this time.

“We’re account executives for a sheep herding start-up in Mongolia.” She said calmly, with a note of excitement.

“Oh!” For all my practice in navigating social stratums, I couldn’t hide my surprise nor conjure a more appropriate response.

Germaine, Mali, and Euphrates immediately started laughing. The rouse was on and I was the dupe.

“Wowwwww, okay.” I started, catching on.

“Sorry, just because you’re worth ten figures doesn’t mean you still can’t catch these jokes.” Mali said, her eyes slowly looking at me up and down.

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” A server came by and I helped Mali refresh her glass and grabbed one for myself. “I know Germaine can’t help but make friends with everyone he meets but I’m curious how you all know each other?”

“Well you remember the Libyan faction that were hell-bent on disrupting the construction of our northern corridor?” Germaine asked almost rhetorically.

It only took a moment for it to click.

“You two brokered the deal that allowed us to continue construction??” Disbelief painted the inside of my mind. We almost had to consider a few not so great alternative options when the faction wouldn’t parley with our initial deal-makers.

Mali and Euphrates shared knowing looks and nodded.

“Well thank you both. Part of this night definitely belongs to you.” I smiled, letting what I thought was well placed sarcasm sit, but Mali was quick to respond.

“Part??” She said, mild indignation on her face, straightening slightly, she looked at Euphrates who also did the same.

“Okay, before you two come for Juliane’s head” Germaine interjected. “How about we head to my restaurant, I could use some good food and this would make for some good entertainment.”

“Oh we couldn’t monopolize your time like that.” Euphrates said, truly empathetic to all the people gathered in celebration of us.

“Hmmm…” I started, “well we have no qualms about monopolizing your time in fact as business men this is one of our strengths. But since you two are the great arbiters, we’ll defer to your judgement.”

“So that’s how you hit your billion dollar mark.” Mali didn’t try to hide her questioning gaze, “You left all the work to the women.”

Euphrates and Germaine feigned no restraint, an “oooooooooo” shared between them, alluding that I had met my match and then some. However instead of retreat, I smiled. Intrigued.

“And suddenly it has become very clear why then Libyans caved. Okay, my apologies, how about this? Will you two please do us the pleasure of dining with us this evening? No monopolies.” There was a mix of sincerity and a little charm in my request to save face.

Euphrates and Mali curtly nodded in agreement. As we started to leave, I offered parting words with select individuals. Celeste and my mother decided they would stay at the gala to keep up appearances. In less than twenty minutes we were heading to Germaine’s restaurant, Fellowship.

“Head back to the party for moms and Celeste, we’ll call you at the end of the night.” Germaine said to our driver Prost, as we exited the car.

Entering through the back, we walked past the back offices and through the kitchen where Germaine greeted his chefs and servers before we descended down a stairway, in a hidden alcove off the hallway leading to the restrooms. At the base of the stairway was a long corridor. Crystal chandeliers sparkling with light, guided our way, to a door of solid oak at the end. Germaine rapped on it twice, a second later a slot in the door slid open with a rasp. Two eyes regarded us briefly and the door swung opened. Troubeadeau, a mountain of a man, silently greeted Germaine and I, giving Mali and Euphrates a warm smile as we passed.

Sounds from trumpets, drums, and a saxophone wafted up the small carpeted staircase that led into the cozy speakeasy from the vestibule. Several people were on the dance floor moving freely to the band’s spirited compositions. Familiar chandeliers carrying dimmed lights watched from above and in front of us, across the dance floor, stood a lengthy bar and wall of spirits. Booths of crimson leather wove around the room, playing host to patrons with expensive drinks and any manner of dealings to discuss.

Germaine spoke a few words to his speakeasy manager, who led us to the corner booth on the left. A white table cloth had been laid and four glasses of water had been poured. Once we were seated, a well-poised young man, Peyton, approached the table.

“Good evening.” Peyton said, making eye contact with each of us. “Per your request sir I will be back shortly with your beverages, but I would like to know if there was anything else I could get for you?”

“Thank you Peyton, I believe we are all set.” Germaine replied.

“This is a beautiful space, Germaine.” Euphrates offered, after Peyton left their table. Mali seconded the sentiment.

Germaine nodded, sharing his gratitude for the observation.

“So something you both might not know is that Germaine has always wanted to own a restaurant. He told me that if our mass investment into Africa’s continental infrastructure didn’t work out this was all that he wanted do. To have a low-key, high end space with good food, good drink and a good time to be had by all.” I offered, unwilling to let Germaine play his usual role of modest host.

“Really?” He said, looking at me, unimpressed.

“Yeah man, this is what the people want to know.” I then looked at Mali and Euphrates, “Am I right?”

They both expressed how they couldn’t have agreed more, launching the conversation into a retrospective of the prohibition era, favorite cocktails/spirits, drinking habits, and adventures overseas. When the drinks and food arrived, Germaine allowed Peyton to walk the table through what we could expect from the experience, instead of conducting the presentation himself.

“What you have in front of you is a Nigerian style jollof rice, topped with a deconstructed goat and oxtail protein pairing coated in a whisky based brown roux and a peach-habanero reduction for an added delivery of savory spice. The goat and oxtail can at times feel heavy so the dishes have been paired with a bright Riesling, to offset the weight and compliment the flavors.” Peyton’s expertise shown brilliantly. “Please let me know if you need anything else. Enjoy.”

“Why not Ghanaian style jollof rice?” Euphrates asked before we got started.

“Who?” Germaine asked with a hint of dismissive incredulity. This caused the table to first laugh, then lead us into a heated debate about pan-African cuisines. Needless to say everyone had some strong opinions, some of which could’ve ended our evening abruptly if not for the fact that the meal in front of us was irrefutably amazing.

Unflinching stances aside, as we ate we delved deeper into one another. As we drank, we focused. An alignment of interests naturally drawing lines on how we would enjoy each other for the evening.

“So it’s very clear you’re a pretty smart guy.” Mali started, taking a sip of her Riesling, “but what’s your foot work like?”

Before I could answer, Mali, gestured for me to let her out of the booth. The eyes from other tables couldn’t help but follow her as she walked past and found a place on the dance floor. For all the confidence I had to compose business matters, deal with board room cut-throats and protect what I’ve built, Mali somehow made it all wither. Distracted and unruly thoughts from earlier continued played tricks on my mind.

“She would definitely match my fly.” The semi-lucid notion grazed my attention.

I was rendered indecisive watching her dance, unsure of what my next move should’ve been. She moved like moons around Jupiter, possessing her own gravity, creating full orbits with her motions. The influence of dance styles from the worlds she’s traversed apparent in the isolation of her hips, the rotation of her wrists, and the bounce to her steps. The folds of her black strapless dress that ruffled and draped to her ankles swayed in obedience.

“So you just gonna stare?” Germaine asked, breaking my reverie.

I looked back and Germaine and Euphrates both had the same knowingly suggestive smiles on their faces that made the decision for me. Their lockstep which had inspired a fondness in me was quickly becoming a nuisance.

Quelling the wheel of overthinking in my head, I took off my jacket forming a kind of plan in my mind as I walked towards her. Mali was in her own world, letting every note carry her. She became the music and the music was hers. I started off with a two step to the beat as I got close to her, but before I could get into the groove she took my hands in hers and we immediately began this jig where she outstretched our arms, brought our bodies side by side and kicked out. She then pushed out, and repeated the same motion on my right side. Catching on we did that move one more time before I spun her, letting her go as far as our arms would allow and then snapped her back towards me, spinning under her arm as I did so, hands still intertwined, we pulled each other close. My hand moved to the small of her back and with our left hands leading, we dipped and came back up creating a kind of bounce, laughing and smiling as we did. Sensing the end of the song was upon us, I stopped dancing, letting Mali continue on her own.

The musicians playing moved slightly as I approached the stage, welcoming me onto the platform. In the back, out the way were a pair of Congo drums, and a harmonica. I grabbed the harmonica and signaled to the instrumentalists around me to follow my lead. I knew I was rusty but this felt right. I started slowly, building the pressure behind my lips as I played. At first my eyes were closed, I was hyper focused on every note, recalling the song, but once the groove started, the rust shook away, and the energy roared back up. The jam session was in full effect. I looked up making direct eye contact with Mali, watching her move to the southern creole ballad. She channeled an energy from a time long past, riling everyone up into a foot shuffling, elbow popping, sweat beading frenzy. Even Germaine and Euphrates were stirred up out of their seats joining in on the fun. I had never seen Germaine dance so much in my entire life. The moves were uncharacteristic for him but his Chicago roots, gave his feet their old speed back. The song seemed to span into forever. At the end, we crescendoed with such bravado that a conclusion was not only brought to the song but to the night as well. Patrons clapped and cheered, some who were regulars and typically reserved, asked for more, a vibrance on their faces.

As people gathered their things and departed or settled in their seats for a respite, Mali took up placement at the bar. Germaine had coaxed Euphrates into joining him in making his rounds.

“I guess he wants Euphrates to know that he doesn’t always keep poor company.” Mali said, goading a response.

“Y’know, I don’t think he’s ever done that,” I started, unfazed by her comment, “you two really have a magic about you.”

“Oh yeah?” Mali had on a half cocked grin as I turned my attention back to her.

“Oh yeah, what?.” I replied, part jokingly, but more largely serious.

“No really, tell me more.” Mali walked behind the bar, the bartenders continued their cleaning duties around her, her confidence being the only permission she needed.

She began to mix two drinks in front of me. I was consumed with everything about her and what she was concocting.

“Don’t worry about what I’m doing back here, tell me why I’m magic.” She said barely looking up, turning around to grab a bottle of top shelf bourbon.

“Well,” I started trying to compose my thoughts, very aware this is not what flirting was supposed to look like, but I had already painted myself into a corner.

“You’re magic because it’s just very clear that you are. Like you have an air of history, power and warmth.” I groaned inwardly, I sounded ridiculous, but anytime I paused, Mali would look at me, her eyes telling me to continue, forcing my freestyle.

“Like, I don’t know how, but you can make someone feel invincible, jump on a stage and start playing a song he thought he had forgotten and with a harmonica no less. And not only that but then get everyone else into the music, and then after all that, hop behind a bar and begin mixing a drink all the while having said invincible person feel like he can bare his soul to you, and tell you why you’re magic. If that in and of itself isn’t magic I don’t know what is.” It felt like all the words tumbled out of me. I was just a soul with her, stripped down of my earthly elements and experiences, speaking from emotion and not sense.

“Drink.” She said, putting her potion in front of me.

“What is it?” I asked bringing the glass to my nose, using smell to understand what she had made.

“Cheers.” She said after walking from behind the bar, bringing her glass halfway the short distance between us.

“Cheers,” I replied as our glasses clinked and I took a sip.

It tasted of bourbon, spiced apple, cinnamon, and orange. The drink was smooth and sweet, but had a bite at the end that left the tongue in a moment of indecision of whether to continue or stop before more bites could be felt.

“It’s called Bayou Water.” Mali offered, “Nothing like some bourbon, some shine and a little orange rind to twist the mind.”

“Yeah, I know you just made that up.” I smiled, taking another sip.

“I’m magic, I can do whatever I want.” Mali smiled back.

At first I kicked myself for my unfiltered confession, but the more we sat there the more I knew it was true. At the onset of our dialogue I was discreet but eventually discretion fled, as Mali’s beauty refused to diminish its brilliance for any being. Her lowly shorn hair, fully bodied lips, wide nose and the gold ring that clutched her left nostril, the tapestry of deeply brown skin that disobeyed nature and glowed, the softness of her voice but the command of her words, the vastness of her knowing of things, some I knew and much more I had no clue about. She was definitely magic.

Hours melted away as we spoke. The Bayou water flowed, carrying our conversation and jokes and flirtations, which finally happened properly. Even Germaine and Euphrates joined in on the ride. We laughed through the evening until we were the only ones left. Even the speakeasy manager and Trouboudeau had left, leaving the four of us to our devices.

At some point we finally made it upstairs, inebriation addling our every step. Tendrils of purple started to sprawl across the sky, a new day upon us.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Mr. Musa.” Mali said as we embraced, preparing for her departure.

“You as well Ms. Magic.” I said coolly even though she had already peeked behind the manicured facade and knew who I truly was.

“Yeah I’m going to need you to remember that.” Mali flirted.

“I might need you around to help me out.” I replied.

“Hmmmm…if you can’t remember all on your own, maybe I’m not as magical as I thought.” And with that she walked away to join Euphrates as she and Germaine concluded their goodbyes.

I watched the rising sun catch her stride. Thoughts unbecoming of a gentleman walked into my mind’s eye undeterred. As she and Euphrates climbed into their town car, I could feel her eyes from behind the tinted windows. I grinned, warmness filling my cheeks.

“Yeah that’s that billion dollar smile right there.” Germaine said as we watched the car pull away.

“Bro.” I said, still smiling unable to hide it.

“Yeah, I know man. I know.” Germaine said, putting his hand on my shoulder.

We both laughed and walked towards our SUV. I don’t know what Germaine knew but it had to be right. Maybe he knew of her magic, maybe Euphrates’ magic opened his eyes to it, or maybe he had always known it but couldn’t tell me what it was. It didn’t matter though. The way I felt, although a billion dollars was a heavyweight contender, the magic of currency simply couldn’t outweigh the magic of deeply brown. I wasn’t going to tell Germaine that though, I had already been too careless enough for one night.

As long as Mali’s spell kept me bound, it felt like my heart would sit casually on my sleeve, singing an aria of my innermost thoughts, at the slightest provocation. This feeling was new. Familiar but altogether new. She definitely exceeded my fly.

“Damn.” I said in the relative safety of my consciousness. I wanted to shake it off. It felt dangerous. Precarious, even, to form such a strong connection in a matter of hours.

Germaine seemingly in tune with my thoughts, said this to me ominously,

“Yeah man, I had that same look after I first met them. It’s crazy how they can make you feel.”

I turned to him, oddly comforted that I wasn’t alone in how I felt.

“I told moms I was gonna help you find a wife.” Germaine flashed that same god forsaken look he had been using all night, the scheme unfolding on his face.

“Yo chill.” I said shaking my head, mildly exasperated but wholly impressed.

I turned my gaze back out towards the window. Wisps of ambition pulling together, Mali’s magic inspiring the drive for action. The hope of a worthwhile pursuit more valuable than anything I had done past, fanned aflame in me.

I did my best to wear no expression on my face, it would be a severe risk to let Germaine see he might’ve been right about something so important that wasn’t business. Building a billion dollar enterprise, sure! But my love life??

Nah. Magic be damned.

Header Photo Credit: Clay Banks

Sometimes when life takes a turn, there’s that one person whose frequency and can bring us back from the edge of dissonance.

In a vast field, basked in brilliant sunlight, stalks of golden brushstrokes leaned with the wind, bowing towards the west. Mountains of azure stood on the horizon, where golden field met cerulean sky. Wisps of clouds floated lazily casting shadows over the circular plots carved into the field below.

A beautiful melody filled the air around a crop of stalks. A figure dressed in Asante cloth, decorated in ornate detail with the most radiant set of colors, crooned a song in words of different languages. The figure bore a face of a young man, with high cheekbones, proud eyes, a prominent brow and wide nose. Tribal markings of three straight strokes were embellished into his cheeks. His voice was deep and mellifluous. He sang of the time when he was sent by his father to fetch water from the village well. On his return he was kidnapped by pillagers who sold him to a tribe far from his home. He grew to become strong, he grew to become fast. Any chance he had he would disappear into the forest behind his master’s hut. He would hoist huge stones using strong vines and even stronger branches. One night he disappeared into the forest and did not return. In the morning the master’s men followed his tracks into a clearing, exactly where he wanted them to be. The man’s voice boomed as he sang of how he fell a hundred large stones on his enemies crushing his master and his men. When the figure completed his story, its face changed to take on a new shape, and its body a new form, making way for another ancestor to come forth and sing their story.

This great plane, in a faraway place is where past, present and future meet. It was here all ancestors had their home. Every family has a voice here that sings songs of remembrance tying their living descendants to the history of their kin. While these voices sing, taking on the resemblance of the ancestor the song belonged to, ancestral custodians groom and cultivate the stalks of gold around them.

Damascus walked around the familial voice, the same ancestral garment around the singing figure, hung around his neck as well. Different shapes and colors and patterns were woven meticulously into his tunic bearing the names of every Marquet that ever lived. Damascus and others like him in the vast field were responsible for tending the plumes of golden shoots that represented the “not yet passed”, or the living. He kneeled into the red earth that encircled the voice and their heritage stalks. Damascus regarded a shaft that had begun to lose its vibrance. Every stalk in the small clearing, represented a living soul born of Marquet blood. Its brilliance was contingent on the harmony between soul and mind. If the mind connected the body to reality, the soul connected the mind to its past, to this place, to its familial voice, to its history.

Dissonance had begun to strip a stalk of its light, setting in like a rot, caused by a disruption in the harmony of mind and soul. A mind without the soul, is lost, susceptible to the influence or allure of any other history. If dissonance completely separates the two, a dull weed would sway in its place, devoid of hue, and the mortal with its name would be disconnected from their history.

“Oh Jayeson, what am I going to do with you?” Damascus asked himself, regarding the young shoot, its once spirited glow, diminished slightly.

While Damascus continued to take in the condition of the heritage stalk, in the place where the living have their existence, Jayeson unaware of his dissonance, cracked open a beer, and sat on his couch with twitter open on his phone.

“@JMarquet_ has lost his mind. #bannedfromcookout #notogoplate.”

“This guy @JMarquet_ if I see him its on sight!”

“Praying for @JMarquet_ we getting killed out here and he don’t even see it.”

“@JMarquet_ you’re a freaking hero man, don’t let the hate get you down, we love you out here, keep up with your truth! #bluelivesmatter”

Jayeson, a writer at a Los Angeles based online publication, wrote a piece about a kid who was killed by police in Anaheim a few weeks ago and the tweets were still rolling in even after he was no longer trending. Before then he was just another guy in LA trying to make his way. But when Adrious Watson was killed and Jayeson offered his thoughts on how events transpired, that’s when his life changed.

Adrious was a thirteen year old kid who was killed after being caught pretending to steal a scented candle. After the police arrived he attempted to run away. A few yards away Adrious reached for his phone, in what people assumed was to document his escape as he was known for doing on his instagram account. The officer mistook the device for a weapon and opened fire, killing him on the spot. A significant portion of social media outrage incited by the incident was directed at the officer. But where most people sought to blame the shooter, Jayeson directed his attention to the perpetrator and asked a series of questions he felt were crucial to understanding the actions of the officer. Black twitter crucified him.

Adrious’ father reached out and after they spoke, Jayeson prepared to retract his article. But as he started composing an apology on Twitter, he received a notification that sent his blood boiling. Jayeson deleted the apology and later wrote a scathing follow-up article doubling down on his original opinion. If his first article gained him twitter notoriety, his second article was a catapult that flung him into the forefront of socio-political conversation nationwide. Right-wing media praised him. He was heralded as both a desperately needed black voice in media and an Uncle Tom-ing house slave who sold out his own to please the “massers”.

A few weeks after the article and the damage had been done, Jayeson never imagined he would be here. Several friends in the wind, a few at his defense, family not sure what to do, and media outlets still quoting him in their pro-police arguments. At this point Jayeson was numb to the whiplash effects of polarizing public opinion. Detached, he compartmentalized whatever he felt into a frosty indifference.

“Hey you up?” The text notification flashed across the top of his phone screen.

“Weird.” Jayeson thought. “Maybe, what’s up?” A slight grin on his face.

Out of no where a FaceTime call began to ring.

“Alyssa wants to connect.”

Several things ran through Jayeson’s mind, the first of which was, “wtf???”

He answered after a pause.

“Jayeson!” The very drunk face of his friend Caleb instantly filled the screen.

“Caleb??” Jayeson was baffled, straightening up where he sat.

“Yo man! Guess who I ran into?!” He pointed the phone at a gorgeously tanned girl with bone straight ombré hair.

“Hey Jayeson.” She smiled weakly, covering half of her face with her hand.

“Alyssa?”

“We just ran into each other and started having drinks!” Caleb interrupted. “She’s having a party tomorrow! You have to come!”

Jayeson’s confusion persisted, not because of friend’s drunkenness at 10:45PM on a Thursday night but by the unlikely pairing of the two people he was on the phone with.

“Here you tell him about it.” Caleb shoved the phone back towards Alyssa.

Her face was red with embarrassment and mild inebriation.

“Ugh. Why aren’t you here to deal with him?” Alyssa asked, exasperated, trying to compose herself in the camera’s eye.

A feeling of regret began to swell in Jayeson’s chest. He turned down Caleb’s request for drinks because he was tired of getting noticed by radicalized correspondents and of the disapproving glances by people who looked like him.

“Trying to keep a low-profile.” Jayeson responded.

Alyssa nodded, her countenance changing slightly from “dear-god-why-did-I-give-Caleb-my-unlocked-phone” to concern.

“Yeah, I hear you. How have you been, for real?” It might’ve been the ambient lights of the bar, but Alyssa’s blue-grey eyes seem to flicker with deep emotion.

“Tell him about the party!!” Caleb yelled from the other side of the room, standing next to a jukebox.

“Okay. I’m going to have to get him home soon.” Alyssa pointed the phone camera at Caleb and then back to herself. “Anyways, I’m having a little get together for a few friends from New York. It should be low-key. We need to catch up. Please come.”

She looked back at Caleb.

“Don’t leave me to manage round two by myself.” She pleaded.

Alyssa smiled sweetly. Her voice was soft, beckoning. The pace of his heart quickened, an old weakness reawakening somewhere in his mind.

“Okay, hit me up tomorrow. I’ll be there.” Jayeson acquiesced.

Alyssa’s back perked suddenly, a huge smile on her face, bottom lip tucked suggestively behind her teeth. Jayeson could almost remember what it was like to have her lips on his.

“Yeahhhhhhh!” Caleb yelled.

Alyssa and Jayeson shook their heads in unison. It was definitely time to get Caleb home.

“I’ll text you.” Alyssa smiled before ending the call.

Minutes later, Jayeson received a message.

“Can’t wait to see you tomorrow!” Alyssa wrote.

Jayeson sat back and replayed what just happened in his head. Even after a review, he couldn’t do anything but chalk the call up to hapless coincidence. His mind’s eye lingered on the image of Alyssa. She looked incredible. Whatever memory he had of how pretty she was did no justice to who he just spoke with.

Memories started to trickle in. She was one of the first people he had met when he first moved to LA a few years ago. Meeting at a studio so he could interview her on her work in fashion and star-like acension. Having collaborated with the likes of Vashtie, Kendall and Puma, his manager was all to excited to get Alyssa on the record. Two months later they were dating. Ten months later they were broken up. Three months after that they tried being friends. And now several months after, Jayeson sat in his small West Hollywood flat, with half a beer and her image impressed on his mind.

Back in the place where ancestors sang songs tethering living souls to the origins of their families, Damascus held Jayeson’s harmony halo in his hand. The large ringed diamond glittered marvelously in the light from above. The unique frequency for Jayeson’s soul signature was etched on the inside of the ring. Damascus brought the ring close to his ear and could hear the soft melody of Jayeson’s song. Ring in hand, Damascus walked around the large space. When not in the ancestral fields, every custodian inhabited an observatory, a place to keep a watchful eye over their living descendants. It was in this dwelling that Damascus had watched over fifty generations of the Marquet bloodline, his bloodline. Their histories and the histories of other families close to his were etched into the circular walls of the room. A huge dome craned overhead and at its center an oculus loomed, dousing the dwelling with the light of stars, moon and sun.

As Damascus lived simply in his mortal life, he lived without change in his life after. Along with the familial narratives engraved into the walls, a meager number of fixtures were spread out in the sparse space, one of which was a podium of lush vines that crept up from the sand. Atop the densely green platform, a thin disc of liquid floated effortlessly. Seated at his workspace, Damascus reviewed parchments on how other custodians had cured dissonance. Coils of yellowed scrolls lay strewn across the floating slab of thick onyx. Halfway through an account from the early days of the civil rights movement, a faint sound caught his ear. The ring of pure diamond began to vibrate softly sending out a series of hushed notes. Damascus quickly placed the ring in the floating liquid disc. The ring sank slightly. The moment it touched the fluid, ripples began to form, and the barely audible notes suddenly filled the room. The frequency of the ring was amplified and its volume multiplied ten-fold. As the signal of the ring grew in strength so did the ripples. Soon, powerful waves of the amplifier crashing into the invisible barrier around the disc. With the swell of each ripple, Damascus’ mind filled with possibilities. One notion in particular siezed him. Jayeson was near a frequency so close to his own, it caused his ring to sing. An extremely fortuitous happening. But there was no telling how long they will stay in proximity.

“If the frequency is this congruent, perhaps the person it belongs can help Jayeson with his…issue.” He thought to himself. He took the ring and left his observatory, moving quickly. Moments later he arrived at the hall of harmony, almost desperate to find who the other frequency belonged to.

“Nobody even dared you to do it!” Jayeson exclaimed towards Caleb, sharing a story of his drunken indiscretion. “Before we knew it Caleb was ass naked running into the Pacific Ocean in the dead of December.”

Everyone around him laughed. Jayeson and a few others were gathered around the fire pit at the luxurious home Alyssa procured for her party.

Caleb leaned back on the couch facing the flames and smiled contentedly like he would very well run into the freezing winter waters of the Pacific again, if challenged.

“I remember that night. We had a lot of fun.” Alyssa continued the storytelling to her friends. “But don’t let this pretty face fool you, he cant sing for shit.” She looked playfully at Jayeson.

“Look they don’t need to know about all of that.” Jayeson waved his hand in dismissal as the attention of others perked up at the morsel of embarrassment Alyssa’s remark suggested.

“After dragging Caleb’s drunk ass into the car and cranking up the heater, we were tuned into an oldies station.” The smile on Alyssa’s face grew steadily as she recounted the evening. “We weren’t even paying attention, then all of a sudden, Mr. Telephone man comes on and Jayeson. Loses. It!”

A few chuckles spread through the group.

“At the top of his lungs and I mean at the top of his lungs he starts to belt out each word of the song.” Alyssa started to laugh and then composed herself to do the best cracking voice at the lyric “I get a click every time!”

Everyone starts laughing deeply. Alyssa’s portrayal had been extremely accurate and invoked the laughter it deserved.

“What can I say young Bobby gets me!” Jayeson couldn’t help laughing himself, head held high.

On the sandstone terrace in Santa Monica overlooking a moon lit ocean, they continued to drink and tell stories. The house Alyssa chose to host her get-together was clearly designed by Tony Stark. A slanted three story glass partition divided the indoors from the terrace. An infinity pool bled off the right edge of the terrace while the fire pit and two large outdoor couches fit on the left. Inside, the floors and walls were made of whitewashed stone. Grey accented furniture were positioned in front of an absurdly large fireplace. And a dark grey marble staircase, disappeared into the ceiling leading to the other floors of the home. In the kitchen, Bottles of vodka and whisky lined the glossed stone countertop of the large center island.

As more people arrived, Alyssa’s friends got distracted from their conversations and began to dance. The DJ artfully transitioned from chill electronic music to hip-hop and pop. People who had been around the fire pit, inside making drinks or talking in front of the illuminated pool, joined in the center of the terrace to dance. A girl with a Lionel Ritchie shirt and knee-weakening ratio of curves grabbed Caleb’s hand and led him to the dance floor. He bit his lower lip and scrunched his face, all his courting efforts paying off.

Jayeson kept his back against the bleached stone ledge of the terrace and downed the rest of his drink. Alyssa made her way back to him after being dragged away to dance when Beyoncé’s “Freakum Dress” was played. She was wearing a black sheer jumpsuit, black bra and lace trunks only partially obscured.

“Always too cool.” Alyssa said leaning against the barrier next to him, her shoulder not so subtly bumping into his arm.

“Someone has to make sure Caleb doesn’t break his back trying to keep up with your friend there.” Jayeson gestured in the direction of Mia, the vivacious girl Caleb was dancing with. She swung her ample hips from side to side and Caleb in all his decent white guy rhythm did his best to keep his body in concert with hers.

“I know I said it before but I’m glad you came.” Alyssa turned her head and smiled. Scents of honeysuckle drifted from her collarbone.

“Me too.” Jayeson offered, a distant attraction that brought them to an all out make-out session in a Koreatown dive bar bathroom, welling back up.

No other words were shared for a brief moment. A familiar energy drawing the edges of their awareness closer together.

“Come dance with me.” Alyssa said, her voice low, her head tilted towards the confluence of bodies, her hand on his. The moment Alyssa turned towards the fray, the heavens split open.

“Krystal!” The shout caused Jayeson’s ears to ring, even with the music blaring all around them.

“Sorry!” Alyssa offered, kissing him on the cheek before bounding towards the troupe of her friends that had arrived.

Jayeson watched as she embraced her friends, extremely excited to see each of them, her exuberance barely containable.

“Jayeson!” Caleb’s voice broke through whatever thought was in Jayeson’s head.

“Look at you!” Jayeson grinned, beads of sweat trickled down Caleb’s face.

“Bro! Mia! She just went to pour up some shots. Come on!” Jayeson was dragged from his perch into the kitchen but not before he locked eyes with one of Alyssa’s friends that made his heart skip a beat and then hum a tune.

Damascus was hard at work. He found the frequency he was looking for and was surprised, albeit pleasantly so, at how similar it was to Jayeson’s. When mortals came in contact with such parallel vibrations, a bond begins before words could be exchanged, a bond that is not so easily broken. Anora was the ancestral custodian for the frequency and the life it belonged to. He requested her presence in the Kunye Chamber. The cavern was an expansive space, deep in the earth of the ancestral world. The space was so deep in the earth, to look up was to stare at a fathomless darkness. The boundaries of the chamber were unknown, spanning infinitely outward into an array of stars and cosmos. Twelve figures, draped in clothe shorn from the hem of the heavens that surrounded the expanse, stood in a circle, fine red earth welled over their feet. Damascus ushered the Marquet family voice from the field of voices to the chamber. The figure stood in the center of the circle of hosts. Two rings made of diamond hung between opposing onyx spires, their frequencies ebbing throughout the space. As the thirteen voices sang, two mortals would be inextricably drawn together.

“Cheers!” Caleb yelled, hoisting a shot glass into the air.

Mia with equal vigor lifted her glass and Jayeson did the same, distracted by the woman who had caught his eye.

“Neither of you have any coke right?” Mia asked casually.

“Fresh out.” Jayeson replied distractedly, his mind unyielding of the thoughts that possessed it.

“I’m sure some one here has some.” Caleb replied eager to maintain his momentum.

“You’re right…let’s dance!” She took hold of their hands and led them both outside.

About thirty people moved to the music of Drake, Cardi B, and Tyga. Somewhere in the mass was Alyssa and her friend that still remained a mystery. It only took mere seconds for Caleb and Mia to disappear into the crowd, grinding vociferously with each other. Jayeson moved to the fringes, trying not to look obvious as he searched for the girl who had captured his attention.

Half a minute later he saw a marigold headscarf move through the crowd. She was coming his way. He stayed rooted where he stood, trying to think of how not look like he had a strange intergalactic attraction to her. Just as she was about to emerge, two hands gripped him, momentarily breaking the spell. Alyssa came out of no where, her kind face suddenly in Jayeson’s view.

“Hey!” She yelled, her hands on his shoulders holding tightly.

“Hey!” Surprise inspiring his response.

“I need to introduce you!”

The moment all four girls made it through the dance floor, Alyssa began introductions.

“This is Krystal, Joan, Nairobi and Lisa!”

Jayeson shook each of their hands but as he took Nairobi’s, something happened.

Deep in the ancestral earth, Jayeson and Nairobi’s frequencies reached harmonization. They became singular, sharing the exact same tones with each other. The choirs continued to sing. Their work was not yet done. Damascus watched intently, his hands clasped together. Whatever happened now was completely reliant on Jayeson’s actions. He could only influence the lives of his descendants, he could by no means force a destiny upon them.

“Jayeson, nice to meet you.”

“I know who you are. Nice to meet you as well.” Nairobi said, taking his hand and gripping tightly.

Jayeson’s heart stopped. Nairobi was beyond beautiful. She bore rich brown skin of dark russet, eyes to match and a smile that sent a fire through his chest. Curly black hair was put up with an embroidered yellow scarf from which two long tails fell over each shoulder. She wore a yellow body suit that dipped into frayed boyfriend jeans with yellow stilettos to match. Everything about her was refined and stunning.

After they were all befriended, Alyssa and her girls grabbed drinks and quickly made their way back to dancing. At one point Alyssa was dancing with Nairobi, then with Krystal, then Joan danced with Jayeson and Lisa at the same time. When another song came on, Jayeson unexpectedly found himself pressed against Nairobi. Several things started to happen all at once. “Trap” by SAINt JHN came on and Nairobi moved with practiced ease, not for Jayeson but for all the insinuating sly looks and grins by her friends. For every one of her sways and dips, Jayeson swayed and dipped in kind. Where she wined fast he rolled his hips as best he could and where she wined slow he pulled her closer. Halfway though the song it no longer felt like a show but a conversation of body and beat. As a tangible heat began to emanate from Jayeson and Nairobi’s rhythm. Alyssa joined in, straddling Nairobi, fitting like a perfect puzzle piece. Alyssa moved in close and then closer still. Nairobi gave into her friend and altogether they danced, a sandwich of sensual movements. The tryst lasted for a few seconds before Nairobi and Alyssa laughed, and broke away, the energy of their friendship so apparent.

“Damn I missed you! Missed all of you!” Alyssa said to Nairobi and then to her other friends who had grabbed other partners.

“We missed you too!” Lisa shouted.

Someone took someone by the hand, and they did that until each girl was daisy chained. They walked over to the fire pit where they took a seat for a brief respite.

Jayeson hung behind not wanting to disrupt the camaraderie between old friends.

As they walked away Nairobi turned her head, stealing a glance at Jayeson. There was something in her gaze. Something known. Something inviting. Something that Jayeson felt in the recesses of his heart. He smiled back at her channeling the same message, willing her to understand. She refocused her attention away from him, a knowing smile on her lips.

That night Jayeson laughed and danced, blissfully forgetting how his life had turned upside down in the past weeks. Alyssa not only took care of her friends and guests, encouraging a good time to be had by all, but she made sure he had fun. By the time the sky began to warm in the approaching presence of the sun, everyone had only then started their journeys home. Caleb left with Mia, but not before relaying all the things that Mia had shared he would be in for. Jayeson had never seen him so happy or so terrified. While most guests left the Santa Monica home, Jayeson joined in helping to drunkenly clean up.

“So Nairobi, were you born there?” Jayeson asked, grabbing a few cups near the fire pit.

“Nope. But my mom was.” She paused. “Y’know for such a prolific writer I expected your first question to have a little more ‘umph’.” She grinned tauntingly, grabbing a cup on the opposite side of the fire pit.

“Oh its like that?” Jayeson thought to himself before responding. “I gave you ‘umph’ on the dance floor, I think we’re good.” He replied gathering whatever wits he could possibly find.

“Oh is that what you did?.” She was relentless.

“Of course, well some degree of it. If you want more all you have to do is ask.” Jayeson quipped, panicking inwardly.

“A little forward but points for thinking you got it like that.” Nairobi didn’t even flinch. “I’m tempted to give you a shot but it looks like you like your coffee with a lot of cream.” Sarcasm soaked every word.

Jayeson laughed. She was really good. They continued to jab at each other like a fencing match. He learned that Nairobi was a fashion designer and that was how she and Alyssa had met. She had read his article and that was how she knew who he was. But before having the chance to share her thoughts, Krystal and the others came by, so Jayeson quickly changed the topic to getting everyone’s social accounts. They each expressed how much they enjoyed meeting him and he reciprocated the sentiment.

“The girls are going to crash here for a few hours and then were going to head to Roscoes if you want to join?” Alyssa said making her way back after watching her last guest get into their Uber safely.

“Yeah you should come through.” Lisa shared energetically. She was the bubbly one in the group, her positive attitude undiminished by the hours she’d been up.

“If I’m awake when you guys go I’ll be there.” Jayeson hugged each of them, holding Nairobi the tightest. Alyssa walked with him through the home to the front door.

“It looks like someone had a good time.” She said once they were outside.

“Thanks again for inviting me.” Jayeson’s Lyft was seven minutes away.

“You’re welcome.” As the words left her tongue Alyssa took his face into her hands and looked at him. Her hands were warm. She pulled him in close. When their lips met, Jayeson could taste Irish creme.

“Ironic.” He resisted the flashing urge to laugh because of his short conversation with Nairobi.

Captured in the moment he grabbed her like not a day had passed since they were together. The tips of his fingers met in the small of her back, his palms on each side of her torso, Jayeson dug in, bringing her in close.

Alyssa let out a small gasp of pleasure. That sound, that feeling, it spread all over, he would be consumed by it, unable to relinquish his desires.

“Damnit!” He thought, and where he was about to let biology have its way, Jayeson pulled away.

“I’m sorry.” He said.

“Its okay. I just,” She took his hands into hers. “I’ve missed you. I’m glad you came.” Her blue-grey eyes were filled with love and warmth.

“I had an incredible time.” A super storm of conflict waged in Jayeson’s thoughts. “Even after all this time you’re way too good to me.”

“I know.” Alyssa said smiling, releasing his hands.

They stood there, and switched topics to how fun the party was and who the hell let her have it in Iron Man’s home. The tension still lingered between them and though they didn’t say anything, it was clear that whatever feelings they had for one another, there was still some of it left.

On his way home, Jayeson wondered if he made the right decision. He knew Alyssa, and she knew him, intimately. If there was anyone who he would even consider allowing into how he truly felt, it would be her. But then there was Nairobi. Jayeson couldn’t explain it but in the brief time being around her, he felt like he‘d known her his entire life. Her energy was just different. If Nairobi asked, Jayeson would divulge his deepest secrets to her without hesitation. It didn’t help that while he thought about her, he looked through her instagram. Just one beautiful photo after another. Before he knew it he was one hundred and twenty-one weeks deep.

“What are you going to do?” He asked himself, his heart a mess of emotions.

Damascus was in the Kunye chamber when something changed. Jayeson’s frequency and Nairobi’s were in sync. Their connection was strong. Stronger than Damascus could’ve hoped. Suddenly, Jayeson’s harmony halo faltered in the air, wobbling precipitously, sending a screeching pitch into the air. The ring of diamond attempted to harmonize with another frequency, clashing with the ceremony. If it continued the ring would fall from suspension and break the bond.

“Bring in the drummers!” Damascus commanded.

Twelve drummers materialized from the endless star filled edge of the space, each carrying a hooked rod of ivory in one hand and a Yoruba talking drum tucked under the other. They encircled the choir and beat a song to their chorus. Jayeson’s ring started to stabilize, until it was completely still, its accord with Nairobi, unbroken.

Damascus sighed, silently wishing his descendant would listen to the orchestra of his soul.

“Sorry I couldn’t make it to brunch but how about we grab dinner.” Jayeson dm’d Nairobi, resolving that he had to follow whatever he felt between them.

It would be an hour before she replied. In that time Jayeson called Alyssa, unwilling to let any ambiguity between them to grow into something he could not hold on to, not when there was Nairobi, who was a close friend of hers.

“I really appreciate you being honest with me.” She paused, “Nairobi is amazing. I really love that girl.”

“Nairobi?” Jayeson asked, slightly taken aback that she made the connection, he hadn’t mentioned her, or at least he didn’t think he did.

“I saw the way you two danced. I kind of had a feeling.” Alyssa joked.

Jayeson’s fondness for Alyssa grew in that moment.

Nairobi dm’d Jayeson, letting him know that while she couldn’t grab dinner she could grab lunch with him the following day. Jayeson suggested they meet at La Lucas, a small intimate Italian restaurant with artisanal Marsalan fare from the south of Italy, the heart of Venice beach only a half mile away.

“So I have to be honest,” Nairobi shared the moment the waiter walked away with their beverage orders. “I believe in laying out intentions from the jump so we’re both on the same page.”

“Sounds ominous. This place has styrofoam cups in case we want our drinks to go?” Jayeson jibbed, trying to hide his discomfort.

“Are you kidding? I’m famished. We’re having a meal.” Nairobi’s voice was playful but her face was slightly less than.

“Okay, lay it on me. Actually let me guess.” Jayeson had to tamp down his sarcastic defenses. “Sorry, go ahead.”

“You seem like a decent guy, which, let me tell you is hard to come by nowadays.” Nairobi started, calm, her eyes direct, her flattery feeling like flattery but not. “So I really hope that what ever this thing is between us, isn’t about you feeling like I can help you work through your shit or be a distraction from it. I’ve been there before, I know the look, and I can’t be that for you.”

“Ha! She feels it too! Wait, focus!” Jayeson’s inner thoughts almost derailed.

Nairobi was so sincere. There was a pain behind the wit and beauty that she possessed.

“You know what? Thank you for being straight with me.” Jayeson sighed, “would it freak you out to say that I don’t know what I need but that I know enough now that I will honestly do my best to not depend on you for what ever it is when I figure it out?” Just being present with Nairobi was easy. The words he shared with her, easy.

“Slightly, but that awareness has you ahead of the curve.” Her energy relaxed.

“Great. But to be clear you’re still going to help me save my blackness though, right?”

“You know what? Why not? Its pretty much what we black women do.” Nairobi grinned.

They spoke with each other like they’ve known each other for years. Through drinks, through the meal, and even as they walked to the beach, they conversed seamlessly. Jayeson did his best to corral his emotions and he was sure Nairobi was doing the same. She was so sophisticated. She was witty, sarcastic, and where she was vulnerable she was still protective of her energy. Avoiding dependency would be difficult especially when Jayeson felt a wholeness with her. She listened to his perspectives and pain without judgement or ingress. Even after their lunch turned into funnel cakes, and funnel cakes into dinner, and dinner into drinks, her welcoming posture was the same.

“You’re not making it easy to not want to be around you all the time.” Jayeson said as they walked out the bar, a budding tangibility suggesting that they should probably start on their different ways home.

“Sounds like a personal problem.” Nairobi pulled at a few curls. They bounced for a second and landed on the back of her maroon bomber jacket.

Jayeson shrugged, calling out her faux nonchalance.

“I meannnnn…I am pretty incredible.” She snapped her head to the right and looked back at Jayeson.

“Yes you are.” His voice still somber, meeting her gaze.

“Damn, all it took was one night for you to catch feelings?” Nairobi wore a smile from ear to ear with slightly glossed lips as she turned closer to him.

“Maybe…” Jayeson wanted to bait her, have her acknowledge that she was damn well feeling the exact same way.

“Well, I suggest that you,” Jayeson didn’t wait for her to complete her statement. He slipped his arm around her waist, pulled her into his frame, and kissed her deeply. Her warm lips parted and allowed their passion to inflame. After a moment or two she pulled away, only inches from Jayeson’s face. She looked downward and shook her head. Her plump lower lip caught between her teeth as she eventually looked up at him.

“Okay. Well first, good job.” The gloss from her lips completely gone.

“Secondly?” Jayeson’s arm still around her, only affording a mild berth between them.

“Secondly, I’ll let you have that one.” Nairobi took a step back. “You have a lot to work on before you should even think of getting another.”

Jayeson laughed knowing the truth her words held. That night they went to their different homes. They spoke via text and FaceTime in the days and weeks that followed. Back at work there was a noticeable change in Jayeson. He locked himself down and where his editor thought he was on the heels of a new polarizing story, Jayeson was onto something quite different.

“Jaye! I just read your article on Adrious!” Nairobi wrote.

“Yeah? What did you think?” Jayeson was nervous, not about the content but about how it was written. It was a deviation from his normal style.

“You did your damn thing.” A standing ovation gif followed the message.

Jayeson had composed a beautiful story revealing the truth of Adrious Watson’s life, the young man characterized in the media as a deviant after he was murdered for pretending to take a lemon scented candle. Adrious was only thirteen years old but had amassed a following on social media for his funny videos and daring escapes. The young man had dreams of starting his own YouTube channel where he would perform skits with his friends, hoping one day to star in movies. Before his mother passed away she would always record Adrious doing back flips or cartwheels in the back yard, or acting as his favorite story time hero, Robin Hood. Despite needing a better way to garner attention on instagram, Adrious was in love with creating videos that made people laugh, a passion he continued to harbor even after his mother’s death. Jayeson wrote out Adrious’ entire history in prose that caused a shift of perception in the most staunch minds.

“I had no idea you could write so beautifully.” Nairobi was earnest in her accolades for Jayeson’s article.

“Yeah? Had enough ‘umph’ for you?” Jayeson joked, waiting for Nairobi’s quick witted reply.

“Consider me impressed. But seriously, there’s no trace of the pain and venom you had a few weeks ago in this article. All of that betrayal you felt by all of black twitter and thereby all black people, transformed into something really amazing.”

“Thank you. To be honest I don’t even know how it happened. I’m just really glad it did. Even though there are people online who think I’m just trying to save face, I don’t even care anymore. Adrious’ story deserves to be told and I’m happy I was able to at least do it some justice.” Pride, sadness, happiness and a myriad of emotions welled in Jayeson’s chest. He recalled spending time with Adrious’ father and two younger sisters. They loved Adrious’ dearly and his absence was a terrible weight to bear. Jayeson hoped he provided some sort of peace by capturing even a fraction of what the Watson family was going through.

“Completely unrelated and not to capitalize on the emotion of this moment but how close am I to getting that second kiss?” Jayeson smiled as he wrote, unable to help himself.

In a field somewhere really far away where ancestral figures sang beautiful songs of history, Damascus smiled. Jayeson’s stalk had begun to see its previous vibrance. Dissonance faded away, replaced with harmony. Mind and soul melding back together, its roots reaching deeper into the red earth.

Jayeson did not fall a hundred stones on the heads of his enemies but he found his way home, which, when the time came would be the story he would sing for his descendants to hear.