Chapter 2- Fuel for the meter
The fame I crave/an escape I make/ still hit a dead end.
Run in a circle/Fuck, I’m back where I was again.
The pointy nib of the ball point pen hit across the paper, leaving in its trail the lyrical rhymes of the mind as Pristine furiously tried to think up of a suitable hook. Her eyes cut back to the glimmering table lamp, distractedly. Only source of light in the bedroom, yet it wasn’t enough to light the whole table up. However, the faint, wavering light brought the brown out in her eyes as she squinted at the sheets of paper—her lyrics--- crawling across the paper like ants draped in black ink.
I would still spit if it didn’t mean shit
Cause it’s worth it/ Oh hell I work for a worthless cause
A woman in the D/ a white at that/ ain’t afraid to show dicks who’s the boss,
Too long in the game/shame/ that pussies still /remain /restrained
----- The lyrics peeked out from another sheet of paper under the one she was currently working on. Pristine’s eyes caught on the last line and she chuckled a bit, sadistically. It was written years ago since she noticed the date on the upper right corner of the old parchment, which said: June/1995. Tugging out the paper, she read the sloppy handwriting invading every centimeter of it. After reminiscing on the memories of the year when she left home, she put the pen down and laid back. The sudden jolt made the neck high chair creak disturbingly, cutting through the slice of silence in the room. Except for the continuous unwanted music that the crickets out the window in the bushes kept her company with, on such lonely nights. Jenna was out with her man, and Tina had to go back to her side of the town for work. Her other two emcee friends had offered her a night out to chill but she had mutely refused and stayed home. Booze and weed will be there, always for her to taste; but not the time she valued. She’d been talking to people who owned studios- minimal in amount- and making connections for a while now till Davey Mase came up and seemed quite inclined in her work and talent. The dude wore Rayban but lived in 8 mile Detroit, that is, no more well than her. On their first meeting she could’ve sworn that they were stolen but he’d answered her suspicious look by telling her about some new hit artist he’d fed off on.
Davey Mase had called her this morning at work to tell he intended to hit her up tomorrow and had invited her over at his studio just off the 16 Mile Road. So Pristine thought she could work the night on her unfinished songs so she could show him what she had.
It’s been six hours.
Pristine rubbed her eyes vigorously, trying to wake up and keep from falling asleep. The time was 3 am. Work had been tedious and too much of just-this-time-I’ll-hear-you-out-boss emotions had drained her energy meter to a close. She couldn’t concentrate, because she was both tired and unmotivated. At times, motivation provided the fuel for the meter. Pity that it wasn’t the same the other way around.
But she had none. So she got up and switched the lamp off. And then she lay on the bed, stared at the nonexistent ceiling in the darkness, till drawing her lids shut.
Pristine POV
“You was late today, Douglas.” Manny Smith, the manager of the place I worked at, and my boss, screamed on my face the next morning. I was fifteen minutes late and he noticed. If some psycho serial killer jumped me and dumped off in a dumpster in an alley someday on my way to work, I wonder if he’d still notice. On second thought, probably not, since it’d be too much work finding my body. And, did I tell you? Asshole Manny did not like to work his ass. He’d rather ride someone else’s and drive them crazy.
“I’m sorry, it wasn’t my fault…” I began, awkwardly tugging at the collar of my uniform.
He glared. “It ain’t never your fault. I don’t wanna hear it.”
I kept my mouth shut, and waited for him to continue.
“You late again, Douglas, and you’re fired.”
I nodded, and hoped he’d die from a plane crash. Speaking of which, it’s possible since he’s so fat that a fucking plane wouldn’t hold him up for long and crash before it took flight.
I didn’t stare back at him till he was satisfied that he got through, and receded back away from the counter behind of which I stood along with my partner-in-work- Keid. We barely exchanged words, but it seemed he knew that I wanted to be a rapper, but the fact he never said a word about it or gesticulated how fucked up it sounded made me wonder if he actually knew.
As soon as Manny was gone, we got back to work without as much as glancing at each other.
I spent the rest of the day flipping burgers and attending to less than grateful customers. However, some of them did compliment our efforts and the menu; specifically the onion rings, they said. They had no idea, though, what was making the onion rings taste so damn good.
Keid eyed me as one such customer who complimented left the counter. I went about my business, and dragged out a tray from the tray stash for a customer who just came up. As I was preparing the food, and just about to throw in the little onion rings, a rough hand covered both of mine.
I cringed and stepped back from the tray and his hand. Keid withdrew his outstretched hand, and said in a low voice, “Don’t do it. Manny will get on your ass for this shit fo’ sure.”
“What do you mean?” I tried for the not-knowing, I-just- got-into-this-world act.
He sighed, and looked down at me. “A’eight. I will watch your back. Been here three years. And in Detroit, lifetime. I can see where the hate’s coming from.”
I felt the corners of my lips twitch, but I didn’t smile. Instead, ducking my head in a low, over and above the tray, I spat on the onion rings. Keid gave me a look but went back to work, and didn’t look at me for once when I handed the delighted customer his order.
During noon, as the shifts changed, Pristine got back into her casual sweats, pants too large a size, and the pullover that she pulled over her head, dismissing the old, yellowish stain on the back that had become a part of it. It’d been hard to distinguish one from the other if it hadn’t been for the various type of stain on them that somehow appeared over the years. Pristine owned few clothes amongst which most were similar in style, and color to each other. One of the key aspects to describe them would be LARGE. She didn’t own one dress. Since you couldn’t carry them in garbage bags, nor could you rap in them. Even if you could, well… the idea sounded fucking stupid.
Once she stepped out of the changing room, she hit the back door to get out quietly. At the same time, she found a tall, ivory skinned fellow with a thick mop of messy brown hair emerge from the opposite direction. Keid was dressed in his usual round neck t-shirt and whitewashed jeans—which he could pull off the whole year if he wanted to. But winter in Detroit was something you didn’t go against. So Pristine had occasionally seen him in windcheaters. She debated giving him a smile but decided against it. Fact was she didn’t smile if she didn’t like it. Neither did Keid.
They both stared into each other’s eyes for a moment.
“Yo wanna go first?” Pristine meant the door so Keid’s eyes fell on it. He shot her a quick glance and nodded, before pulling it open and stepping out into the backyard. Pristine followed. The backyard was actually an alley that Pristine felt certain didn’t even exist on the maps. It was unbearably cold and dark here, that if you didn’t know your way you’d be totally lost. They both knew theirs, so they trudged on the way to the streets. Keid lit up a cigarette and smoked in silence.
“You smoke?” He asked her, breathily.
“Something stronger,” Pristine murmured, eyes reflecting hunger that caught Keid off guard.
He stared at her for a long while and it seemed to Pristine he was debating over something in his mind. Suddenly he nodded to himself, and reached out backwards with his hands into a back pocket and pulled out a packet. It was contorted but still contained the magic Pristine needed. Her eyes cut back to his face, wondering if he would be fine with some happy-friends-sharing time. Keid thrust her the pack and smoked from his cigarette in response. He went and stood against the opposite wall of the adjacent building.
She shot him a questioning glance and he shrugged. “Ever tried cocaine befo'?” Looking at the packet she held, a question seeped into her head and she suddenly wanted it answered. How could someone like Keid who smoked cigarettes all day get his hands on cocaine while she searched every corner and nook of the D for it and still couldn’t? Either the dude dealt or he was simply rich. The former seemed to make more sense though.
Whatever it was, Pristine could finally breathe fresh air. So she inhaled it in, soaking it up hungrily like a nasty fucking slut with a thirty fucking husbands.
Just the fuel she needed for her meter.
Pristine POV
I sniffed. I inhaled. I breathed. I soaked some up. I let it take me over.
It was pure bliss. I waited till it crept its way to the spinal cord. Till it took over the spinal fluid. Then it took me over and lifted me up high. It threw me up even higher as I sniffed and sniffed. Now I was sky high. My world was whirling and twirling like a fucking over enthused ballerina, probably because my head was reeling. Vision was betrayal. It was like someone had burned a whole building to the ground and I was present amongst all the smoke. Snort. Snort. Snort. Snort. I could see nothing else but smoke everywhere. Or was it not smoke but just that my sight’s a blur? Who fucking cares… oh wait, it’s probably because ballerinas like to smoke pot. Yeah, that’s right. The building burned because the ballerinas were smoking pot. And I was present there. But what was I doing there? oh yeah, rapping. So ballerinas like smoking pot and rapping too. They into hip hop? So why the fuck do they hoes twirl on they toes then?
“Are you okay? Gimme it, dammit, Pristine.”
I blinked at the voice. Was it Keid? Hey Keid. Wait, are you twirling? You a ballerina now?
“No!” Guess I said that aloud. Wee-wee. Keid continued to look at me. He’d already stolen my magic away from me. I looked down at my hands. They were so beautifully covered in a white powdery substance. Probably makeup.
“No, it’s not makeup.” Keid snapped. I said that aloud again? Fuck you, Pristine!
“Why woulda think it’s makeup? You’re in a fucking alleyway with me doing drugs, bitch!” Keid sounded so annoyed. He never sounded like that before.
“I don’t fucking like you now.” I spat, folding my hands under my chest.
“You think I care about that? Bitch, you just soaked all of my shit up.” He was terribly annoyed that he was jumping on his toes.
I didn’t understand what he was saying, but I didn’t care.
“Buy me fucking panties and I’ll think about marrying you.” I blurted in violent euphoria.
“OH FUCK SHE’S INSANE!” Keid yelled out in frustration and punched the wall.
I laughed out loud silly. “I need a pair since the ones I own apparently have holes in it.”
“Seriously? Like why the fuck would panties have holes in them? I don’t fart that loud. Whoops.”
And then again I broke into fits of laughter and closed my eyes. Keid didn’t give me any response. Well I think he must have abandoned me.
Then I spaced out.