My twenties came with advanced degrees, a career, a house, a car, a wife, and kids. My thirties came with promotions, a divorce, an apartment, and seeing my kids on the weekends. My forties have thus far come with a mid-life crisis, a therapist, a career change and Tinder. Life has not turned out to be the white picket fence wrapped around the perfect home that I imagined it would be. No, the house burned to the ground and a tornado ran away with my fence. l have vowed to rebuild but haven't managed to pick up a hammer just yet.
I am having this thought when I get a text from Mark, a friend from work, "Yo! You on IG? D-Nice's live is going crazy! He's spinning nothing but everything! And everybody in here! Log in bruh!"
I hate being called bruh.
Mark is just north of fifty but desperately wants to be eighteen again. This is apparent by the general snugness of his jeans, his insistence on calling me his slime (whatever that means), and his obsession with posting Tik Tok videos of him doing dances he cannot do. But as annoying as he can be it would actually be good to see him today. I haven't seen Mark, or almost anyone in a week. COVID-19, a respiratory viral infection with no known cure, swept across the world in short order a month ago. And we were all swept swiftly, life driftwood, into our homes, and told to shelter in place in some states, stay at home in others, and sit yo ass down in Atlanta; while the government tried to figure out how to save the economy... oh, and us.
They call it social distancing but it feels like complete isolation. Like I'm stuck in a prison that I built myself. I've told myself that when this is over I HAVE to put some better paint on these prison walls. My kids are with my ex-wife. We Skype every night but other than that it's just me, and my thoughts.
So, I take Mark's advice, I log into IG and swim into the stream of D-Nice's live. And holy shit! The whole world IS in here! There are 75k people from half of everywhere listening to D-Nice spin records! If they have wifi in hell I'm sure Satan is logged in and requesting that D-Nice to play Hot in Here by Nelly. Tiffany Haddish just told Common to stop virtually touching her butt, Spice Adams just did a dance via split screen in a leisure suit that appeared to be made of some curtains my great grandma threw out, and someone said that Oprah is buying out the imaginary bar. What kind of musical sorcery is this?
D-Nice stands with a skyline behind him, turntables in front, a wide brimmed hat, a t-shirt and jeans on, spinning Lady Marmalade to an enrapt, excited, and grateful group of listeners that need something to tamp down the fear that's been knocking at the back of their thoughts all week.
"We got Patti Labelle in here y'all ! Patti Labelle!" D-Nice shouts as he changes hats. His excitement is clear. The comment section of his Live fills with flower emojis, and people praising Ms. Labelle. Patti returns the love with praying hands and heart emojis of her own. I'm tapping my foot and singing along before I realize it. I type,
"Getchy getchy- yi-yi-yiyi!" with no concern for spelling, because how the hell is that actually spelled, into the fast moving comment section. The message flows up, away and disappears into the stream in seconds. Like a midday fountain wish. Like a midnight tearful prayer.
Lady Marmalade is followed by Aretha Franklin's Rock Steady. The comments fill with halos, hearts, and R.I.P.'s.
"Everybody post a goat right now! Post a goat for Aretha Franklin one of the greatest of all time may she rest in peace!" D-Nice shouts. And like a game of Simon says where he is clearly Simon, goat emojis begin to dominate the screen.
I'm looking at the names that accompany the fast moving, disappearing comments. There are people I work with, went to college with, people that owe me money, people that I've borrowed things from and never returned all listening, commenting and I imagine dancing to these same songs, at the same time. It's like were, together, really together. I mean we're not but... it's like we are. It's hard to explain, in the way that magic is hard to explain. Because that's how this feels, absolutely magical.
Then I see it, briefly in the comment stream. It goes by so fast I almost miss it but then it reappears again, @TastesLikeCandyGirlRVA89. No, it couldn't be.
"We got 80 thousand people! 80 thousand rocking with us right now! And we got Slick Rick in here y'all! MC Ricky D in the place to be! I got to play something for the ruler!" D-Nice says this with great reverence, like a believer staring at the face of his God in a cloud, in a tent, in the desert, and then, the horn fanfare blares out. Then the drums. I look at the comment section and @TastesLikeCandyGirlRVA89 types, "Six minutes, six minutes, six minutes and I'm fresh, you're on!"
My heart starts beating fast. Not Elizabeth I'm coming to join ya fast, but fast enough to be noticable. I'm looking at the screen and walking in a circle, my hand over my mouth. Which I'm not supposed to be doing. They say don't touch your face. But I need to do something, so I stop circling and grab my tablet from my briefcase. I log into IG on the tablet and type @TastesLikeCandyGirlRVA89 into the search. The screen refreshes. The profile picture comes up and, yeah. It's her. The proverbial one that got away. Candy. I think back to those simpler times, back when we had more of life ahead of us than behind us. Before bills and pills and mortgages and car notes. Before we were shackled in debt. Back when we were free but just didn't know it. When I felt like I could do anything, except talk to her. Tears begin to well in my eyes as I continue thinking about who we all were back then. I work hard to fight them back.
I click on message and I'm typing through blurry tear filled eyes before I know entirely what I want to say,
"Candy! It's me! It's Edwin! Edwin from The Get Fresh Crew!"
I hit send, stand and pace in a circle, again. D-Nice has switched to Soul Makossa by Manu Dibango, one of my favorite songs and my toe is tapping again but not with the beat. It's tapping with anticipation. My screen shows three undulating dots beneath my message. She got it! She's typing!
"Edwin!! OMG!"
I can't hold back the tears anymore. I cry and reply,
"Yes! Yes! I can't believe this!"
"Right!"
"I lost track of you after college," I type.
"I lost track of you during college!" she replies,
"True true true!"
"Wow Edwin! This is crazy. Wow!"
"I saw your post in the quarantine party! I saw the name and was like, nah! So I looked up your profile."
"Awww! That's the most precious story of stalking I've ever heard!"
"Ahhh I see you still got jokes! AND I looked at your profile picture. You look the same!"
"I see your eye sight has really taken a beating over the years Ed. But thank you!"
"HAHAHA no really."
"Well your distinguishing greys have come in very nicely sir."
"Ahh! Some co-stalking! That's what took you so long to reply?"
"Well you know what EPMD said, stalk me and I'll stalk you back."
"That not how that goes! And my greys have come in light but the pizzas have come in heavy over the years hahaha!"
"Listen chile I understand! We do not have the metabolism of teenagers anymore. I watched a Pizza Hut commercial yesterday and felt the cellulite grow in my left thigh. My right thigh is still fine. The other day just to get out of the house I took a walk around the block and almost died!"
"Facts! How are doing with this quarantine?" I ask her.
"I'm doing. That's all anyone can do, just be still, be prayerful, be careful, and hope you see the people you love on the other side of this madness."
"Yeah. Yeah, I feel that."
"Listen Edwin, lets cut the bull! Let's address the elephant in the chat room."
My heart catches in my throat. What? The elephant in the room? I'm a speechless kid again, looking for his hide and seeks words. But like that kid I can only muster a,
"Cool," in response.
She continues, "When you read it, did you correct my six minutes post to read 'Doug E Fresh' instead of 'And I'm fresh,' like you did that day I was sitting on my porch?"
A sigh of relief, that no one can hear, escapes my lips. It's amazing that she can still steal my breath, and that she remembers that day.
"Of course I did!" I type.
I pause and then begin to add what I should have told her all those years ago, I type
"But what I've never done is tell you how I felt. Tell you how my 18 year old heart beat a little louder when you were around. How I stood a little taller when you entered the room and listened more closely whenever you spoke. Yes, I corrected your six minutes post but what I really want to do is correct the record."
I type all of that, read it twice, and then reach for the backspace bar to erase everything. But a weird thing happens on my way to the backspace. I accidentally hit send.
I think it was an accident. I don't know. But I hit send and I wait.