13. Juliet
Juliet
It’s been almost two weeks since the incident at Sunday’s, and Choo-Choo was winning the battle in this psychological warfare.
Shit was killing me because he never yelled.
No three-day span of lecturing like he normally would, and he was annoyingly extra with providing me personal space.
For example, if we both headed toward the refrigerator at the same time, he would step five beats back and quietly wait until I made my selection before choosing his.
At this point, I would prefer the lectures, explosive anger, hell, even a beating would be better than him punishing me with his distance.
“How long you gonna be mad at me, Choo-Choo?” I asked, spinning in the chair in the studio. Every spare moment I had, I spent it at HUSH trying to get back into his good graces.
“Forever,” he responded, never taking his eyes off the mixing console. He wasn’t even playing anything, just being a jerk.
“Forever is crazy work.”
“Well then, until I’m dead, Juliet.”
I couldn’t help but suck my teeth. At least he was talking to me.
“And even then, I’m going to side-eye you from paradise,” he continued.
“In order to make it through the pearly gates, you must forgive. So, unless you want to go to Hell, you might as well stop being mad at me.”
“Nah, I’m pretty sure Hell needs new management. I’ll take my chances.”
We both couldn’t help but laugh. Echo had the most beautiful smile.
It was so reassuring of everything a little sister could want from her big brother: friendship, protection, and most important, love.
Him smiling again at me, with me, was a huge victory.
Standing, I walked over and stood beside him, seated at the console.
“I’m sorry, Echo. I really am. I was wrong to lie, and it caused people to get hurt.
That was selfish of me, and it will never happen again.
I’ll even give you the money back you had to shell out for the damages at Sunday’s.
Please, let’s just get back to us. Ju and Choo. The dynamic duo,” I pleaded.
He stared at me for a few seconds without a word, and I put on my best pouty face in hopes of gaining sympathy.
“You scared the fuck out of me, Juliet.”
“I know.”
“You lied.”
“I’m sorry, Choo-Choo,” I signed.
“But the worst part of all of this is...” He choked out a laugh. “Your nigga can’t even fight. You snuck around with a clown-ass nigga, with a fake Rolex, and he got his ass beat.”
“Okay, first off, not too much on me. Second, he is not my nigga. Third, it was a fake AP and not a Rolex. And last but not least, I wouldn’t have to sneak around if you’d lighten up a bit, Choo-Choo. Damn,” I clarified.
He rose from his chair.
“Loosen up? Ju-Ju, you went out with a nigga who was secretly plotting to trap you for his own financial gain, clowning you at a basketball game with his knucklehead friends. Then I learn this was the same nigga I got word on when he approached you at Flip’d, and I told you no.”
“You don’t even know him, Echo!”
“I don’t need to fucking know him, Juliet! I got people on payroll assigned to know him, and he didn’t get the green light to be in your presence.” He slapped his fist into his hand.
There goes that explosive anger I was looking for.
“Okay, so he popped shit with his friends. You and Uncle Optimus do that shit all the time. So what? And I am not stupid enough to get knocked up and allow a man to live off me. You, Mom, and Dad taught me better than that. I just wanted to date, Echo. Don’t you see?
The more you take these choices from me, the more I desire them, become anxious for them.
The anxious part is what clouds my judgment because I have to scheme just to have a social life. ”
He began stretching his arms and balling his hands into fists repeatedly. Self-regulation. My father said when he was younger, he would throw jabs.
“You don’t understand, Ju-Ju. My devotion to you is bigger than being your big brother.”
“No, you don’t understand. One day you are going to have to let go. Some man is going to come and take me away from you, Choo—”
Before I could get the last of my words out, he was gripping both of my arms. Determination filled his grip, and fear read all through his facial expression.
“No one is ever taking you away from me. I’ll die before I let another nigga take something special away from me again!”
Again?
Terrified at his demeanor, but more regretful that my words brought him pain, I asked, “What does that mean?”
For half a second, something flickered across his face, as if he was reminiscing. He moved his lips as though he was about to tell me, but nothing came. No words. No sound. Just a release of my arms and a heavy sigh.
He shook his head.
“Nothing. It means nothing. Nothing except that I took a lot of losses in life, and my family won’t be one of them. You, Pop, Ma, Zion, and Mylo. No matter where life takes you, we don’t separate ourselves from one another. Ever.”
Normally, I would argue back. But today, I just wanted to hug my brother. To be better for my brother.
I don’t know what past pain Echo was holding onto, but I learned in therapy that regression could result from pushing a person to expose parts of themselves they weren’t ready to. A five-minute triggering conversation could undo years of healing.
And for Echo, the bravest, coolest, calmest, most collected person I had ever come across, to become this distraught at the thought of me leaving, he had to be healing from something.
Or suppressing.
Either way, I would protect him the same way he protected me.
“Look, baby girl, I’ll agree to fall back.
You’re right. You are a smart young woman, and I have to allow you to enjoy life.
But make this promise to me. No more lying about where you are going and who you are going with.
If they don’t check out, you must trust me and leave them alone,” he negotiated.
“And you promise you won’t be so tedious with their background checks just so you can say no?”
He let out a small chuckle, placed his right hand over his heart, and raised his left.
“I, Echo Everette, do solemnly swear to say no within reason, in regards of the company Ju-Ju decides to keep.”
“Pinky swear,” I said, stretching out my right pinky to him.
He connected with his left pinky and then opened his arms.
I immediately stepped into them, and he hugged me so tightly. A kiss landed on the top of my head, and when we finally pulled apart, both of us had tears leaking from our eyes.
“Now that we are one sound again, I should probably work on my assignment,” I said after clearing my throat.
“What assignment?”
“Creative Writing. Professor Hamburger teamed us up to compose an argumentative essay against an opposing team.”
“Oh yeah, that sounds dope. What’s the topic, and who’s on your team?” he asked.
“Yeah, about that.”
Truth was, I didn’t check the assignment when Hamburger uploaded it to the student portal.
Being so distraught over the fight at Sunday’s and Choo-Choo not speaking to me, I didn’t have the stomach to do much of anything.
My brother looked at me, waiting for more of a response.
He wasn’t going to find that an acceptable answer, but shit, it was the truth and it was all I had.
“Echo, look, my bad. But this whole situation had my stomach in knots. You try going from the chilliest, most mystical person on campus, whose best friend is her amazingly talented and handsome big brother—”
Man, was I laying it on thick.
“—and in one night, you’re now the topic of conversation in some made-up lovers' quarrel, and your Choo-Choo isn’t even talking to you,” I whined, stomping my feet for extra dramatic effect.
Looking at him out of one eye, I smiled a little to see if my tantrum spell worked.
Echo nodded toward his desktop.
“Get to work. I’ll order lunch,” he said with a smile.
My plan was to clear the air with Echo and meet up with my friends for lunch, but because our reconnection was still fresh, I made my way to the computer. The moment the browser opened, I nearly choked.
The studio’s professional email appeared, and there were unanswered submissions from 2024.
“Um, my guy, you should consider getting an assistant. You’re two years behind.”
“So? Music never really ages,” he responded, occupied with his phone.
“But trends do. How are you going to keep up with the times if it’s this far ahead of you? I think you need to hire someone who has a strong grasp on your style and is neat, organized, and reliable. This wouldn’t even require a full-time position,” I explained.
Echo nodded in approval.
“You’re right. You start tomorrow.”
“Hell no. You ain’t slick. Getting me to work for you is just another way to keep an eye on me.”
His laughter filled the room.
I returned to the screen, smiling and still scrolling.
Some of these submissions were from women offering more than just their musical talents.
No, Echo didn’t manage artists, but he often paired their voices against his sound and placed the track in the right hands.
He was more interested in collaborating with other sound makers.
A few more spins of the scroll wheel, and I suddenly learned why they called it doom-scrolling.
The next submission caused me to make that face Raven-Symoné does whenever she has a vision.
Sender: The Psalmist
And just like that, I was back at Sunday’s.
The confession.
The humiliation.
The fight.
It all rushed back into my mind, and I was about to throw up the lunch I hadn’t even eaten yet. Being the center of attention was never my thing, and I had never needed a Xanax quicker. But what pained me most of all was that I left him.
He stood up for me.
Got hurt for me.
And I left him.
Add in the fact that I’d been avoiding him since. Include skipping Creative Writing class, and I was batting a thousand in the coward category.
I asked Mega about him, and he told me Psalm was moving as if nothing had happened. He even said the cut on the back of his head was healing perfectly.
So, if he’s okay, then it’s okay, right?
No, Juliet. You have to talk to him.
But why?
Why had he inserted himself?
He had no obligation.
And it wasn’t friendship.
We weren’t friends.
Most days we barely tolerated each other.
Most days we argued like neighbors competing for the best lawn.
Most days I wanted to break his glasses and trip him down a flight of stairs.
Most days I wanted to be in his arms while he read W.E.B. Du Bois.
Clicking open his email, a video appeared.
Him in those sexy round gold glasses, with his guitar at his side. Don’t ask me where I got my thing for round glasses, but if done right, it gives sexy, black, Harry Potter.
The first few notes of Teddy Swims' Lose Control filled the computer speakers.
Psalm sat on a stool, tapping his foot to the rhythm and staring at what appeared to be the sun.
There was just something about the sun gracing the skin of a Black man.
As Teddy began the chorus, a huge strike of the chords sent an electrifying sound through the air, intensifying not only Teddy’s voice but the emotional connection of the listener.
Psalm’s confidence was felt through every note.
He played over the song, picking out the melody so precisely that the guitar seemed to sing the lyrics itself.
Every bend.
Every slide.
Every vibrato.
Each carried the emotion of a voice, making the strings sound almost human.
Perfection.
Heat rose from my feet and traveled upward, stopping at my throat.
The guitar seemed to breathe lyrics directly into my chest. Each note felt like a lingering touch against my skin.
His melody doing exactly what it had done that night at Sunday’s—slipping past my hatred for this man and landing me directly in the orbit of lust.
Lost in the sound, I absentmindedly wrapped my arms around myself. His music—or perhaps his spell—had once again caused me to drift somewhere outside of myself. It wasn’t until I heard Echo’s voice that I realized mentally, I was elsewhere.
“Why you hugging yourself like that? You cold, Ju-Ju? Want me to adjust the temperature in the room?”
“Oh, um, no,” I replied, thankful I got pulled back to reality before embarrassing myself.
“Echo,” I called out, my eyes still locked on the man in the video. “My unofficial assistant expertise says you should give this guy a shot.”