“…please blame it on the Son of the Morning”
– Jay-Z
Lincoln reconciled with Brandon and the band got back together. Brandon had organized a small tour for them based on the interest of producers and audiences in Atlanta, Houston, and Miami.
“I met people while I was in Boston,” Brandon explained, “and they loved our sound. A few of the people I met invited us to play at shows they’re having in their cities. It’s small clubs, but their prestigious clubs. People who can change our lives will be there and I believe in us.”
They sat under the covered driveway at Snot’s house. Snot sat in the lawn chair behind his keyboard that stood nearby on a stand. Lincoln leaned against a brick column of the carport and Brandon stood before them both. He looked to Lincoln and spoke sincerely.
“I know you thought the worst of me when I didn’t return y’all’s calls, but it wasn’t like that. I was working, Linc, for us. A lot of people are excited to meet you and hear you live. They already saying you gone be a star and I hope you’ll let me go on that journey with you.”
He called me Linc, Lincoln thought to himself when he heard Brandon say it and he did not hear much of what he said after that. Only his father called him Linc and very rarely. It was almost his nickname, but it seemed that most everyone forgot that it was a possibility when they addressed him. It rubbed Lincoln the wrong way, it made him uncomfortable and set off red flags in his mind. His relationship with Brandon, even at its most genial or brotherly, was always adversarial. It was their rivalry that fueled their creativity and even though he could be frustrating, Lincoln liked Brandon for the way he expressed his opinions and challenged him. He didn’t recognize the Brandon who called him Linc, the Brandon he knew always said his name with derision like it was a preposterous name for a boy their age to have, he even joked that Lincoln was an old man’s name.
“So we good?” Brandon asked after Lincoln stood staring past Brandon while he was locked in thought. “We gone do these shows? Get our deal?”
“You know it, man,” Lincoln said after he snapped himself out of his thoughts. He wouldn’t pass up the exposure Brandon offered, even though he knew had to keep an eye on him.
The Morning traveled light to Houston, Texas from Ladoga, North Carolina. They took turns driving a van that belonged to Brandon’s father, and everything they would need for the next month or so fit into the back with one long seat left over for one of them to stretch out.
Snot did most of the driving because he enjoyed being behind the wheel, especially when he liked marijuana, which the boys had stocked up on before they left Ladoga and kept the majority in a scent proof bag inside the spare tire located under the van. Snot was a great driver when he smoked, and Quinten and Brandon took turns rolling him joints or blunts in the passenger’s seat and changed the music when he asked for it.
“Did you really forgive him?” Snot asked Lincoln while he rolled a joint. He didn’t whisper, but he spoke softly and he looked in the rearview to be sure that Brandon was still asleep on the long seat behind them. They were almost through Alabama and into Mississippi by that point.
“Hell no!” Lincoln said forcefully, completely indifferent to Brandon snoring in the back
“Don’t be like that, man.” Snot said with a laugh, trying to keep his voice down.
“I’m glad he ain’t just go to Boston and forget about us, but it’s hard to trust people, especially with all this potential money. I ain’t forgive nothing, but we been working on this for a long time so I wanted to see this through. And if Brandon is dirty as fuck, like part of me still suspect, then I rather find out now than later.”
“Y’all just forget about me, don’t you?” Snot said. He glanced at Lincoln, who was confused by the question. “Both of y’all act like I’m barely here most of the time. Brandon ain’t apologize to me for ignoring our calls. And you ignored me just like he did when you was mad.”
“It ain’t no group without you, Snot,” Lincoln said. He lit up the joint, took deep drags from it, then passed it to Snot. “You keep us together. You damn sure the only reason I’m in this van driving across all these states. But you right, I don’t act like you important, I take it for granted that you’ll be here cause you always there. We don’t say it, but it’s true that we need you.”
Snot smiled and puffed at the joint.
By the time they made it to Houston, the three of them had written a couple new songs that they were excited to play with their instruments, but it would have to wait. They arrived at the venue of their first show about an hour before the show was scheduled to start. They met friends of Brandon behind the small nightclub that was well attended. Brandon shook hands with two young men with dreads and then he introduced Lincoln.
“It’s cool to put a face to the voice,” one of the dreaded men said. He wore sunglasses even though the sun was long gone and he was called Lagos because his family had moved from Nigeria before his was born. “I can’t wait to see how the crowd react to you. I know I was shook when ya man played y’all music up in Boston. I had to get to the studio immediately, y’all shit inspired me to step my game up.”
“That’s nice of you to say,” Lincoln said, genuinely surprised at the respect.
“I don’t say shit just to say it,” Lagos said. “You talented man. I hope we can chop it up a bit before y’all head back toward Atlanta. We can make some cool music together.”
They talked a little while longer about the set they would perform. The other dreaded man offered Lincoln and his band sips from a red plastic cup he drank from. Brandon refused it, and it seemed that Snot was about to accept before they were all called inside to start the show. Lagos and his partner performed a few songs before introducing the Morning. Lincoln and his friends did three songs to an adoring crowd that demanded more before they left. They did one more song and Lagos closed out the live music portion of the club’s night.
They were mobbed by the crowd outside of the club and Lincoln and Lagos were both inundated by requests for autographs and pictures. When they left, Snot drove the van following the car that drove Lagos to his house. They arrived at a small home in a rural part of Houston that belonged to Lagos’ mother. There was already a small gathering in the backyard, about fifteen people, including a few relatives of Lagos. He introduced Lincoln and his friends to everyone. Lagos led them to a corner of the yard with chairs that they all relaxed in while they talked, Lagos’ friend from before pouring liquids into red plastic cups for everyone. Brandon refused the drink, but Snot and Lincoln drank as they all talked and made jokes. After a while, the backyard of the house became a party in full swing.
“This shit is nasty,” Snot said to Lincoln when Lagos and his friend were distracted with someone else.
“Pour yours in mine,” Lincoln said. “I like it.”
“Don’t get too happy with that,” Brandon warned, leaning over Snot to whisper loudly to them both over the sounds of the party. “That’s lean, you don’t wanna mess with that.”
Lincoln liked the taste of the purple liquid in his cup. He had initially drank from the cup to appease his hosts, but the more he drank, the more relaxed he became and his body felt like it was floating, even as he sat. The world became fuzzy, like everything was soft, and lights became soft balls of illumination. He was in a cartoon, and Lincoln loved it.
“Homeboy gone!” Lagos screamed from his seat across from Lincoln. “You feeling good, ain’t you man?”
Lincoln smiled and he imagined that the corners of his lips were high on his cheeks.
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