The Come Up

Chapter 2-Back in The Bronx

We finally make it to  the Bronx, I had stopped asking questions about halfway there and for a moment, fell asleep on the train.  Exiting the train upon sunset I looked around me. The Bronx kinda looks just like another Brooklyn hood if you were to add some hills. There are many apartments pinned close together, a bit more garbage on the floor than I would have liked and something smells off. I could hear music playing from somewhere in the far distance, few people were on the road and the bright Deli sign illuminated the corner store where two men stood outside. We walk a few blocks along a jagged sidewalk, then Trev stops at an apartment building that slightly resembles a put-together warehouse. 

Inside the apartment complex smells like wood, as if they were doing some kind of construction on one of the floors and inside the elevator smells like weed. Trev pushes the number 5, it lights up, the doors close and we begin to move up. He seems like he comes here a lot, because as soon as we get off the elevator a tall and strong man nods to him. He dabs him up and we walk to apartment 5B. Trev knocks on the door twice and looks at me with a mischievous smile on his face. 

Someone who looks to be 30 or so, opens the door with a huge smile on his face. He has dreads about the length of his shoulders and a trimmed beard connected to his mustache. He slaps Trevon on the shoulder a few times and pulls him into a hug like they haven't seen each other in a long time. The man laughs, a freeing laugh, something genuine and hearty. 

"Whats good, Flex." Trev said patting his back a few times, seeming to find the hug welcoming but odd. "Why so affectionate today?" 

"Heard about what happened in the Ville today, glad you good." The man who I came to know as Flex answered. His voice was deeper than I was expecting and his white t-shirt hung off his body like the baggy jeans that followed. He looked my way and though I felt his eyes on me, I couldn't help but look at Trev. For a split moment Trev seemed distant, clear sadness behind his eyes. I think he forgot about the incident briefly.  He recovers and nods slowly.

"I'm always good, you know that." He says with a soft smile. Flex looks to me and sticks out his hand. 

"Who is this pretty lady?" He asked.

"This is Chanel. She been my lil rugrat since we were smaller. Got talent yo." Trev's voice echoed in the hallway. I shook Flex's hand. 

"Thank you." I said in Trevon's direction. "And nice to meet you, Flex."

"So you the lil poet he been tellin me about? Nice to meet you too. I'm Flex, producer and engineer of Firebox Records." I felt my throat go dry, my breathing temporarily interrupted. Flex opened the door and welcomed us in to a small apartment with a door down the hallway from the kitchen. 

Firebox Records... the major label was well known throughout the world with dozens of known artists signed to it. Flex looked familiar but he didn't have the bear or dreads the last time I saw him on TV. I wanted to freak out just a little, tell him I know who he is, let him know I've heard some of the beats he's made and that I love them. But I remained calm and close to Trevon though I couldn't help the excitement in me. I've been in the studio a few times but it's been so long since Jay died. Jay was one of Trevon's best friends. The story was too depressing to think about, I think Trev already saw the change in my face.

"I miss Jay too." He mumbles to only me as he takes off his coat. His talent of reading my emotions are almost as impressive as my talent at reading his. He always knows, just like I always know. I take off my small jacked and hang it where he does. Flex urges us to follow.

The living room unexpectedly opens up into a large studio set up with bright red walls and vinyl records lined against the walls in rows and columns like beautiful paintings. Two pianos were to the side, one keyboard and one black grand piano that looked majestic in comparison. The large soundboard sat in front of the large computer, big black speakers to each side with a window into the recording booth behind it. The recording booth was a rectangular room lined with sponges and red lights. I could see the outline of the mic and the headphones hanging on top.  I can't imagine how much money went into this beautiful and artistic display.