Page 18 of Standing In The Sun
Lunar slouched deeperinto the cushioned chair, his body heavy with exhaustion, but his mind wouldn’t shut the hell up. The bass rattled through his chest, the beat knocking - all felt distant, like he was hearing it from the bottom of a pool, submerged in something much thicker than fatigue. His fingers tapped against the armrest - restless, and impatient.
Even that felt like too much effort.
Ahvi…that damn phone. His daddy’s voice trapped inside it.
Shit had his neck tense and his mind restless.
The thought alone had him gripping his knees, legs bouncing as he fought the urge to check his messages again. He’d already hit Ahvi up twice today. once in the morning and again before he stepped in the studio. No reply all day. He knew better than to double text, but fuck it. He needed that phone. He needed to see more than what his mama had given him…needed to hear his daddy’s voice with his own ears, not just as a memory passed down through someone else’s mouth.
Two weeks in Jade City, and this was the first night he’d even bothered to step inside his in-home studio. Maybe he’d been waiting for inspiration to slap him in the face, or maybe, he was just waiting for his best friend, Pimp.
Right on cue, the door swung open.
Pimp strolled in with that usual grin, shaking his head as he took in Lunar’s slumped posture. “A few weeks without me, and you out here makin’ deals and can’t make two words rhyme he” joked, plopping down on the couch across from him. “Nigga, I leave for one second, and you got a whole blackmail situation goin’ on.”
Lunar smirked, shaking his head, but the restlessness didn’t leave his body. “Man, shut up…do you even know what blackmail is?”
“Shit, when a muthafucka shake you down for some cash.” Pimp shrugged, feeling like that was the gist of it.
Lunar only laughed while shaking his head.
“Nah, for real,” Pimp leaned forward, rubbing his hands together like he was about to start some shit. “What kinda deal we talkin’? She got you in a scam? Secret baby?”
Lunar exhaled hard, rubbing a hand down his face. “Iwishit was that simple.”
Pimp whistled low. “Damn.”
“Then she ain’t hit me back like she said… shit got me outta body.”
All Lunar knew was that the longer he waited to meet up with Ahvi, the heavier the weight in his chest got. And right now, that weight was damn near suffocating.
“Call her,” Pimp suggested like it was that easy.
“I did, nigga.” Lunar side eyed him with aduhlook.
Pimp stood to make his way to the sound board. “Then push that shit to the back of your mind and put something on wax.”
Lunar brushed his hand down the back of his head hoping to ease some of his neck tension. “What you got for me?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Pimp went to his bag to pull out his laptop and connecting it to the board.
He went through beat after beat with no real luck. Time ticked by quickly for Pimp but slow for Lunar since he couldn’t stop checking his phone.
Six hours of studio time, and yet, all he had to show for it was a bunch of half-finished lyrics that felt more like scribbles than art. His mind buzzed, but the creativity-- the spark, was missing. All that was left was this endless loop of sound, each beat feeling heavier than the last and thoughts of that damn phone.
A bead of sweat slid down his temple, and Lunar wiped it away with the back of his hand. The sticky warmth of the room clung to him, and he could feel the weight of his own body, like it was pulling him down into the floor. He hadn’t had a solid night of sleep in heaven only knew how long, and every hour seemed to bleed into the next.
The glow from the mixing board cast a faint blue light over the room, making everything seem colder, more sterile. The track spun on, looping over and over, blasting the surround sound, but Lunar couldn’t find the energy to finish anything.
He just sat there, his head gently bobbing to the beat, his eyes staring at the neon lights flickering above him like they were trying to keep him awake, but it wasn’t working.
“You good nigga?” Pimp was next to him, crouching down to get on eye level with Lunar, his brow furrowed in concern.
Lunar dragged his hand down his face, wiping away the frustration and fatigue. “Shit…” He let out a long, exhausted sigh, not even trying to fight it anymore. His voice was rough, raw. “I’m fuckin’ tired… and pissed that this girl ain’t hit me back yet.”
Pimp studied him for a moment. His eyes narrowed, taking in Lunar’s slumped posture, the way he barely registered the beat that played and the dullness in his eyes. It was clear—his boy wasn’t just tired. He was running on empty.
“Like you can’t even put no lyrics to the beat?” Pimp raised an eyebrow, his voice incredulous. They’d been in this business together long enough for Pimp to know when his boy was grinding for real and when he was just burnt out. And right now? Lunar was burnt out.
