june 15.
The streets were filled with the sensation of rap music. Rap was like dynamite exploding in houses, parks, hangouts, and dens. It became an important space for everyone since the 90s when rappers began to carve out their place in music. Rap tends to be found in certain cities, and more than a musical genre, it's a way to criticize, to give a voice in defense of freedom, equality, and personal expression for those who often constitute an uncomfortable side of social hierarchy.
From the dance, with colorful breakdancing, to the cinema with its well-known movies contextualizing the genre, culture, and sports, NBA players being part of this music scene, it only generates the desire to move one's arm in the air and crash it with their passive-aggressive style.
Billy found an old friend in prison, Austin, someone who had introduced him to Arizona with his activities, immersing him in the center of a bustling scene. Austin, who acrobatically, from the shadows, in a prison where he had no power and gangs segregated him for his attempts to gain control, preferred to step aside.
The special thing.
He met Billy again, very cheerful, sitting, singing a rap song titled "Lose Yourself" to a group of 30 people. Out of curiosity, Austin found Billy very good at singing; the powerful lyrics of his song gave all they needed to know. Billy could compete against black rappers, which didn't generate a fight or struggle, just more friendship, as his lyrics were good.
From the corner of the yard, a little withdrawn, Billy, who had just played a basketball game, sang in front of the group with all his strength. It was like an earthquake that even encouraged him. It was a song of personal overcoming. But the glimpse of a trailer without wheels, an absent mother leaving macaroni in the microwave, his younger brother running barefoot among the other trailers and then coming back happily with some insect, both turning on the radio and listening to rap — the music Billy brought was out of this world.
...
You better lose, yourself in the music
The moment, you own it, you better never let it go
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime, yo
You better lose, yourself in the music
The moment, you own it, you better never let it go
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime, yo
You better
Already, many kids could be seen nodding their heads and clapping their hands in respect for Billy, who began singing yesterday, surprising the entire park. Even the elders were starting to respect Billy. Some said that even the guards were smiling watching Billy sing with the power of ten men.
Some members of other gangs, who had some beef with the S-45, heard something new. Since radios were prohibited, music was sensational, especially when provided by someone delivering a song with such power and dedication. Austin, seeing his home, another saw a park with ramps, skateboarding, laughing, tumbling on the ramps, struggling, rejoicing, crying, and reconciling.
...
No more games, I'ma change what you call rage
Tear this motherfuckin' roof off like two dogs caged
I was playin' in the beginnin', the mood all changed
I've been chewed up and spit out and booed off-stage
But I kept rhymin' and stepped right into the next cipher
Best believe somebody's payin' the Pied Piper
...
What made Billy transport them to another world? It was the power of his system, which was charismatic on its own. Billy set his motivation; his song was directed at two things: moving forward as a musician, translating into fulfilling his dreams, and secondly, saying that even trash has its place, that it can be assembled, and turned into something beautiful. Thus, everyone saw something that they thought could take them beyond a simple life as employees in some store. It was a story told with dreams.
...
Stay in one spot, another day of monotony
Gotten me to the point where I'm like a snail, I've got
To formulate a plot or end up in jail or shot
Success is my only motherfuckin' option, failure's not
Mom, I love you, but this trailer's got to go
I cannot grow old in Salem's Lot
So here I go, it's my shot, feet, fail me not
This may be the only opportunity that I got
...
The song continued with force; Billy didn't slack off. But singing with his soul was a very heavy physical activity, a marathon that needed to be complemented with exercise. That's why he began dedicating himself to working out; having a strong physical state was synonymous with singing more songs. He could sing, but only when he gave his all did he feel satisfied.
Sweat drops trickled down Billy, who was in a total trance; the young ones listened in silence, as if the Vienna Choir had taken a tour through the Arizona correctional facilities. The power of the boy to shake a few was outstanding.
Finished!
-Thanks, everyone, - said Billy, giving a crooked smile and adjusting his bangs, which grew longer every day.
-Damn, brother, - said Sam.
-No kidding. Carson, man, send that shit to a record label; you've got talent, bro, - said Johnny.
-When Fred said you were a singing genius, I thought, you know, they sing well. But now I see it; you're the fucking king of the stage, - said Sam.
Billy just smiled and lay down in the middle of the court. His audience of 60 people couldn't help but admire Billy, like everyone around him. Notifications of having 70 new fans were music to his ears; if he could win over these bastards, he could do it with anyone.
-I've already approached a record label, but, as you can see, I'm trapped. Now I just practice to go out and give concerts, you know, buy myself a Ferrari and take four models, one on each leg, racing at over 120 miles per hour while the cops chase me. You know, fucking assholes, when they catch me, they'll only ask for my autograph and that of my companion, who's a long-legged model walking the runways. They'll say, 'I'm sorry, sir! Sir, give me your autograph!' They'll lick my boots or I'll drive away, - said Billy.
Sam smiled.
-Where do I fit into all of this? - Sam asked.
-Sam, buddy, didn't you hear about a car full of naked models? You can be in the trunk, - said Billy, grinning at the group.
The comment elicited laughter from some, imagining Sam in the trunk; even Austin laughed at the comment.
Billy read the room.
-Seriously, I'd invite you guys. But no knives, Sam; we don't want to scare off the future hotties, - said Billy.
Once again, earning smiles from everyone.
-Hahaha, that would be awesome; I'd be your bodyguard. With me by your side, no one would touch you. The neighborhood couldn't do anything but move aside and say, 'Wow, let's change sides,' - said Sam, and Fred nodded.
-Of course, but you have to do military service to be allowed to carry weapons. If you're going to defend me, you have to be a combat genius. I'll be so famous that I'll need Rambo. Well, I have to go lift some weights; see you guys later, - said Billy.
The crowd began to disperse as Billy walked to the weights with renewed vigor and vitality; singing was like a cure for the soul. He was getting used to exercising; there was no difference between man and beast—put them to live in a place, and everything would be as if they had always been there. Without a doubt, this environment filled him with a sinister desire to excel. He reached Level 4 of singing, the level of semi-professionals.
The improvement was evident to him; he could sing for longer, infuse more emotions, and miss fewer notes. It was a new resurgence. Billy Carson wasn't defeated; he was burning with anger, for all he could do. His extended time of a year seemed happy, but he had had certain moments of panic, and bad feelings didn't escape his mind.
With a strong effort, he completed the four sets of twenty, without rest, lifting the weight until his arms burned.
With a soft sigh, he continued with the rest of the work, exerting himself in every way he could.
...