When I first saw this Vashtie Kola-directed video for Kendrick Lamar's song, ADHD, I was inspired to start writing a short story about it. I never finished it though. It was a short burst of inspiration, then I left it alone. Well, I just found it the other day and decided to work on it.
The neat thing is that I wanted to do something super creative with it. It's a quick story and one that didn't involve a difficult plot by far. So, I decided to write the whole thing through dialogue. Whoa right?
Sorry that it's not timely, but I'll stick with the saying "better late than never" as my excuse. Or maybe I just want you to watch the Kendrick Lamar video one more time (as my 65 million other posts and twitter updates didn't do it for you.) Enjoy. Or not.
Miranda: “We were the peppers in a field of salt. Even in this millennium there were still schools with 95% Caucasian student bodies and oh how fortunate and indebted we all were to land at this one. Ronson was the “black quarterback”, Rochelle, the chemist, Bunny, the mathematician, Jeremiah, the swimmer, Vegas, the artist and I, the writer. Labeled the cream of the crop. We stuck together like our lives depended on it. On a typical Saturday night, I always asked Ronson to come over, which meant Jeremiah, Vegas, Rochelle and Bunny had to come too. Sometimes I hated when Ronson dismissed me like I didn’t matter, but after all this time, I’ve learned to understand. We argue. He’s overprotective and I’m jealous, but in the end, I know that he would die for me. Most of the time we had fun together and I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d want to date. And, we had been dating for almost a year before it happened. That particular night, his crew had all biked to my house and Bunny and Rochelle were already here.
“Hey guys.”
“What’s up Miranda!”
“Keep it moving Jeremiah. Hey babe. What, your boyfriend can’t get kisses now?”
“Of course you can!”
“Yo.”
“Hey Vegas. Come in.”
“Rochelle, can you grab me a beer and Bunny what’s up with the music? I swear Miranda, where would you guys be if it weren’t for me? Everything okay with you love?”
“I’m fine. Just remind them not to break anything. My parents will be back early in the morning and I’m not trying to be Esther the Explainer.”
“I know. Give me another kiss.”
“Ronson, I need help with the drinks over here.”
“Why does Rochelle always act so helpless around you? And why do you keep feeding into it?”
“You tell me Miranda. She’s your friend. Aww, don’t pout. I’m not interested in Rochelle, her flashy red lipstick or her attention-seeking tight clothes.”
“Yet, you’re always smiling in her face, sitting next to her in class and setting up her lines for her.”
“Listen to Miss Perfect. Rattling about her displeasure at our drug use like she’s a saint.”
“Stop it Ronson.”
“Can’t take the heat?”
“Where are you going? Go ahead, walk away, that’s the man thing to do!”
“So, what’s new?”
“Vegas move, I have to go talk to Ronson.”
“In a minute.”
“Since when did you learn how to talk?”
“I asked what’s new with you?”
“Nothing Vegas geesh. What’s up with you these days? You didn’t come out to the game last night. Ronson scored three touchdowns.”
“I heard. I had an art thing. Thanks for letting us crash Miranda. We kind of don’t even ask anymore.”
“No you don’t. And what’s with this new you? I mean, it’s nice to hear your voice, but it’s unexpected. Foreign even.”
“Can I talk to you in the kitchen?”
“Huh?”
“The kitchen Miranda. You don’t have to be so shocked. I’m not a psycho, I’m not going to murder you or anything.”
“Maybe not today.”
“That hurt.”
“I’m sorry. But Vegas you’re usually really quiet. We all know you’re smart and super creative and so much of all these things sometimes, that it can be weird.”
“Just come in here please.”
“I know where my kitchen is, you don’t have to guide me like a child. So, what’s up Vegas, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong.”
“Then why do you look so sad? Is it the dying artist inside? Ha! Ha ha! But really, your eyes are always so sad.”
“I don’t know why.”
“Well spill it. I’m sure someone’s going to come in here any minute.”
“No they won’t. We could sit in here for hours and they would never notice.”
“Yes they-”
“No they won’t and you know it. As long as they have their vices, they won’t.”
“Is that why you disappear all the time? Whenever we have a party? Do you run off into a little corner and partake of your vices too?”
“My only vice is to watch.”
“Yeah, that’s not weird at all.”
“I’m being honest. My abstract charcoal drawing in the main hall of the school is really of Bunny snorting a line of coke. The cross-hatching image in the library-,”
“The one when you became the youngest recipient of the Guggenheim Award?”
“Is a close-up of Rochelle’s hand when she tried and failed to put ecstasy in Ronson’s vodka one night.”
“What? What!”
“But that’s besides the point.”
“Then what is the damn point already!”
“Why are you with him?”
“With who?”
“Don’t look away.”
“Because you know, I like him a lot.”
“After a year and all you do is ‘like him a lot’?”
“Because it’s been a year that’s why. What’s the point of ending it now? And what does it matter to you. Suddenly you get the nerve to talk to me after all these years as friends and I have to pour my feelings out to you? Vegas, I don’t have time for this.”
“I want to be with you and he doesn’t.”
“What? Come on.”
“I want to be with you and he doesn’t.”
“You’ve said that already and it’s not going to happen. Don’t stand so close. And why are you saying these things? You’re supposed to be his friend. All of ours.”
“I’ve never been a friend to anyone but you.”
“Lies. You support Jeremiah at his swim meets and you helped Bunny prepare for her math dissertation.”
“We’re the only black kids at this college. How can I not?”
“You’re very interesting, I’ll give you that. But ‘be with you’, yeah that’s a bit of a stretch.”
“I’m being honest.”
“Pssh.”
“I’m okay with you pushing me away, your touch is the softest.”
“I’m not doing it to give you pleasure. Stop. Stop! Vegas…I…you can’t…oh my.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That was…your lips are so soft…and warm.”
“Say it. Say you want to be with me too.”
“Um…I can’t…it’s kind of,”
“What are you two doing in here? Get the hell away from her!”
“Don’t push me again.”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Stop Ronson, it’s nothing. We were just talking.”
“Why were you so close to her Vegas? You better start talking.”
“I said stop pushing me.”
“Or what?”
“Ronson stop! You’re high, you need to pull it together!”
“Yo! Stop it! Ronson this is your boy.”
“Get off me Jeremiah, you didn’t see what I saw.”
Jeremiah attempted to interject but he was knocked down too. Vegas took it. He deserved it and knew so. But while he was face down on the floor with Ronson beating the back of his head, something happened. It was instant; an upheaval of something buried deep inside. He suddenly rose with immeasurable strength, knocking Ronson on his back. He grabbed a Hanaita Damascus knife from the counter and without thought, thrust it deep into Ronson’s chest. It sounded more like it was plunging into a grapefruit. It was a surreal moment. Something out of a movie. Something you only hear about but never experience. He took the knife out, punctured the chest again and again and again. In the background, he was sure there were screams and gestures and voices, but in his head he heard nothing. Just the squishing sound of the knife going in and out. When he stopped, the knife dropped to the floor and he backed away from Ronson’s dying body. He slid down the cabinet door and he watched him die. He watched him all the way until the police showed up. He had to. After all, it was his vice.
