Black Ice

ix

nine | ishaan

Another successful show!

Even after what was supposed to be a calming shower, I was still amped with adrenaline. With more energy to burn, I watched Ceezar's show from the sidelines.

The rest of my group mates had gone to the bus already, indulging in peace and pizza that was ordered. I was left in the wings of the stage to watch a master at work.

There he was. The King.

I still hadn't had the chance to speak with the man one-on-one— this tour was the closest shot I had at my dream of having my idol as my mentor— but I decided to just play the waiting game.

The opportunity would present itself sooner or later.

But until then, I would observe and take notes.

He was in the midst of a classic: Don't Sweat the Technique.

It was a song with an intricate cadence and a zany saxophone sample. It was Will's favorite song by the artist, a song that held so many memories that I was nearly brought to tears, hearing the very same lines Will and I would write and learn and pretend to be Ceezar himself on.

And the crowd, man. His lyrics hurdled back at the stage in roaring waves, the sound traveling so far from the back of the arena that it sounded delayed.

He could let the audience rap the whole song for him, if he wanted to, and he knew it too.

He worked the stage unlike anybody I'd ever seen, standing on speakers to reach even the corners of the audience that were often overlooked.

And his show was crazy! He spared no expense. From a golden throne to fog machines and sparklers and fire.

It was absolutely electrifying.

The show ended with explosions and an announcement that an after-party would be had in the parking lot: Bus B.

And sure enough, the same bouncing energy of a screaming hype man and a king drenched in sweat poured into the after party.

We were all crammed onto the bus, even my seemingly reluctant group members deciding to come around. Issac was ordered by Cris to stay on Bus A because "this is not the environment for a kid to be in."

But Cris didn't run shit, and Ice would soon be 18. There wasn't anything going on that he didn't already know about or hadn't done himself. I snuck him onto the bus against her wishes and made myself responsible for his well-being.

The bus was hotboxed while liquor flowed. Ceez and his entourage had already chosen their groupies for the occasion— literally hanging out the window and pointing them out like they were puppies in a kennel.

It was a wild time as the girls were made the source of entertainment. They danced to the too-loud stylings of New York party rap while some were taken to the bunking area.

A crap game was being played, additional banter and loud talking joining the noise of rambunctious men and laughing women.

Most of us were in the lounge area, conversing and joking while multiple blunts were passed around. Of course, there was another battle of the sexes debate, Ceeze's entourage always looking to bait Crystal in getting upset.

She always held her own though, even heckling and quipping the guys back. It surprised me a little because any other time it was me and her getting into shit, she'd either blow a fuse or insult my ability to get where she's coming from.