King's Disease (a Nas Story)

ONE

Nasir | Date Unknown

"Which camera am I looking at?"

It seemed like no one was hearing me. Too many niggas running around behind the scenes, chatting amongst themselves. April, my stylist, was too busy cuffing the hemming around my wrists in this Carhartt jacket I was wearing to answer me.

"Camera B!" One of the eavesdropping interns blurted out. I quietly sent a salute her way. She smiled at me as she rushed to her position behind another stylist on standby.

"Is this loose enough?" April asked me. I looked at the DayDate on my wrist. The opal face accompanied by the Diamond bezel distracted me from answering her question. I just simply nodded and waited for the cameras to start rolling.

For some strange reason, all of this felt new to me. Being asked to film a documentary about my life and career. Not solely focused on my marriage, but stories that were never told. Shit that the media would never know about me. I mean, this production and film company want me to take them to places not even my children have been yet.

It took some years for them to convince me to sit in front of bright ass lights and heavy cameras, but after speaking with my wife and Des, I figured now would be the time to let the fans into my world.

I'm in my fifties now.

I'm not the young nigga I once was, riding around with sacs in my jeans and steel in my glove box. Well, I take that shit back. I can't leave the house without something on me.

I nervously exhaled a breath that I didn't know I had been holding for what felt like minutes. I was busy thinking about what I wanted to share with the people that would be watching this. I was also thinking about who would be asking me the questions that would get me to want to tell these stories.

"My hair is good, right?" I asked the hair stylist as I couldn't see my locs without a mirror in front of me. She had braided them neatly and tied them into a knot, leaving my fade and sharp line up to take the center stage.

"You look great, Nas." April spoke on behalf of the stylist on set. "Stop worrying so much!" She said with a smile before patting my shoulder with her hand.

"Places! And silence, please! We're ready to roll!" The director said as he took a seat in the chair behind the camera man.

"Please bring the journalist on set!" He asked of the staff. Soon, two men opened the double doors and escorted the woman with her face covered by her hood inside. She shook the director and camera men's hands before sitting next to the director.

"Roll playback. Take one, Nas King's Disease! And, ACTION!"

The moment the cameras started rolling, the woman removed her hood and smiled at me.

I was taken aback by who it was. I caught myself laughing as I stared at myself in the form of a young woman. She sat cross legged as she removed her hoodie from her torso, revealing a professional attire of a white button up and a Burberry plaid skirt.

"So, Dad, how do you want to start this?"

My daughter, Bridge, asked with a smile on her face.

"Yo." I sat back in disbelief. Speechless, almost. This is why no one would respond to my texts when I asked who would be interviewing me. I didn't think it would be my own daughter.

I shouldn't be this surprised seeing as though her major in college is Journalism with a minor in Business Communications.

My youngest cleared her throat as she stared at the written questions and topics on the pink clipboard that rested in her lap. She immediately turned her personal connection off from me and went into her professional bag with one simple suggestion.