VIII. Habitual

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August 26, 1992Chicago, Illinois

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August 26, 1992
Chicago, Illinois

I'm seeking a redo.

Last year, I was occupied the day of my little brother's birthday party. I was working, sadly. This year, however, I'm here for my baby brother I want his every dream to come true. He told me he wanted to have his party at the skating rink so I rented out the biggest one the city has. He told me he wanted live entertainment so I called my backing band and The Pharcyde, his favorite rap group. They built a small stage for the acts to groove on as the space to skate remains open. Then, to top it all off, we've got Aaliyah catering the party. Everything is perfect.

Eddie is all smiles for he knows this party is surely going to be talked about at school. "You guys really are showing out for me," he beams, bending down to hug me. "School just started and I'm going to have the party of the year, man. All the honeys gone love me!"

I laugh him off, leaning back down to finish lacing my skates. The amount of horny little boys thinking I'd be recreating Blow is astounding. I never thought that video would come back and slap me in the face like that. They played it earlier in the party and the amount of eyes that spawned to me left me breathless. The thing to give me life is the sight of the girls skating as if they, themselves, were the stars of my video. I loved it.

"You finna get out on the floor?" We all know that rasp from a mile away but that signature chuckle always helps clear any poor guesses up. Tupac promised Eddie he'd pop up for the party and he is proving to be a man of his word.

Hands placed on my knees, I push myself up onto my feet. "Oh, I'm ready to show out." A slight smile creeps its way onto my face. I missed Tupac. We get each other in a way a lot of people don't get me. He's not my bestest friend and he's not my closest but he's a number one contender for my favorite.

"I tried to call you. You changed your number."

Shaking my head in objection and digging in my back pocket, I pull out my card. "I moved."

A face of doubt and turned up lips looks down at me. "Mhmm... You don't got to lie. If you not fuckin' with a nigga you can just say it," he teases as he takes the card. "But I'ma see."

I laugh, pushing him back by the shoulder. "Ain't nobody lying!" Tupac's cackles fuel my consistent laughter. I've never been in his presence and didn't laugh. "I still want to go do that paintball shooting shit so I'ma be callin' you soon."

My pearly whites gleam as bright as possible. This is my natural agreement. I've been listening to him talk about this paintball gun shooting range bit since March and he's remained consistent with his interest. I trust that one day, whether it be today or 1996, we will have the time to go on this crazy adventure he keeps pitching me.

"Alright, I'm gone head out. I'll call you though— And tell Eddie I said happy birthday again."

In front of his face, my index fingernail taps his chin twice. He watches me with intense eye contact. It doesn't last long because he ends up laughing, the same trigger for my laugh, as my skates creep toward the smooth floors. "You do that, Mr. Shakur." Gliding around, I recall one of my favorite times I went skating. It was many many years ago with a good friend of mine. Prince and I acted a fool that day.

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