And now I’m here with you, Pac. I wrote about it but didn’t remember the name. The Tupac Shakur Foundation headquarters in Stone Mountain, replete with an arts center and a peace garden. It’s pretty far from where you died and not at all where I wanted to end up, but here in post-apocalypse world we take what we can get. Jack has put me here in the shade by your bronze statue. He’s sitting right beside me, crying.
Here’s the truth: I don’t like hip hop. Never did. I don’t even like you. The Malcolm X stuff, the partying and guns, the charges of sexual assault – there’s not a lot we have in common. But your book paid the rent for a few months in Brooklyn. I sent a copy of it to Marie for Christmas, just as a joke, since she hates your music. She sent it back. Inside the cover she wrote, “I don’t want this in the same house as my daughter,” and I got so mad I didn’t call her until the Creep started. The phone rang and rang, but no one answered.
Life is short, Pac. I should have known that. Should have learned that from you.
“Susan,” Jumping Jack says now, his voice soft. His eyes are still watery but his face is calm as he raises the pistol. “I guess I have to do this now.”
Just then, a white government van whips into the driveway and stops with a squeal of brakes. Men in hazmat suits jump out. Rescuers! Their leader looks just like Ed Harris. He is talking quickly, words that I barely catch – you got her here just in time, we’ll help you, we have a cure – and then I’m in a military infirmary, voices and blurred images swirling around me, the heart monitor beeping like a hip-hop song, and then one of the white-garbed doctors turns out to be Marie, with Mike and happy baby Monica at her side, and we laugh and laugh at our good fortune while mourning the rest of the world, and then Jack fires his gun, and the screen goes dark.
Alternate Ending to Story!!!
And now I’m here with you, Pac. I wrote about it but didn’t remember the name. The Tupac Shakur Foundation headquarters in Stone Mountain, replete with an arts center and a peace garden. It’s pretty far from where you died but it was a place you would lay your head down when you weren’t partying your heart out in HOT-lanta. This is where I wanted to end up. After writing about you Pac, in my book it is only fitting that we cross paths again. Jack has leaned me up next to your Bronze staute in a gangsta lean pose, so that as my body cements up I will be statuesque I will be immortalized in this position as you were. Jack was somehow able to get cell service enough to play a Tupac song which was fitting for the situation “Keep Ya Head Up”, knowing damn well the creep was taking over and this was practically impossible to do.
Here’s the truth: I love hip hop. I fell in love with it while writing my book. The thug life chose me, I didn’t chose it. The partying and guns, the sexcapades the constant beef with other rappers. This was a life of excitement and uncertaintity a life worth living. Living for the moment. My life, prior to my book was nowhere near this fun or exciting until you came into my life Pac. With my book sales I was able to move out of my cramped Brooklyn apartment into a condo in the nicer part of the city. At this point I was closer to the thug life I greatly desired. I sent a copy of my successful book to my sister Marie, who fell in love with it instantly. Marie was a die hard country fan and with my book I converted her to the thug life as well. She read my book to my niece, and would always listen to “Brenda’s Got a Baby” but would insert her name in there instead. I called Marie prior to leaving due to the creep and we were scheduled to meet once I was able to arrive with my Posse who were traveling with me.
Life is short, Pac. I should have known that. Should have learned that from you, after watching your music video “California Love”.
“Susan,” Jumping Jack says now, in a loud demanding voice, as the plane was flying back over our location, signalling a white van to where we were located. Jack had said a prayer followed my many Hail Marys, I could only think of the song Pac sang as he was doing this. His prayers must have been answered the white vans with Hazmat crews showed up to save us. The had a cure in hand and innoculated me with a small dose, until I could arrive at their lab. I started to get some movement in my extremities and I felt less like a statue at this point, my speech was still slurred but like Pac once said “FREAK THE POLICE” I was thinking FREAK THE CREEP, in nicer cleaner words. All I could think of is how I almost died and made it to the Thug Mansion like Pac sung about. I was ever so glad that the vans had showed up when they had or Jumping Jack might of pulled the trigger ending my thuggish days “Life Goes On” Pac, life goes on. The Creep will not slow me down from rollin like a thug.
After many weeks in the military infirmary I was finally reunited with Marie and my niece who had luckily made it out alive.