Inside A Thugs Heart Read online

  I had read that Tupac was at Rikers Island, and I figured I would call New York and ask for his information. Could it be that easy? I didn’t think so. I figured they would give me a hard time because of his celebrity. But guess what? I picked up the phone, called Rikers Island, and got his address and prisoner number in a matter of a few seconds. I remember staring at it for the longest time. I was somewhat dumbfounded at how uncomplicated it had been to get, but also wondered again about the possibilities of him ever reading my letter. Why would he? My letter would be just words on a piece of paper from some girl, sealed in an envelope that would be tossed in a sack with thousands of other envelopes.

  “Well, that sounds simple enough,” Tanya said, watching me put on my face.

  “It seems almost too simple. I’m sure he gets lots of letters, and who am I?” I questioned.

  “Yeah, I know. He probably just looks for the familiar and is like ‘whatever’ with the rest,” she responded.

  “That’s what I’m thinking, too. But, you know, sometimes the most obvious is the least difficult. I guess I always think things have to be more complicated.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Being that it’s Tupac, I guess you would think ‘complicated’ is the operative word,” Tanya said. “I guess you’re gone for the night,” she said with a smirk, referring to the doorbell, which rang again.

  “Nope. I’ll definitely be back.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because tonight, I’m not in the mood for anything else,” I said, walking past her.

  Tanya laughed and headed for her room as I greeted my date and immediately left the house.

  I got up Sunday morning filled with an idea. Sometime during the night, my mind had begun trying to figure out how I could make my letter stand out from the rest. When I opened my eyes, the first thing that came to my mind was to use a different color envelope. That would make it stand out from the other envelopes. I threw my down comforter back, handled my business in the bathroom, selected my black Nike sweat suit, and headed towards the door to go to Kinko’s.

  “Where you goin’?” Tanya startled me, seeming to appear from nowhere. “I’m sorry. Did I scare you?” She laughed.

  I caught my breath and picked up my purse off the floor. “I’m going to Kinko’s. Why aren’t you at church?”

  “I’m having TV service this morning.”

  “Well, I’m off. Be back soon,” I said, and I was out the door.

  Kinko’s was pretty crowded, and finding a parking space was a fiasco in itself. I found my way to the envelopes and admired the array of options. There were so many colors: several shades of red, orange, and yellow; a few different greens; and numerous blues and purples. It looked like a Crayola box had collided with an envelope box. After spending an hour scanning the colors, and thinking about the color ink I would use to address the envelope and whether it would read well or be too much, I chose fuchsia. Yup, fuchsia. I spent another thirty minutes in the cashier’s line and came out with one fuchsia envelope. I had also thought about typing the letter on fuchsia paper, but decided that would make the letter too hard to read no matter what kind of ink I used. I was so pleased with my purchase and thought I was so brilliant, as if no one else in the world would think to send a different color envelope. I was convinced that no one else would. I raced home to compose my letter.

  Dear Tupac,

  My name is Angela, and I am writing you this letter, not as a groupie, but just as a black female who thinks there is more to you than what the media portrays. I saw an interview you did, and I could feel your energy. I don’t know about the other incidents, but I think you got a bad rap this time. I have my own views, as does everyone else, but as far as you are concerned, in my eyes, justice was not served. What I’ve heard about you in the press I’m sure has its truths, and only you know how much of it you are responsible for. But I think you have so much talent and so many gifts that if any of the truths are yours alone, you should assess them and find out why they are in your life and what good, if any, they are doing you as a person. However, I did not write you to lecture you because you’re a grown man. I just want to express my thoughts to you and tell you to keep your head up because there is someone out here who believes in the person behind your eyes.

  Just a bit about myself, in case you choose to write back. I’m 24, living in Atlanta, Georgia and I work as a marketing assistant, as well as a model. I just ended a five-year relationship and now have a roommate. I’m breathing again for the first time in a long time. Enjoying life. I don’t want you to think that I want anything from you because I don’t. I’m sure you have enough people around you who want, need, and desire things of and from you.

  I’m going to give you my phone number, if you should decide to call. I work 9 to 5 and am home normally by around 6 P.M. Feel free to write to me at the address on the envelope. If you choose to do neither, that’s fine, too. Just remember that there is a lesson in your situation. Find it, address it, absorb it, and release the resentment. It will only cause your soul to decay. You are a gift, Tupac. But you have to believe it, too.

  Keep Your Head Up,

  The letter took me ten minutes to write.

  “What do you think?” I asked Tan.

  “It’s you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It’s very direct and to the point.”

  “Oh. Should I add anything else? Maybe send a picture?” I asked, unsure.

  “Naw, just send it,” she replied. Then she changed her mind. “Well, yeah. Send a picture.” She smiled.

  “You think? I figure if he’s going to respond at all, I just kind of want it to be because of what I wrote.”

  “Well, you’re trying to win a bet, so if enclosing a picture helps, then hey, stick a picture in. Definitely send a picture.” We laughed.

  “That boy is used to beautiful women, and I’m not prettier than anything he’s ever seen before.”

  “Ann, jus pit a picture in it,” she said in her most exaggerated country accent and winked. “Don’t worry ’bout the rest.”

  I lay in my bed, anxiously staring at the address and prisoner number. What was I doing? What did I think was going to happen? I tossed around a few possibilities in my head, but didn’t really believe any of them for a minute. Putting the address on my nightstand, I turned the light out and took a deep breath. It was kind of late and I had to at work in the morning, but I was restless, wired, and unsettled. I needed to relax and go to sleep. A mental distraction that would put me to sleep was a necessity tonight. I thought of calling Tanya and just talking to her until I fell asleep, which was something we did often, but that didn’t tickle my fancy. So I called the guy I had been seeing. He came over and distracted me enough to allow me to finally fall asleep.

  I got to work early and typed up the letter on my computer. The office was tranquil and silent as I sat there staring at the words on the screen. My roster of potential scenarios was getting longer and longer every time I thought of my letter being in his hand or in the bottom of a bag. I didn’t know which of the scenarios made me feel more comfortable. I knew, in my heart, what would probably happen. But I’m a dreamer, and there is nothing wrong with that.

  Another bet down the drain, I thought to myself. The cursor blinked at the bottom of the page to the beat of my heart.

  “What are you doing?” I whispered. “What am I doing?”

  I must have sat there for a good thirty minutes because when I came to, my coworkers were arriving. I printed out the letter and went to join the coffee crew. At lunch, I raced home, read the letter again, and sprayed it with my signature perfume, Perry Ellis 360°. I inserted a simple picture of my face, sealed the envelope, addressed it, sprayed it again, and scurried to the post office. I had forgotten that I didn’t have to address the actual envelope, considering I was going to send it by overnight mail, but I wanted to make sure that there would be nothing to deter my letter from at least making it
to Tupac’s bag of mail. I had just finished filling out the Express Mail paperwork when the postal worker yelled out, “Next!”

  “You smell great,” the postal worker said with a smile. “What can I do for you today?”

  I placed the Express Mail envelope on the counter, and from my purse I pulled out my fuchsia envelope.

  “Now, that’s an envelope,” the postal worker said with a chuckle. I took it as a sign that I had at least made the right decision color-wise.

  “Thank you. I need to send this ‘next day.’” I smiled and put the fuchsia envelope inside the Express Mail envelope and gave it to him.

  “Someone must be very special to get such beautiful smells sent their way.” At that moment, he looked at the address, then back at me, and back at the envelope again as he typed the information into his computer. “This should arrive at Rikers by twelve noon tomorrow.”

  The words, “twelve noon tomorrow” rang in my ears as I stood and watched the postal worker rip off my copy of the form. In the distance, I could hear him explaining how to track the letter to make sure it did get there by noon tomorrow.

  “Noon tomorrow,” I whispered.

  “Yes, noon tomorrow,” he said with an odd tone. I came to and realized he was giving me a “I-don’t-believe-you-wrote-Tupac-a-letter” look, and I gave him a look back that said, “yes-I-did-and-what-of-it?” I said, “Thank you,” and exited the post office.

  The warm Georgia air hit my face and I smiled, took a deep breath, and raced back to work.

  My letter was on its way.

  Chapter 2

  THE CALL

  For the next couple of days, I didn’t tell anyone at the office what I had done. It was my little secret.

  A few days later I got home at 2 A.M., and I could see the flashing light from my answering machine. After washing my face, I pressed “Play,” and the tape began to rewind as I undressed.

  Beep. “Message sent at seven P.M.,” my machine announced.

  “Hi, honey. It’s Mom. It’s about seven P.M., and I thought you’d be home by now. Just wanted to chat. Call me when you get in. Love you. Bye.”

  Beep. “Message sent at eight twenty-four P.M.”

  “Wha’s up? It’s Daryl. Where you at? Call me.”

  Beep. “Message sent at eight-thirty P.M.”

  “Hi, Angela. This is Tupac. I got your letter today and thought I’d call, but I guess you’re not there. I’ll try again tomorrow. Bye.”

  I was frozen in my tracks. I couldn’t move.

  “He got my letter, he read it, he responded,” I whispered. “No, he didn’t just respond, he called!”

  I tried to rewind the answering machine tape to hear the message again, but the machine was old and, of course, on this particular night it decided not to cooperate with me. I flew out of my bedroom and ran like a madwoman to Tan’s room.

  “Tanya!” I screamed, banging on her door. I didn’t know if she had company or was just sleeping soundly. “Tanya!” I yelled again, banging a few more times as I tried to get my arm back through my shirt.

  “What? Come in! What’s wrong?” she asked, half asleep, half alarmed.

  “He called!” I screeched.

  “Who called?”

  “Guess!”

  “Ann, it’s two o’clock—no, two-seventeen—in the damn morning. Who?”

  “Tupac.”

  “No!”

  “Yes!”

  “What did he say?” she asked, sitting up.

  “I want you to hear it, but I can’t get the tape to rewind in my answering machine. I need you to come with me to the office so that I can get the small recorder.”

  In the darkness, I heard a very deep breath and a few grunts.

  “Why can’t you just wait till you get to work tomorrow?” she whined.

  “Because I want to hear it again now. Come on! You don’t have to go in. Just ride with me.”

  “Ann, nooooooo,” she whined.

  She knew me so well. My behavior is sometimes extremely off the wall, and this request didn’t surprise her at all. She was just sleepy.

  “Tan, you don’t even have to get dressed. Just bring your pillow and come on.”

  I flipped on the light and heard her cursing me out as I ran back to my bedroom to get the tape and my keys. We lived only five minutes from work, so it wasn’t far at all. But it was too dangerous for her to sit in the car, and once there, the dimly lit parking lot and hovering shadows convinced her of just that. Even though this was considered a safe area, we knew that no area was that safe.

  “We’re going to get arrested,” she said, yawning. I checked around the dark parking lot for moving shadows, but all was still.

  “We work here and have keys to the building. Why would we get arrested?”

  “Because we’re black, we’re in our pajamas, it’s two-thirty in the damn morning, and I’m sure they would believe we were coming up here to get a tape recorder because Tupac called and your answering machine wouldn’t rewind,” she said sarcastically.

  “Shut up, scary, and come on,” I said, entering the building with her right behind me.

  I didn’t know where the small recorder was, so I had to look for it. I started in the back room and worked my way to the receptionist’s desk. Tanya looked in the conference room and worked her way to her desk, where I found her half asleep.

  “I can’t find it,” I groaned, sitting in the doorway of her cubicle.

  “I don’t know where it could be,” she mumbled sleepily. “Well, what did he say?”

  I recited the brief message and took a deep breath. Disappointed, we headed home.

  “Well, he said he’d call you tomorrow,” she said.

  “Yeah, he did.”

  “What did he sound like?”

  “Like Tupac.”

  “Well, that was a fast response. He must have liked the letter.” She looked at me. “What’s wrong? You scared?” she asked, grinning. “Don’t trip now. You won the bet. I can’t believe he called.”

  It was now somewhere around 3:30 A.M. We rode the rest of the way home in silence.

  The next day at work, I couldn’t concentrate. The buzz was around the office, and no one could believe he had called. If Tan hadn’t backed me up about him calling, no one would have believed me. I still couldn’t believe it.

  “Are you trying to figure out what you’re going to say to him?”

  “Naw, not really. Just more-so wondering what he’s going to say.”

  I had pretty much wasted an entire day, watching the cursor blink, drinking coffee, and daydreaming about things I knew were as farfetched as what was occurring. I should have bought a new answering machine in case I miss his call again, I thought to myself.

  “I cancelled my date tonight,” I said to Tanya.

  “You should have. It’s not every day that you get a call from Tupac,” she said with a smirk.

  “He was upset and wanted to know what happened,” I said, referring to my date.

  “Did you tell him?”

  “Nope! It wasn’t his business what happened. All he needed to know was that our plans weren’t happening.” We started laughing. “Questioning me. Is he crazy? He’s not my man.”

  I had a little something extraordinary going on at the moment, but in all honesty, I really did like the guy I had been going out with. However, my mind wouldn’t allow me to get caught up in the reality of a date that evening because I was trying to get a grasp on the bizarreness of a phone call from Tupac. I hadn’t thought for one second that he would ever call, and as far as I was concerned, from this moment on, anything was possible.

  The day finally ended. I went straight home. I hit the play button on my answering machine and held my breath as the messages played one by one.

  Beep. “Message sent at ten A.M.”

  “Hey, Ang. This is Hugh Dog. Just wanted to see if you and Tan are down for a road trip this weekend. Destination: step show in Florida. Hit me up when you get this. Pe
ace.”

  Beep. “Message sent at two P.M.”

  “Hey, it’s me. I didn’t mean to come off like I was checking on you, but I had bought some tickets to a play tonight and was a little upset that our plans got canceled. Sorry if I upset you. Call me later.”

  Beep. “Message sent at four forty-seven P.M.”

  “It’s your brother. Call me.”

  Beep. “Message sent at four fifty-eight P.M.”

  The caller hung up.

  “Damn!” I said. I stood there and wondered if that had been Tupac, not leaving a message this time.

  “Did he call?” Tanya knocked lightly on my door, then let herself in.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?”

  “I got this message around five, but whoever it was hung up.”

  “It could have been him, huh?” Tanya said, looking in my closet.

  “Well, I hope not. I told him that I normally get home around 6 P.M.., so maybe it wasn’t him.”

  “Maybe not. Wonder when he will call,” she said, walking out of my room with one of my shirts.

  “Me, too.”

  I turned the water on for a shower. I brought the cordless phone into the bathroom, just in case. You can never be too careful. I laughed at myself. I felt like I was in high school again, waiting for some guy to call. I was tripping. Yup, I was definitely tripping. I finished my shower and decided to watch a little pretend television—meaning, I pretended to watch it, while truly trying to keep my mind off the obvious. The silly part about the entire scenario was that Tanya had left and I was home alone and was trying to fool only myself. My phone rang several times, and yes, I jumped at every one of the calls.