Chapter 99: Industry Breakthrough: Echoes of Tomorrow
The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor buzzed overhead as I made my way to the administrative wing, clutching a manila envelope that held both contract and destiny. My mother's desk came into view – that familiar island of organized chaos where she'd worked double shifts throughout my childhood. She glanced up, her eyes widening at my unexpected appearance.
"Marcus? Baby, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the studio with Rico?"
I pulled up the spare chair, the one with the slightly wobbling leg that she'd been asking maintenance to fix for months. In my previous life, she'd sat in this same spot for another three years before the music money finally let her quit. This time would be different.
"Mama, remember how you always said education comes first?" I placed the envelope on her desk, watching it catch the institutional lighting. "Well, I found a way to do both."
She opened the envelope with the careful precision she reserved for important documents, her nursing assistant's ID badge catching the light as she moved. Her eyes scanned the contract's first page, then widened at the number on the second.
"Marcus Anthony Johnson," she whispered, using all three names like she did in moments of deep emotion, "what exactly am I looking at?"
"Atlantic Records, Mama. Full recording and production deal." I paused, letting the weight of it settle. "With guaranteed studio time scheduled around my school hours. Plus..." – I turned to the page I'd memorized – "a development advance that means you don't have to work these double shifts anymore."
The hallway's antiseptic scent mingled with the coffee from her cup – the cheap break room blend she'd been drinking for all these years. A nurse walked past, her shoes squeaking against the polished floor, as my mother processed what this meant.
"Time Keeper's Lament" played faintly from someone's radio down the hall – local station WBLS had already put it into rotation. The lyrics floated through the corridor like ghosts of a future being rewritten:
*When tomorrow calls from yesterday*
*And wisdom speaks through time*
*The choices that we make today*
*Echo through design...*
"But you're seventeen," she said finally, her voice catching. "Just seventeen. The music industry... you know what it does to young talent. Your father—"
"I'm not him," I interrupted, gentle but firm. "And I've got Rico watching my back. Plus..." – I smiled, thinking of the future-gleaned knowledge that armored me – "I know exactly what I'm doing, Mama. Trust me on that."
She studied my face with that penetrating gaze that had always seen through my childhood fibs. But now, even as she searched for doubt or deception, she found only the certainty that came from having lived this life before – though she couldn't know that part.
"There's something different about you lately," she said slowly. "These past few months... sometimes you talk like..."
"Like what?"
"Like someone who's already been where they're going." She shook her head, laughing softly. "Listen to me, sounding foolish. It's just... you've grown up so fast."
If she only knew – twenty years in six months. I reached across the desk and took her hand, feeling the strength that had carried us through my first childhood. "Fast enough to take care of you now. Sign the contract, Mama. Let me do this right."
A moment passed between us, heavy with the weight of years both lived and yet to come. Then she picked up her pen – the good one she saved for important paperwork – and signed where Rico had marked with yellow tabs. Each signature was a step toward the future I remembered, but better, clearer, unburdened by the mistakes of youth.
As we walked out together, her shift finally over, the setting sun painted the hospital windows in shades of promise. My phone buzzed – Rico, probably calling about tomorrow's studio session with the Atlantic producers. But that could wait. Tonight was for family, for the quiet celebration of dreams realized and burdens lifted.
In the parking lot, a car stereo played the closing bars of "Time Keeper's Lament," its melody carrying across the evening air. My mother hummed along unconsciously – she'd clearly heard it more than she'd admitted. The song faded out just as we reached her car, its final notes merging with the city's symphony of hope and ambition.
"You really did it," she said softly, keys jingling in her hand. "My boy really did it."
"No, Mama," I corrected her, thinking of all the sacrifices she'd made in both timelines. "We did it. And this is just the beginning."
The city stretched out before us, its lights beginning to twinkle in the gathering dusk. Somewhere out there, Beyoncé was probably in a studio of her own, our paths drawing closer with each passing day. But that was tomorrow's story. Tonight belonged to the woman who'd believed in me across two lifetimes, who'd carried my dreams until I was strong enough to carry hers.
As we drove home through familiar streets that felt somehow new, I thought about time's curious nature – how the future could echo backward, how love could transcend timelines, and how second chances weren't just about changing what went wrong, but about preserving what had always been right.
new book out
Title: Second Chance: Rise from the Dead
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