Dres

I woke up 2 days ago, a normal day. I'd checked my text messages to see that a friend had sent me a sad face emoji. I had no idea what he was talking about. A few minutes later another friend called me, asking if the rumors were true. I wasn't sure what he was talking about. He said he'd heard that Dres wasn't doing well. I hadn't heard anything. I told him that I'd call Dres to check in and possibly drive by his house later on. My friend thanked me. I called Dres immediately. No answer. I texted him and said "are you okay?" No answer. I logged into Facebook and it smacked me in the face. The first post there was where his DJ had announced that he'd died that morning. I felt like my heart had exploded in my chest.

I had to process. It didn't make sense. Two days later, and it still doesn't. I called him my big brother. I know that he saw me as a little sister. My friend is gone. My big brother. The last time I'd seen him was around mother's day. He'd just gotten out of the hospital, and he'd been out doing favors for people. I reminded him that he was literally draining his life force by doing this, instead of staying at home to rest. I reminded him how much those surgeries take to recover from and that he wasn't doing himself any favors to be out, driving across town to help other people. I wish I'd known just how right I was. We were in a pizza joint in his neighborhood, and he was literally falling asleep at the table. I cautioned him that he was falling asleep and risked the headline "Dres that Beatnik Found Passed Out in Local Pizza Joint." That threat finally convinced him to go home and get some rest.

I first met Dres tha Beatnik at Apache Cafe around 2001 or so. My homegirl, Ayanna, first introduced us. I told him that he seemed familiar. I asked if his government name was Andre, and he said that it was. He said to me "I have a sister named Malika." I later added his sister on Facebook. Like a lot of other people, I'd seen Dres around Atlanta many times over the years. He was a staple at my favorite nightclub, MJQ. Whenever I'd stop in to see my best friend, who worked the door, I'd then go straight to the stage to hug Dres and tell him hello.

I suppose the time was when we first got tight, was around 2010ish. I lived near MJQ and I'd spend many late nights there. At some point, I'd realized that he'd lived nearby and he invited me over. Dres was naturally a night owl, as was I. I'd often go by house during late night hours and we'd talk about life. Relationships, he was dating a woman, and I was with my son's father. My ex often accused me of obviously being up to no good during those late nights, but Dres and I just sat on his back patio and talked. Later on, the woman that Dres was dating also expressed discomfort at my relationship with him and Dres, ever the gentleman, tried hard to balance his relationship with her and my friendship with him. We were just close friends. That was it. It was always funny to me that my own ex would say in a condescending manner "Oh, so you're out with Dres that Beatnik" with an eye roll, while accusing me of doing God-knows-what. I always thought it was hilarious that he would utilize his whole stage name, while everyone else knew him as just Dres. It just showed me how far removed he actually was from the rest of us.

Anyway, as time went on, we just stayed tight. We just were always in one another's space. We really leaned on one another. I was a large part of planning the fundraiser for him earlier, when he first started having issues with his kidney and was leaning towards getting a donor kidney. When I moved back to Atlanta, I learned that the same shitty ex tried to keep my child away from me, which was never the plan. I was sick to my stomach. It was the middle of the night, and I had nowhere to go. I called Dres and slept on his couch that night.

As I got things together, I landed an apartment on the other side of town from my son's school and I'd often be exhausted. Dres gave me a key to his apartment, with an offer to crash and sleep during the day, until my baby got out of class. Those millions of little interactions. It wasn't just nightclub shit.

And now, he's gone. My big brother is gone. My friend. 

I'm in L.A. for a preplanned birthday trip. Sitting in Sip and Sonder, one of my favorite coffee houses in Inglewood. I'm glad, to some degree. But I feel like I should be in Atlanta, in the same streets that he ran in. I went to his mural the day I learned that he was gone. He'd called me one day and said that he'd heard that there was a mural in his honor and he wanted to see it, and asked if I'd take him. We drove up and down that street, until we finally found it. My beautiful friend looked at that mural and wept. Tears flowed as he took in that he was taking in that Atlanta loved him back. And I was so proud and honored to be there with him, as he looked at the huge painting. I don't know if Dres was ever aware of just how much love he had and how much the city would collectively grieve his loss. Because I don't know. I just can't. My friend is gone now. And I'm not okay.