RYDER

“Thank you,” I said to my driver as I pushed the door open. “Have a great rest of your day.”

The moment my feet touched the concrete of the sidewalk, I inhaled a valiant breath. My chauffeur, who picked me up from the airport, dropped me off in front of the building that housed my condo.

Mine and my best friend Kelli’s condo.

I sighed.

I was back in Rose Hill, New York. Again. Always back in Rose Hill when things didn’t go as planned.

But things went as planned this time.

I’d just completed a five-city tour around the country to promote the music reality show I was a contestant on and that was airing in a few months. One Mic. When I got the call to be a contestant on the show, I jumped at the chance. I was sure I was going to win when I got the call. But the moment I arrived in the penthouse, I would share with the five other people, and I met Lucky, one contestant. My plans changed big time.

I anchored my head to peer up at the building. Squinting my eyes, I visually climbed the stories, searching for our window to see if the lights were on.

It was late afternoon, an hour away from evening. Autumn had officially started a week prior, so the season was slowly catching up to the change.

Soon the leaves on the trees would turn a gorgeous orange, yellow, and brown that gave Rose Hill its signature allure of autumn.

Rose Hill.

I had a love/hate relationship with this town.

“Ryder?” I heard behind me.

I repositioned the strap of my travel bag over my shoulder and turned to the voice.

The young man, who looked to be in his late teens, pressed the front end of his fist to his mouth and smiled big. “It is you!” He extended his fist, knuckles facing in my direction, for me to bump. “I’m Josiah and I’m a huge fan, man. What’s up?”

I smiled big, meeting his fist with a dap. “What’s up, Josiah?”

“Man, I can’t believe…” His hands were to his mouth when he shook his head, my guess, to get himself together. “People always say you come back to Rose Hill all the time, but I swear it always feels like I be missing you.”

He had an eclectic style at first glance. A tiny, curly afro, short-sleeved graphic tee, and jeans that were ripped at the knees. Rings on every finger and tattoos down one arm.

He reminded me of me except now, I wore braids and had far more tattoos at his age.

“I’m an artist.” He pressed his hand to his chest. “I sing and rap.”

I nodded. “Dope.”

“I’m not gonna sing or nothing right now because I’m not trying to be that guy.”

I chuckled.

“But can I ask you for advice or something?”

“Yeah, for sure.” I nodded again. “What’s up? What do you want to ask?”

He pressed his hands to his head and laughed nervously to himself, and I couldn’t help but chuckle a little myself.

His enthusiasm was refreshing. Being in the music business for as long as I’ve been in it and with the people I encountered in the business, enthusiasm was a bit of a lost art.

“Aight, ummm…” He hit his fists together. “I’m trying to break into the business. I write songs or whatever, but they’re nowhere on your level.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re on your own level, Josiah,” I said. “Go on though.”

“Do you have any advice, or can you tell me what I should do to break in and get my name out there?”

Any other person would give Josiah the steps that would likely involve telling him to do shows, send demos, and continue to build his platform, but he already seemed to have done all that and was still where he was. Here. Asking me for advice.

“Never fall out of love with music.”

His brows furrowed.

“See, I can tell you’ve been doing the work.” I nodded. “Without you telling me anything, I’m sure you know the address to all the major record labels, and you have sent your demo in that manila envelope with your headshot, contact information, and probably details about the next place you plan to perform live.”

He laughed.

“Am I right?”

Josiah nodded. “You’re right.”

“Oh my God,” a young woman said amongst her group of friends. “That’s Ryder.”

“Hey Ryder,” another young woman from the group said with a wave.

I smiled. “Hey, ladies.”

They all giggled in response.

Josiah smiled too, his eyes following the group of young women as they walked off.

I couldn’t help but grin at it all. “Love that too, Josiah.”

He refocused on me. “Huh?”

“Love the attention, the music, the drive, love all of it,” I clarified. “Whatever and however far you go as an artist, you should always hang on to the innocence of your love for music, the art, because once it’s gone, it’s gone forever. And you don’t want it to go, because the love is going to make you stick with it, even when you don’t get that call back. Your love for it is going to get you up every day to get back into the studio even when your imposter syndrome is raging its ugly ass head. Maintain that love, nurture a positive outlook, and keep moving toward your goal, and my man.” I tapped his chest. “You’ll be on your way. Here, take my number. Call me when you have your next show, and I’ll be there.”

His eyes grew wide. “What? For real?!”

I nodded. “For real.”

After exchanging phone numbers with Josiah and seeing him off, I stepped into my condo’s building and onto the elevator, arriving on my floor shortly after.

This condo has been my home for close to a decade, even though I can count on my hands the number of times I’ve actually slept here.

I got it to have a place to stay whenever I returned to Rose Hill. Wanting to have a different place other than my childhood bedroom in my parents’ home a few miles away, the condo was perfect. It was in the heart of Rose Hill with the perfect view of downtown.

A view I saw the moment I pushed opened the condo’s front door.

My eyes met the exposed brick wall in our living and dining area.

The place was spotless, like always, thanks to my roommate Kelli.

When I purchased the condo, I didn’t do so with Kelli in mind. It had two bedrooms, yes, but my second bedroom was simply a place to make music. But that all changed after Kelli and her boyfriend broke up in the most dramatic of ways that ended with him putting her out of the apartment they shared just so he could move another girl in.

She thought about returning to her parents’ home, but I refused to let her do it. Much like my parents, Kelli’s mom and dad wanted her to follow the same path they did. College after high school and buying a home on the quieter side of Rose Hill by the age of 30. But like me, Kelli was a creative. A creative with so much love in her heart, it busted through her and shined in places she touched, even when she wasn’t there.

Like now, in the condo, where she wasn’t at that moment, the personal touches she added to the space were like her, leaving a little sparkle wherever she walked.

Hand-stitched throw pillows decorated our couch. A low wooden coffee table crafted by Kelli held a few of my subscription music magazines.

The art she painted and framed adorned the walls beside my framed posters of iconic musicians and album covers.

She maintained my space while adding a little of herself here and there, and it made the condo somewhere cozy to return to.

Because… did I want to be back in Rose Hill?

No.

Rose Hill was a great town. It was my hometown, as this was where I was born and bred. I experienced all of my firsts in this city, but it just wasn’t a place I enjoyed coming back to.

Every time I returned to Rose Hill, it was to figure out what I was going to do next.

When I moved to L.A. to be a songwriter but decided a music deal was what I really wanted, I figured that out back home in Rose Hill.

When I got the call to join One Mic, it was when I was back here in Rose Hill after spending time in Miami and feeling unfulfilled.

Every time things didn’t work out somewhere, Rose Hill was always here. To welcome me back with opened arms and to treat me like I never left.

And a part of me felt bad for wanting more than a life in Rose Hill, but shit, I did.

I pulled my bag off my shoulder and dropped it to the floor.

Stepped out of my sneakers and approached the couch, dropping myself onto it once I was close.

I was back home again with no plan and all the time in the world to think of a new one.

But this time, felt a little different.

And not in a good way.