Radio Play

Three AM on a Tuesday, and I was wide awake, huddled over a battered boombox in Rico's basement. Marcus had promised to play our track tonight – my first legitimate radio play in this timeline. Rico sat beside me, pretending to work on paperwork but just as anxious as I was.

"Coming up next, something special for y'all night owls," Marcus's smooth voice crackled through the speakers. "New heat from the streets of the Bronx. Remember where you heard it first."

The familiar opening beats filled the room, and I held my breath. It sounded different on radio – compressed, but somehow bigger. The frequencies we'd carefully crafted at Platinum Sound had survived the broadcast, the bass still punching through clear and strong.

"Time is like a circle that keeps spinning back..."

Rico's phone started ringing almost immediately. He picked up, listening more than talking, just nodding and saying "uh-huh" occasionally. I could guess what was happening – in my previous timeline, that first radio play had generated similar buzz. People wanted to know who this new sound belonged to.

The track faded out, and Marcus came back on. "That's 'Future Vision' by The Prophet. Remember that name, family. Now, if you're feeling what you just heard, we've got a special treat. Prophet himself is here in the studio..."

I sat up straight. This wasn't part of the plan. Rico grinned at my confusion and pointed to a small tape recorder on his desk. The interview had been pre-recorded earlier that day – another piece of Rico's strategy I hadn't known about.

"So Prophet," Marcus's recorded voice continued, "tell the people what inspired this track."

My recorded voice responded with the careful mix of confidence and humility we'd rehearsed: "It's about seeing beyond the moment, you know? Everyone's so caught up in what's happening right now, they forget to look ahead. But also remembering where you came from. Can't build a future if you don't understand your past."

The irony of those words wasn't lost on me. Every line was layered with my unique situation – having lived a future I was now trying to rebuild differently.

Over the next hour, the phone kept ringing. Other DJs wanting copies of the track. Club promoters asking about bookings. Rico handled each call with practiced ease, neither too eager nor too dismissive. "Let me check the schedule," he'd say, or "We'll have to get back to you on that."

The next night, DJ Kane played the track during his prime-time slot on WBLS. By the weekend, it was in regular rotation on three stations. Rico's street team reported that bootleg tapes were already circulating in schoolyards and basketball courts across the borough.

"Time to step it up," Rico announced one morning, dropping a stack of papers on his desk. "We've got interview requests from three radio stations, two magazines, and a cable access show. Plus, Hot 97 wants to add the track to their playlist."

Hot 97. In my previous timeline, they hadn't picked up my music until much later. Things were moving faster this time around, partly due to Rico's more organized approach, partly due to my more polished sound. But speed brought its own dangers.

"We need another track," I said. "Can't let them think we're one-hit wonders."

Rico nodded. "Already booked studio time for next week. But first, you've got something else to handle."

He slid a report card across the desk – my latest grades. The improvement was clear: B+ in algebra, As in everything else. Mom's conditions had been non-negotiable, and in this timeline, I was determined to keep both my education and my music on track.

The next few weeks became a blur of radio interviews, studio sessions, and homework. The follow-up track came together quickly:

"They call me spiritual, lyrical miracle worker

But truth is deeper than any verse or chorus

Building bridges between now and later

Every rhyme I write becomes greater

Started from the bottom but I'm seeing the top

Knowledge from the future that I just can't drop..."

The new song built on the momentum of "Future Vision" while pushing the sound forward slightly. Not too far – I knew better than to get too ahead of the current musical landscape. But enough to keep people talking, wondering what would come next.

One evening, as I was leaving another radio interview, I overheard two DJs talking in the hallway. "Kid's got something different," one said. "Like he knows where the music's heading before it gets there."

If they only knew.

The real test came when Mom heard the track on her way to work. She called me between her shifts, her voice a mix of pride and lingering concern. "Mrs. Johnson from church said she heard you on the radio. Said her kids are playing your tape non-stop."

"Are you still worried?" I asked.

There was a long pause. "I'm your mother. I'll always worry. But... you're handling it better than I expected. Just don't let all this attention go to your head."

That night, Rico and I sat in his basement, plotting our next moves. The radio play had exceeded our expectations, but we both knew this was just the beginning. In my previous timeline, I'd rushed forward at this point, eager to grab every opportunity. This time, we were being more selective, building a stronger foundation.

"Labels are starting to call," Rico said, reviewing his notes. "Not just Epic. Word's getting around."

I nodded, thinking of the complex industry politics I remembered from my other life. "We need to be careful who we sign with. It's not just about the money."

Rico gave me one of his searching looks – the kind that made me wonder if he sometimes suspected there was more to my industry knowledge than I let on. But he just nodded. "One step at a time, kid. One step at a time."

Outside, through the basement window, we could hear a car passing by, my track booming from its speakers. The sound of the future, arriving right on schedule, but this time on our terms.