First Major Performance

The backstage of the Apollo Theater hummed with nervous energy. In my previous life, I'd performed here dozens of times, but never with stakes this high. Record executives from every major label filled the audience, along with radio personalities, journalists, and most importantly, people from my neighborhood. This wasn't just another Amateur Night – this was my moment to announce myself to the industry.

"Five minutes!" called a stagehand, passing by with a clipboard.

Rico appeared at my side, adjusting his tie. "How you feeling, kid?"

"Ready," I said, though my heart was racing. The setlist in my hand was different from my first Apollo performance in the other timeline. Back then, I'd tried too hard to prove myself, packed too many complex lyrics into each bar. This time, I had something better: experience.

From the stage came the voice of the host: "Ladies and gentlemen, you've been hearing his tracks on every station in the city. The prophet of the new sound..."

The roar of the crowd cut off the rest of the introduction. I took a deep breath, remembering what I'd learned across two lifetimes: it's not just what you say, it's how you make them feel.

As I stepped onto that historic stage, the lights seemed brighter than I remembered. The wood beneath my feet held decades of legendary performances. In the front row, I spotted Mom, dressed in her Sunday best, trying to maintain her composure but already nodding to the opening beats Rico was cueing up.

The track began – a new arrangement we'd created specifically for tonight, blending elements from both my radio hits with something fresh. I grabbed the mic:

"Apollo stage beneath my feet

History flowing through these streets

Every step I take's a mirror

Showing futures getting clearer

They say you can't go home again

But home's where all my strength began

Two paths converging into one

Story's ending just begun..."

The crowd caught the energy immediately. Even the label executives were moving. In the balcony, I spotted Jade with our study group, all wearing custom Prophet shirts they'd made themselves.

For the second verse, I switched up the flow, incorporating a style that technically shouldn't exist yet – a rhythm that wouldn't become popular for another five years in my original timeline. But mixed with classic patterns, it felt both familiar and revolutionary:

"Time's a river flowing both ways

Future vision through the haze

Each bar I spit rewrites the page

Past and present on one stage

They call me Prophet, now you see why

Reading tomorrow in today's sky

Every rhyme a prophecy

Building new history..."

The beat dropped out, letting my voice carry the bridge acapella. In my previous life, I'd been too scared to try this move until much later in my career. But now I knew – sometimes the biggest impact comes from the boldest chances.

Rico transitioned perfectly into the next track, a smoother joint that showed another side of my style. I caught Marcus Thompson from Def Jam leaning forward in his seat, while Sarah Chen from the label was already writing notes.

Halfway through the set, I brought out my surprise – a group of kids from the community center talent show, each taking a verse we'd practiced in secret. In my other timeline, I'd waited years before giving back to the community. This time, I was building those bridges from the start.

The final song was my biggest radio hit, but rearranged with live instruments – local musicians Rico had brought in. As I delivered the closing lines, I looked directly at Mom:

"Every dream we ever chased

Every fear we ever faced

Coming full circle at last

Future, present, and the past

They say time heals every wound

But we make tomorrow bloom

Standing here where legends stood

Making history for the hood..."

The applause was deafening. The Apollo's notoriously tough crowd was on their feet. Even the Tree of Hope seemed to glisten a little brighter under the stage lights.

Backstage afterward, the scene was chaos. Label representatives pushed cards into Rico's hands. Local radio DJs wanted to book interviews. But the only reaction I really cared about was Mom's.

She found me in the dressing room, her eyes shining. "Baby," she said softly, "I didn't know... I mean, I heard the records, but this..." She pulled me into a tight hug. "Your father would have been so proud."

That hit me hard. In my previous timeline, she'd never mentioned Dad at my shows. This simple change felt more significant than any record deal.

Rico appeared in the doorway, grinning. "Prophet, man, you're not going to believe the offers coming in. Even the indie labels are trying to restructure their deals."

"Let them wait," I said, still holding Mom. "Family first."

Later that night, after the crowds had dispersed and the excitement had settled, I stood on the Apollo's empty stage. The theater felt different in the quiet – all that history, all those dreams, soaking into the walls.

"Feeling nostalgic already?" Rico asked, organizing contract offers at the edge of the stage.

"Just thinking about what comes next," I replied, remembering both the triumphs and mistakes of my other life. "Everything changes after tonight."

"That's what happens when you make history," he said, not looking up from his papers. "Question is, what kind of history you want to make?"

I smiled, knowing exactly what kind of history I wanted to write this time around. The future was still unfolding, but now it was unfolding on my terms – shaped by the wisdom of one timeline and the hunger of another.