Hazelbaker 1

Nick Hazelbaker

Descriptive Essay

10/24/17

The Ballad of Christopher Wallace

I was sitting in the economy class of a Delta flight to the British Virgin Islands. I

remember the scratchy seats and the awful fluorescent lighting. The low hum of the jet engines

filled the air as I pinched my nose and breathed as hard as I could to depressurize. I had

headphones in my ears and the volume on my iPod turned all the way up. I dazed off with my

head leaning on the window. I had to have the window seat when I was that age. My brother

then suddenly leaned over and gave a violent tap on my shoulder, forcing me to depart from my

dream world. He handed me one of his earphones, changing my life forever.

Today, I look back on this moment as the most pivotal stretch of time in my life. The next

four and a half minutes would be the cause of my love for music. My eyes widened with wonder

and fear. I did not know that my brother, who is five years older than me, was about to have a

hand in my 8 year old epiphany. I shook off my headphones, and slowly reached out for his

earphones. I can still feel the cold plastic touching my hands, sending shivers down my spine. I

inquired, “Who is it?” He let out a cynical chuckle and replied, “You will see.” I cautiously

brought the the earphone to its rightful place. My brother then proceeded to move his thumb in

what seemed like slow motion over the triangle on his iPod. Then, he pressed play.

All of a sudden, a symphony of string and piano keys filled my ears, as a woman began to

give a monologue over it all. Her final words are still trapped in my head today, like Odysseus
 Hazelbaker 2

on Ogygia. Her soft voice, is as comforting as a silk robe, reminding me, “The sky's the limit.”

Then, the man that I now credit with my love for music hops on the mic as the beat switches up.

He welcomes himself to the stage, as an audience applauds him, excited to hear what this poet

has to say, and from the first line, I was hopelessly addicted to the Notorious B.I.G.

I could not believe the melody being produced from my brother’s iPod. It was some sort

of dark magic that drew me in and would never let me leave. The plane turned from being a

cold, dark, depressing object transporting pitiful beings from one realm of purgatory to another. Commented [1]: really good sentence

It became the place where Biggie reached out and grabbed me, pulling me into his music forever.

I could feel his words wrap around me like Kaa in the Jungle Book, deceiving me with every

syllable he emphasized, but I could not resist. My elementary innocence could not match the

raw brutality of the streets of Brooklyn. I felt as if I were there with him.

When the rhapsody ended, my mouth hung open for what seemed like an eternity. I

wished it had never concluded. I turned and faced mi hermano. I wanted to thank him for

enlightening me, but I was speechless. He laughed and said, “Do you want to know the craziest

thing about that song?” I just nodded my head, still in shock from the nuclear explosion that just

took place in my ears. He continued, “He died before that song was released.” I could not

believe it. I did not want to believe it. At age eight, I had just found the person who would be

my inspiration had died over ten years ago. How was I going to move on? After that day, The

Notorious B.I.G. has been the reason for any success I have had in life. I owe everything to him. Commented [2]: Okay - You had me up to here. How
does this logically follow?
Rest in peace Biggie. 88%