Andrew Godefroy
The Summer of Wu
It was the summer of 1997, and I was bouncing with anticipation. Wu-Tang was finally dropping their second group album, and it was a double CD. Enter the Wu-Tang (36 chambers) was still on constant repeat in my Discman. Every day, I hit up Sam Goody and checked the latest releases. I spent hours listening to the discs at the sample station. Dope beats and raw lyrics but nothing that really made me feel bad for not buying. Then the poster appeared on the wall: Wu-Tang Forever. That changed my mindset. I needed that disc. I couldn’t just be happy listening in the store. It would be my summer soundtrack. But June 3rd was coming up quickly and I had zero dollars.
“Dad, can I have 30 dollars to buy a rap CD?”
“No.”
That was every conversation I had about getting the money to buy the gem. I had hope and put “C.R.E.A.M.” on repeat. The beats and rhymes echoed through my soul, letting me know that the music would provide if I just kept my eyes and ears open.
Then as I was riding the bus down Rainier Avenue, I saw a sign: “CASH for plasma!”
The music had manifested my opportunity. I jumped off the bus and jogged to the building. It was a beat-up old wooden space wedged between a liquor store and a gas station. Standing around were dozens of guys in dirty clothes. About half sipped from brown paper bags.
I passed them all and headed into the building. The place was packed. There were about 12 machines all busily rotating blood out of people’s arms, and the clientele inside looked a lot like those standing around outside.
“Sir, if you would like to sell your plasma you have to come over here and fill out some paperwork.”
I walked over and took the three-page form and started checking boxes, mostly asking about drug use and unprotected sex. After ten minutes of saying no to risky behaviors, it was my turn to sit in the chair.
I admit it was slightly terrifying and did not feel safe at all. As they stuck me in the machine, I pictured the previous occupant and wondered how many people lied on the forms. Did they clean the machine? What was I getting myself into? The worst part was I had all those same concerns for the next two hours. I watched new, even more questionable people, enter and sit down next to me.
The only reason I stayed sane was the yellow Discman playing a mix CD of the best Wu solo albums. I bobbed my head and pretended I wasn’t making a really bad decision. Each song meant I was three minutes closer to being done and at some point, my worries melted away, swayed by the beats and rhymes. I think it was when my favorite intro from Liquid Swords started that I let the real world fade away. I loved that intro so much, I made it the message on my pager. Of course, as soon as the intro faded, the beat dropped and that raw RZA sound opened up the soul.
Looking back, I wonder if I rapped along or was silently moving to the music. Whichever it was, when they shook me to let me know I was done, a lot of people were giving me side eye and acting like I was the crazy one in the plasma spot. I didn’t care though. I floated on the euphoria of knowing I had the money to finally get more Wu in my life.
Andy Godefroy is the founder and curator of the Mostly Monthly Reading Series in partnership with the James & Abigail Campbell Library. In addition to organizing the events, he also continues to write short fiction and creative non-fiction. He has been a lecturer at the University of Hawaii at West Oahu specializing in first-year composition since 2012. When he isn’t teaching, he coaches, referees, and plays soccer.
