The Unexpected Encounter (An Eminem Fan Fiction)

Chapter 47: Rabbit Run

"You alright?" Marshall asked, looking at me a little concerned now. 

I slowly nodded my head. "This..."

"You know this place?"

I looked at him with glistening eyes. "Are we... at Saint Andrew's Hall?"

Marshall looked relieved, grinning also that I knew where we were; almost. "Close. We're under it, right downstairs. This place is called The Shelter."

"You did your rap battles and performed live here," I said in awe. "8 Mile,everything."

Marshall nodded his head. "This place really takes me back," Marshall reminisced, noting the underground room around him next.

I let out a laugh. "I see why you wanted this to be a surprise. I can't get over it," I said, gazing at everything. What I saw was a low-rise stage to the side of me, empty tables with booths lining up the edges of the place, and just an empty floor area in front of me where a crowd would be. I took a few steps forward, looking around me more. The setting, the place here—it was the exact location Marshall did his battles, especially from 8 Mile. It was incredible. I was really here.

I turned around, looking back at the stage behind me. I noticed red curtains lining up the back of it as well as a black, felt sign which said "The Shelter" as well as its logo included on it. Also, speakers and music systems off to the sides. "Neat, huh?" I heard Marshall say to me.

He surprised me. I was in my own little world for a while there. I turned to look at him, smiling. "I can't believe I didn't come here earlier by myself. This place didn't even cross my mind."

"You're welcome," he told me.

Without another word, from the adrenaline I'd been feeling, I ran and hopped up on the stage. I took a look at everything in front of me again, in a different perspective of course. I pictured how it would be if I were a rapper, a singer even—if there was a live audience in front of me; and if they cheered, if they were fans—what Marshall faced going through everything himself. I turned my head, looking to see that Marshall had joined me up on stage now. He was standing beside me, but still a bit away. He was looking at me strangely.

Turning my gaze from him to the front of me, I closed my eyes, in my own imagination for a few seconds. I opened my eyes. I brought my hand up to me, like I was holding an invisible microphone. I pictured a roaring crowd under me. I began to sing, arm movements joining along as they rose up and down:

"Now everybody from the 313, put your motherfucking hands up and follow me."

I noticed Marshall from the corner of my eye just standing there as he watched me, gaping. I looked back at him now, smirking, as I continued speaking into the mic, directing my next lines toward him:

"Now, while he stands tough, notice that this man did not have his hands up!"

I pointed Marshall out, quite noticeably, in an exaggerated way. Seeing Marshall's face right then made it impossible for me to keep my composure. I went into the hugest laughing fit.

"Yo," Marshall interrupted, gathering himself. "You can't say that shit. You ain't from the 313."

I chuckled. "You still didn't have your hands up."

He groaned, crossing his arms. He then said more words. "Go on."

That surprised me. "Huh?"

He grinned. "Sing more. The crowd's going wild for you," he commented.

Letting out a laugh, I turned back to the imaginary crowd in front of me. Since, admittedly, I didn't have the entire final rap battle from the movie memorized, I decided to sing something else. "Yo," I introduced. I cleared my throat and began:

"His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy/There's vomit on his sweater already, Mom's spaghetti."

I stopped to look over at Marshall to catch his face smiling at me in approval. It made me feel lighthearted on the inside. He nodded at me to continue; I did so:

"He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready/To drop bombs, but he keep on forgetting/What he wrote down, the whole crowd goes so loud/He opens his mouth, but the words won't come out/He's choking how, everybody's joking now/The clock's run out, times up, over, blaow—"

Before I could go on, Marshall skipped over to where he had now been in front of me, bringing his own closed hand up to his mouth, speaking into his fake microphone. He covered the rest of the first verse himself:

"Snap back to reality/Oh, there goes gravity/Oh, there goes Rabbit, he choked/He's so mad but he won't/Give up that easy, no, he won't have it/He knows, his whole back's to these ropes/It don't matter he's dope/He knows that but he's broke/He's so stagnant he knows/When he goes back to his mobile home, that's when it's/Back to the lab again, yo/This whole rhapsody/He better go capture this moment and hope it don't pass him."

Not knowing what to do, I just stood there clapping for him, yet in astonishment. I saw Marshall smirking in full pride at me. I couldn't blame him; it was very impressive seeing the artist, the king go himself.

I brought my mic up to me, speaking next, faking to be angry since he'd interrupted me. "Ayo, who the fuck passed you the mic, and said that you can flow? Point him out, man, I wanna know," I yelled, jokingly.

Marshall cracked up almost instantly at my reference. "Thought you needed a backup," he shrugged, answering.

"Sure," I let more laughs out. Marshall just ignored me then, moving to go at more rhymes himself into his nonexistent mic. He was rapping little gibberish things at the empty floor before him, revisiting his past and reliving some things, shooting freestyles and rhymes off the top of his head. Smiling deeply, I joined him, singing more of his songs that I knew, impressing him some. He joined in with me as well, us just going at it to our heart's content.

After a while of fooling around doing this, we got stopped by someone. I recognized the voice and matched it to the man standing across the room which, in fact, had indeed been the security guard from earlier. He let us know that we both sounded great but it's time for us to for management to start preparing for the show that was going on live that night.

Marshall nodded at him, waving at me to go and make our way out. Marshall thanked the security man for allowing us in, shaking his hand as we made our way up the stairs. The man responded by saying it was no problem; that it was a pleasure for Marshall to drop by and bring a "lady friend" along. Oh, Jesus. Once we reached the top, back at the main floor of Saint Andrew's, we thanked him for the last time.

Soon, we made our way out, exiting this magnificent place through the back door.