The ascent was brutal. Aubrey was wedged into a middle seat in coach, the cabin air smelling like ozone and bad coffee. He pulled out a yellow legal pad, his hands still trembling slightly from the adrenaline of the morning.
He looked out the window as the CN Tower became a needle in the distance, then disappeared under a blanket of grey clouds. He felt a profound sense of isolation. To the girl he just left, he was a traitor. To the rappers in Toronto, he was a soft TV kid. To Lil Wayne, he was a question mark.
He began to write, his pen flying across the paper. He didn't write about money—he didn't have any. He wrote about the girls. He started a list in the back of the notebook, titled: "A Toast to All the Girls I've Slept With."
Kiki - Toronto. The one who wanted me to stay small.
Courtney - The one who told me I couldn't sing.
Jade - The one who never texted back until I got the TV check.
He realized his entire drive was fueled by the women who didn't believe in him and the ones he was about to lose to the fame. By the time the pilot announced the descent into Houston, the legal pad was half-full of lyrics that would eventually become So Far Gone.
When the doors opened at Bush Intercontinental Airport, the humidity hit him like a physical blow. It was 90 degrees with 100% humidity—a thick, wet heat that made his Toronto layers feel like a lead suit.
"Aubrey?"
A man stood by a black Cadillac Escalade, wearing oversized sunglasses and a diamond-encrusted chain that cost more than Aubrey's entire life. It was Jas Prince.
"Yeah," Aubrey said, trying to find his "rapper" voice. "I'm Aubrey."
Jas sized him up, looking at his dusty sneakers and his tired eyes. "You look like you've been through it, man. Throw your bags in. We're heading straight to the studio, but Wayne is having a 'session' at a spot first."
As the SUV peeled away, the speakers were thumping a slow, chopped-and-screwed Houston beat. Aubrey looked out at the palm trees and the massive, sprawling highways of Texas. Everything was bigger. Everything was louder.
"Who's at the 'spot'?" Aubrey asked.
"Wayne, the whole Young Money crew, and about fifty of the baddest women in the South," Jas grinned. "Welcome to the real world, kid. Hope you can keep up."
Aubrey leaned back into the leather seat. He felt the weight of his notebook in his lap. He was thousands of miles from that basement, and for the first time, he felt like the "Drake" he had been imagining was finally starting to breathe.