Wicked

Chapter 9

Faith POV: 

I received a notice earlier this week that Dan Gordon is on leave, due to an unforeseen injury, and our project would need to be postponed. Ironically, Tim's producer messaged me within the hour, offering to meet with me about producing my next album. The reports about Tim getting arrested for a mix up with a Nashville producer only came out yesterday, which made me take pause. I should've known that he was going to take it into his own hands. 

Byron sits with me in the studio, a pen and pad in his lap. I told him I didn't have enough material from demos, so he decided to take todays session to write rather than record. I've never written with him, but he seems exceptionally confident with creating music. When Tim and I were together, I'd sit in on their studio sessions, and it was definitely different than anything I experienced with my producers. He tends to invoke more emotion into the albums than I am usually prepared to do. 

"So, what do you want this album to say?" He asks, although this question is so large and open ended, it's impossible to answer. I haven't really thought about what I want it to say all too much. I guess Breathe was more like a love letter, so I shouldn't do another love letter album. 

"I think I want this to be a heartbreak album... One that explores each end of losing someone." I say, watching him nod. "I want to be more vulnerable with this album. Breathe... I just was focussed more on the mechanics of everything, but on this I want to show more of my soul, I guess." I try to explain, as he smiles. 

"Alright, well then what's on your soul right now?" He asks, pressing his pen against the paper. I sit quietly, unsure what's really running through my head right now. "Faith, I'll tell you right now that I don't make surface level albums. I delve deep. Last time I made a surface level album, it was Tim's first and he nearly was dropped for it. So if you want to work with me you have to be honest and open." He says, as I nod, knowing that's what I want. 

"What's on my soul..." I start, before looking down at the paper on his lap. I pull out a napkin from my purse, which has lyrics scribbled all over it. I hand it over to him, watching him read through my writing. 

When the lights go down, at the end of the day when this game that I play has gone another round... As I lay there alone on this big empty bed, with nothing but thoughts of you in my head.... I think of the things that I wish I had said when you were still around...

He looks up from the writing, seeming to have a gleam in his eye. He nods slowly, reading through them once more. 

"I just... The words kind of just came to me and I couldn't stop thinking of them until I got it down." I say, watching him nod again. 

"I like this." He says, as he starts to smile. "This... this is vulnerable." He says, before copying down the lyrics. "Did you have a melody?" He asks while I shake my head. 

When the lights go down, he'll be fillin' a pan with a broom in his hand in some dive across town. He'll be wiping the bar, moppin' the floor, countin' his tips, lockin' the doors... wrestling the devil that tells him to pour another round... He writes, before handing it to me. He grabs a guitar, strumming a few chords before finding a progression for the chorus. 

"When the lights go down and there's nothing left to be... When the lights go down and the truth is all you see..." I sing along, watching him smile. He hands me the paper, having me write while he strums. "When you feel that hole inside your soul and wonder what you're made of. Well, we all find out, when the lights go down." I continue, as he stops strumming. 

"I like that. What about doing a tag?" He says, as I try to think of the latent words lying in the back of my mind. 

"I wonder if all my life's about the sum of all my fear and all my doubts, when the lights go down" I say, watching him think on the words. 

"What if you swap that in for the end of the second chorus? That'd be a pretty powerful tag." He says, as I nod, trying to imagine what he's thinking. He looks down at the napkin, before picking it up once more and glancing toward me. "What's this on the other side?" He asks, as I shrug. "If your love could be caged, honey I would hold the key and conceal it underneath the pile of lies you handed me. You'd hunt those lies, they'd be all you'd ever find and that'd be all you'd have to know for me to be fine." He reads aloud, before setting down the napkin and looking at me. "This is about Tim too, right?" He asks, as I feel my throat grow tight. I shake my head, looking down at the notebook on my lap. 

"Actually, it's about Scott." I admit, watching him reread the lyrics. For some reason, I feel like he can be enough of a confidant to know this information. I mean, he knew about Tim and I, and he never went to the press about it. He raises his eyebrows, before sighing as he taps his pen on his knee. 

"Faith, I'm sorry if this is a little up front, but why didn't you and Tim work out? I mean, I've seen both of you write songs about the other, and it sounds like whatever you had was pretty powerful." He says, making my chest ache. He writes about me? 

"My dad died when I was ten, and when he died, my mom just..." I let out, feeling my throat grow tight. "She was uncontrollably in love with him, and it tore her apart. I never wanted to love like that. I wanted something... normal." I confess, watching him nod slowly. "Tim just... he wasn't normal, by any means. What we had was a rollercoaster, and I just knew that wasn't what I wanted for myself." I try to word carefully. 

"So, you were too in love with him... that was the issue?" He tries to understand. I stare, before nodding, knowing how terrible it sounds. 

"He writes about me?" I croak out, my curiosity getting the best of me. He laughs, as if that were an insane question. 

"His whole album is about you." He remarks, as I roll my eyes, doubting him. He turns toward his computer, pulling up a file and playing it over the speakers. 

"I remember Sunday mornings walking on the beach and that place we'd stop for breakfast with the old red vinyl seats, the hours of the tide chart, the way the sunlight danced upon your face..." His voice sings, as I feel my doubt fade. "That antique roller coaster you just had to ride. I remember how you laughed at the terror in my eyes. The color and the detail just like it was yesterday..." 

We took a vacation to the East Coast when we were trying to figure out our relationship. We'd wake up and walk down the beach to this tiny dinner facing the water. We'd sit by the windows, watching the sun rise. I remember the red vinyl seats and the rollercoaster on the pier like they are photographed in my mind. 

"And I remember how you held me the night my father died. I didn't have to tell you, I just broke down and cried. You're sewn into the fabric, the pieces of my life and I just can't remember why we said goodbye..." He sings, his voice so raw and emotional on the track. I feel my blood run cold at his words, remembering that night too. 

"Up and down this boardwalk, lonely people sit. I know it wasn't perfect, but nothin' ever is. The sails out in the harbor are searching for the wind... I just had to call you, I had to hear your voice, and tell you I still love you, we still have a choice. You're sewn into the fabric, the pieces of my life, and I just can't remember why we said goodbye..." He called me the day after I left, saying those exact words on my voicemail. I still love you. We still have a choice... I remember melting down in the bathroom of Scott's parents' house, clinging to the phone as I listened to his message. 

"Everything I do leads back to you. I know I just can't let us go... There must have been a reason, but I can't remember now... I know if I could hold you, we could work it out. You're sewn into the fabric, the pieces of my life and girl, let's give it one more try... 'cause I just can't remember why we said goodbye..." He finishes, as I feel a tear slide down my cheek. I wipe it away quickly, before taking a deep breath. 

"Unless he made all of that up, sounds like you guys had a pretty strong thing going on." Byron says, as I rub my forehead, feeling my head ache with the surge of memories.