Band On The Run

Son Of A Gun

“I’ve got to go,” I told them apologetically, wiping my mouth with a napkin and bunching it up to toss it in the garbage can. Unsurprisingly I missed and had to walk closer to get it in the can.

Jay was sending me a concerned expression, and said, “You only ate half your eggs.”

“They were amazing,” I assured him, “But I need to be in the studio soon to set up.”

Toby seemed to have no problem with the fact I hadn’t ate my eggs, because he had already taken my plate and was piling them on his.

Pressing a kiss to both of their cheeks, I grabbed my bag and headed across the hallway just to grab my acoustic that was sitting inside the door and then hastening down to the stairs to get to the studio.

It was getting chillier with every day that breached further into fall, making me bundle up slightly with my jeans, long sleeved white shirt that had made me pull on a scarf to hide away my skin which was shown by the v-neck and a leather jacket. Still, this was nothing; I’d spent many winters in New York. It got much colder than this when the days were even shorter and darker.

I stopped on my way to grab a coffee, but that was the only thing, staring around as I made my way straight there. I used to walk these streets, hands stuffed in my pockets without seeing a thing as I began to think of lines in my head or fixing lyrics. When chaos surrounds me, I always found I liked to either be right in the thick of it or find a quiet space, even if it was just in my own head.

Letting out a breath that I was grateful to see didn’t crystalize in the air in front of me quite yet – I was going to desperately miss the summer, drinking beer in the sunshine, festivals, beaches and the sunshine.

Since it was almost noon the studio had been busy with activity for hours, and I had no need to use my key to get through the doors, just shoved it open, careful of my guitar.

The moment I stepped through the doorway, I felt the eyes train on me and my jaw tighten instantly, holding my chin up boldly. Moving through the entrance where people were either lounging about and took the time to stare or having slowed down in order to look at me. It would probably be a disconcerting feeling for everyone else, but I’d grown used to this over the years. It was like second nature.

People pretended to be on your side when you were going through something whether it was a life destroying moment or just a little down time, but they never were. It was that simple. They always were there, but they were there with the hopes that they would get a front view seat of self-destruction or a meltdown.

It was time like these I really wished I hadn’t quite smoking.

Meeting their eyes without any emotion on my part, I pushed through them, trying to get to my studio as quickly as possible without making it seem like I was running. And at the same time I wondered if this was all in my head…

What if no one really gave a shit about what I was doing or what I acted like? That they never watched me for longer than a sidelong glance, and this reaction and suspicion in my head was growing out of nothing more than my own paranoia. I probably wasn’t even relevant anymore, anyways. No one really gave a shit about me, how long had it been since my last album?

I didn’t know what scared me more.

Being important or no longer being relevant.

It made me want to rip out my hair and scream until my voice was gone.

However the moment I was in the stairway, I heard the door close behind me with a snap and I sprinted down into the large basement studio. I thought the moment I was in there, I’d let that scream out, knowing it was soundproof down there.