BLACK ROSE

The definite answer

Alex.

The black and white keys all look black. I stare at them as they blend into one dark colour, ignoring the surrounding noises coming from everywhere. I focus on the blank sheet of paper, on my fingers resting on the piano keys. In the corner of my eyes I can see my guitar resting against the piano.

I look up at River tuning his bass and then Ace stuck in the recording booth. He's staring angrily at Mae who's still forcing us to sing. Singing was never a part of the dream I stole. I merely wanted to play and write and produce, not really sing the words to the world.

"Why do you look like you're going to die soon?"

I look at River. "Because it's possible."

First now does it somehow hit me that the words I've put down on the papers, scribbled on them as a form of therapy, will be sung and heard by people. By strangers not knowing our stories only hearing snippets of them. Emotions of anger, highlights of happy moments, broken hearts in the process of healing, moving on... all those things will be witnessed and heard by the world. In the process of accepting this decision, I pushed away my other fears.

We could pursue a new direction for our career – make covers for the rest of our lives. It's a tempting suggestion, but I know Mae and River would kill me if I suggested it.

"How's the song going?" I ask him. My dad suggested he and Mae tried song writing too. Besides considering it a perfect form of therapy, he sees it as a good marketing strategy – a way to cover more topics and attract more listeners.

River shrugs. "Very slowly. It's not my thing."

"Have you even started?"

He furrows his eyebrows. "I deleted everything I had, but yes. I think I'll just leave the writing up to you and Ace."

"You heard my dad," I say. "He's a professional. And if I remember right, it was you who said we'd listen to professionals."

He shakes his head. "I never should have said it." I laugh at his defeat. "I'll stick to the bass, and we'll see overtime."

I look at Ace stuck in the recording booth, thinking how he used to talk about this as a kid. I remember his constant rambling about how wonderful it would be to sell out arenas and sit behind a huge drum kit. I know he's slowly healing his inner child, that broken childhood dream. He's always had a spark in his eyes, even after all these years. And though people say it's bright, it used to be brighter. He lost a crucial element of his spark, something I blame myself for. During these past days the spark has slowly been returning. Step by step, it's making its way back.

"You know what," I turn back to River. "Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea."

"Are you....."

"No, all I'm saying is that Ace and Mae seem... happier, finally satisfied. And so do you." He doesn't say anything for dreadfully long seconds. "You know I'm right." I mock him. "I'm never wrong."

"Oh, I could name numerous occasions when you were wrong. Let's see..."

"It's not necessary."

"....oh it is. Parker's last birthday, for instance, when Ray and you...."

"Alright, I get it." He laughs at me. "That was once."

A slow nod with a smile on his face. "Yeah, what about the first time you came back from AJ's, claiming Summer was his..."

"Oh, she surely is." He raises his eyebrows. "My theory is correct." He raises his eyebrows even higher. "At least partly."

Ace comes back from the recording booth. He drops down on the couch next to River, shaking his head. "She's so strict. Unbelievably strict and..."