Lest I Forget

Falling While Standing Up

Today is a day of good impressions, Mitch thought, smoothing out the wrinkles on his favorite black long-sleeve printed shirt. He'd always imagined that if he made it big, this would be one of his tour shirts. It made him feel powerful and irrevocably sexy. When paired with some black skinny jeans and some studded black boots he felt like a Goth girl. The moment he puts on his big, beige sunglasses, his entire persona changes. He's not Mitch, the server from the little café who relies on the generosity of people's tips to get him through his life. He's Mitch, the confident musician, who is ready to tear down walls and possibly, well, maybe get a boyfriend in the process.

Something really struck Mitch about Scott. He couldn't quite pinpoint it to be honest, but he just knew. Mitch wouldn't deny that he truly didn't get along with many people right off the bat. He was a fine mixture of an intro- and an extrovert: very introverted until he truly knew somebody, but a complete extrovert in the group. If you wanted opinions, Mitch would be willing to spill his two cents and then some. If you needed ideas for a song he would jump right in and be a part of the bigger picture. It was just a rough step to getting there. With Scott he felt like he skipped a step, which couldn't have excited him any more than usual. But today, with his confident outfit on and eagerness to get into the studio and record, and maybe even flirt a little with Scott, he was ready. He didn't even care if Scott wasn't gay, which he hadn't completely figured out yet. To Mitch it didn't matter. Something about the personality of the bubbly Ott-Sco struck a pleasant chord.

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Mitch waved at the busy bee, Fia, who appeared to be arguing with someone on the phone. She had both of her hands ruffling her hair up a bit as she shook her head with frustration. She looked up when the door made a gentle dinging noise, indicating someone had come into the lobby. Her eyes lit up slightly when her eyes met with his and she rolled hers and pointed to her headset. Mitch shrugged apologetically and pointed down the dreaded Alicia hallway and gently waved at her. She nodded in agreement and Mitch began heading down the hallway. Before he'd gotten too far down a lightbulb turned on in her head and she panicked and stumbled out of her chair, around her desk, and down the hallway, still conversing with the person on the phone. She swatted at the wall to get Mitch's attention, and he snapped his head around, looking at her with much confusion. She waved her arms around her head and immediately began doing charades, touching her head, showing off her hair color, and raising her arms above her head, all whilst arguing with a Mrs. Robinson on the phone about how this was not the correct number, but Fia was all too nice to hang up on her.

"What?" Mitch held his hands out and spoke with a loud whisper and shook his head. "Are we playing Charades? Um... head ceiling? Ceiling fan. Fan? No. Light fixture? You need to sneeze? ELEPHANT! OH! You're high!"

Fia smacked her forehead. "NO, Mrs. Robinson!" She shook her head and admitted defeat. She shook her hand at Mitch and tapped her wrist and pointed to Mitch.

"You'll tell me later?" Fia nodded profusely and grumpily crossed her arms and walked back to her desk. Mitch chuckled and found a room across from the lounge and put his bag on the top of the piano. He pulled out a binder with some songs and another little spiral full of blank sheet music and sat up his station to get some work accomplished. It was such a nice feel to get to practice and do things up in the studio as opposed to home. He didn't feel as inspired when he was at home than if he were out and feeling important in a large record label building, surrounded by photos of famous artists all over the wall.

Mitch lined his fingers up against a D major chord and he contemplated on which song to start with when he heard a familiar male voice singing a very loud and tight riff down the hall, followed by laughter. He left his room and followed the voice down the hall and found Scott sitting at the piano, writing a few notes onto a paper and humming out loud to himself the same riff he sang moments ago. Mitch leaned against the door frame and put a hand on his hip and listened. The boy in the black leather jacket with a grey hood draped over his head began playing the chords.