Lest I Forget

No One Mourns the Wicked (in a Hot Air Balloon)

Mitch sat down in one of the chairs in the booth, looking onward towards the smaller room in front of him. The room was dimmed, a microphone sitting in the middle with a music stand in front of it, headphones placed on their own stand next to it. This room was smaller than most, so there was only a Yamaha keyboard, but it was enough for Mitch to do what he needed to do. He was slightly nervous that Scott would be hearing him play, but at the same time he knew that Scott had heard him play before. Why was this any different?

Oh, right. Scott technically hasn't heard him play before.

Scott watched as Mitch traced his hands along the mixing board, admiring all of the buttons. He'd learned how everything worked in here, and wanted to be able to do this someday as well as record his own music. He figured that, while in his prime, he would just be a recording artist and save the actual production for later... but it didn't hurt to know how to do it now.

"Mitch?" Scott noticed Mitch's hesitance. He put his hand on Mitch's shoulder "What's wrong?"

"Oh! Nothing." Mitch laughed nervously. "I just... I've never been up here before. I've never recorded, let alone been in an actual recording room, with the exception of my tour yest-err, this morning."

"Well, why don't we test it out? Get in there. I know how to work this a little bit. I doubt you'll need much tweaking anyway."

"You've never even heard me play before, though."

"I don't have to hear you to know you're amazing at what you do, Mitch." Scott gave Mitch a soft smile. Mitch nodded and set his bag down, pulling out his iPad. He opened it up to the piece he wanted to work on today. He figured he'd play it along with the keyboard, capturing his vocals, and later play it on a grand piano to capture its raw emotion. Doing it this way would allow him some expressive give and take with his voice.

He set himself up at the keyboard and moved the microphone to where he could still read his music on the iPad, and set his fingers on the cold keys and took in a breath. He glanced at his blonde friend who gave him the most reassuring thumbs up, simultaneously nodding at him in approval. And so Scott sat and listened to Mitch pour his heart and soul into the microphone, onto the keys, filling the room to the brim.

"Turn the light off before you leave.
Close the door and give me peace.
Use your photographic memory,
Because that's all you'll have of me.

"The fire is burning harder than before.
Last year's rumors became this year's discourse.
I'm learning how to breathe without you
I'm learning how to see without you.

"I can't expect any more of you
When all you say never aligns with what you do.
It's an ancient story to leave behind
I'm breathing now, can't be confined.

"Turn the light off before you leave.
Close the door and give me peace.
Use your photographic memory,
Because that's all you'll have of me.

"I was drowning in an endless fire
The waves crashing down on my desires
The heat making it hard for me to breathe.
Take a picture 'cause it'll last longer.
I cried for you but you kept beating harder.
The lights are on and now I can finally see.

"I'm learning how to breathe without you
I'm learning how to see without you.

"Turn the light off before you leave.
Close the door and give me peace.
Use your photographic memory,
Because that's all you'll have of me."

Mitch sung these words, but it almost felt like he was speaking them. Each single word flew out of his mouth so fluidly that his listener from a distance felt like he was hearing a story rather than a song... but there was no difference there. Scott was trapped in the reverie emitted from Mitch's soul, almost forgetting for a moment that he was actually changing levels. He held his breath as if it could be captured on the recording, and he gazed up at Mitch who sat there, suddenly remembering he was recording his song as opposed to just performing it for fun. He pulled his headphones off and turned around, looking at Scott, who had the goofiest look on his face.