Lonely People

Then You Can Start, To Make Things Better

Forgiving and understanding, as I have learned, are two very different things that go hand in hand. The first step in truly forgiving someone is to understand them. I understood what Molly was going through better than anyone else. I had already begun to forgive her long before I ever left the flat.

It would take a fair bit of time to really and truly forgive Molly. Her words still cut deeper than a knife, sometimes I could still hear them, but I knew to ignore it. She was here, with me, and she was smiling for the first time in what felt like years. She had left the rollercoaster of grief and began to come to terms with the world without her mother.

She was smiling, but she wasn't the Molly I knew. She moved a bit more abruptly, like she was anticipating the next ten steps and couldn't wait to get there. Every so often, she would fall into a depressive streak and not talk for hours. It was like a mountain; she would have a period of up hill climbing, ending at the peak where she was bouncy and agitated, only to fall down the other side into a depression. 

The doorbell rang, making me look up from my notepad. I could hear the sounds of the shower running and the cars driving past, but that was it. Molly used to sing in the shower. It used to annoy me, but now I long for anything beyond this impenetrable silence. 

"Georgie, I didn't expect to see you here," I said as soon as I opened the door.

"I should be the one saying that," George replied, "Thought you'd be at Paul's. Last time I saw you, you were a state. Move on already?"

I shrugged, "Turns out, I'm dating a nutter."

"I could have told you that."

I threw back my head and laughed. It was the first genuine laugh I'd produced in a while. George smiled a bit, "Glad you're happy. It's not right when you're moping around."

"Thanks, Georgie," I grinned, "Come on, then, there's no use in standing in the hall."

I stepped aside and let him in. He walked in and flopped on the couch just like it was his own home. I sat down next to him and grabbed my notepad once again.

"What're you writing?" he asked.

"Editing a song," I replied, "We've got a fortnight to finish this album."

"First one with Linda, yeah?"

I nodded, "It's something else, Georgie, I'm telling you. Nobody's ever seen anything like this."

George lifted an eyebrow but I simply shook my head. What we were doing was something brand new, not just for Revolution but for music. We had strayed so far from the beaten path, it wasn't even in sight anymore.

Revolution had three members, but you wouldn't know it by listening to the music. It sounded like there were five. Ellen had been against it at first, but she knew we wouldn't give in. In each different song, at least two of us were playing more than one instrument. We had violins, cellos, saxophones, flutes, pianos, drums, guitars, and even a triangle scattered through the songs. Linda had even proposed the idea of panpipes, an instrument she had first come into contact with on an Indian Reserve in America. On another, we had bagpipes backed by a harp. The album could be a train wreck, or it could be the most magnificent creation Revolution ever came up with. Personally, I thought we had never done anything that amazing. 

Our music was completely different this time around. In my opinion, it was better, but that was left for the fans to decide. There was a strong chance they wouldn't like our new style. People tended to want things to stay the same forever. They didn't like change. What we had done would completely flip the public image of Revolution. For better or for worse, I don't know.