Smoke and Lyrics by Holly Hall

Author:Holly Hall [Hall, Holly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-11-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Jenson

I didn’t want to believe getting out of my own head was as easy as a change of scenery, but Lindsey was onto something when she suggested I write with her. Things don’t feel so heavy out in the wild, in the presence of others. I write verses that are lighter than they’ve been in a year. And they’re good. I’d accepted my old habits as law, not realizing they’d held me captive until I broke those chains and tried something new. So I write, and Lindsey, by some miracle, still tolerates me. Nothing I said the other night scared her off.

On her breaks, she works on her laptop across from me. Or pretends to. She has this Polaroid camera she sometimes carries with her, and although I’m mostly lost in my own world, I’ll catch the click of a shutter now and then.

“What are always taking pictures of?” I’ll ask her.

“That’s not for you to worry about,” she’ll say with a wink.

In the weeks that follow our mad dash to the rooftop, the band and I rehearse our new songs, getting a feel for how they sound, and I put more effort into making our sessions count. I’m back to doing what I love, after all. It should be easier, hurt less.

The guys are feeling the music I’ve written, but it wasn’t the songs I was worried about. Putting lyrics together is like visiting an old friend; it just works. It’s everything that comes after that I detest. I’m no closer to deciding which direction the band will go than I was six months ago—whether the songs we’re recording and the shows we’re planning mean we’ll be back for good.

It’s my instinct to hide away, escape from the world and the unknowns of the future with a bottle of whiskey or bourbon, but now I feel provoked. Lindsey reminded me that I’ve put too much power in something that shouldn’t possess it. And I’m angry. I’ve allowed alcohol to bring me to my knees and call the shots for far too long.

I grab my bag from the floor and escape into fresh air outside the studio. November used to mean something back when I had a family. Now it’s just colder air, a welcome reprieve from the stagnancy of rehearsal. I could use a cigarette and a fifth of whiskey right about now. Rounding the hood of my truck, I falter when I notice Carter waiting for me on the driver side. His position against the door makes it clear I’m not leaving until I get through him. Well, Carter has probably thirty pounds of muscle on me, and there’s the matter of him being my best friend to consider.

“What’s up?” I ask, feigning ignorance.

Carter pushes off the door, taking a step back so I can get my bag inside. “You want to get a drink?”

That throws me off. Being my roommate both during and after my divorce meant Carter witnessed my downfall in all its pathetic glory. He heard every meltdown.

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