Chapter Thirty-Four. Luna
Chapter Thirty-Four
Luna
“I don’t think I should release the song.”
Charles and Ashley both swivel from the computer in the studio to look at me in surprise.
We just listened to the finished track and it sounds amazing.
It’s poignant, it’s a lyrical masterpiece, my voice even cracked on the last take in a way that was so heart-wrenching, we left it in.
But guilt has been eating me up the past three days as we recorded it.
“You’re kidding, right? It’s really good,” Charles says in disbelief.
“I told you: It’s not really my song to share. It’s Riley’s story.”
Ashley purses her lips. “Maybe she’ll be happy you honored her sister in a song.”
I shake my head firmly. “She won’t be. I asked her if she’d want me to write a song about her and she said no, it’s too painful.”
Charles winces. “And you’d already written the song?”
I nod and blow out a long exhalation. “I hate this.”
Ashley swivels her chair all the way around so we’re face-to-face.
“Sometimes being an artist is really hard. But you almost have a duty to share your art with the world. Like you said back when you first were getting big, you write songs about your life. And this is a fantastic song. Just think how many people it will help. We can donate a portion of the proceeds to a charity related to addiction or drunk driving or whatever she wants. We can make a new charity in honor of Riley’s sister. ”
I want to believe what Ashley’s saying. But I still feel like I’m betraying Riley by releasing this song. Even working on it all week has felt like a betrayal. I look to Charles. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re a musician. And musicians write songs about their life.
No one dates a musician thinking otherwise.
Everyone I work with has had a few fights with their girlfriends over it, but it’s the nature of the trade.
Of course, if the song was mid, I would say don’t bother.
But this is anything but mid. You’ve been on fire lately. ”
I sit on the couch and bury my head in my hands. In my gut I know I’m doing something wrong. “I don’t know.”
“Why don’t we release a video teasing the song on social?” Ashley suggests, brightening considerably. “You’re not releasing a song, per se. But once Riley hears it, sees how it speaks to people, I bet she’ll feel more amenable to the song. I mean, it’s a great song.”
I bite my lip, thinking it over. “Do you really think that’s different?”
Ashley nods. “Absolutely. You’re not releasing a song; you’re just showing a bit of your process, sharing your thoughts. It’s okay to have thoughts and feelings, right? I think this is a winning strategy. And you need the good press right now.”
That, I know is true. I’ve been getting torn apart ever since the video of us at the Box came out, and it’s actually a bit scary how vitriol-filled some of the headlines are. I really do need to do something.
“Okay, let’s do it,” I say. Then I glance at Charles. “Unless you think it’s a bad idea?”
Charles’s eyes widen. “Me? No, no, I think it’s a great idea.
Anything that gets this song out is a great idea.
We’ve made something special here.” I almost forgot that it’s kind of his song too now, in a way.
We’ve been working so closely on it, I’m sure he would be sad for it to never be released too.
I grab my guitar and Charles cues up the background instrumentals we recorded, and I sing through the entire song while Ashley records me on her phone.
When we’re finished, she puts it away quickly.
“That was perfect. I’ll edit it down to a briefer clip and work with your publicist on a caption.
But don’t stress about this, okay? I’ll text when it’s live. ”
Ashley leaves, and Charles and I move on to other songs from the album.
By the time Ashley texts that the post is live, we’re so deep into a love song that’s a veiled metaphor about sex, something that I was never inspired to write about until Riley, I don’t even look at it.
It’s not until I’m in the car driving home that I open the post.
And by then it already has fifteen million views.
Ashley has posted the verse and the bridge, and the song really is beautiful.
People are finding what they need in the song, whether they interpret it about leaving home to chase their dreams, losing someone they love, or something else, and I’m so glad it’s touching them like this.
It’s like in one fell swoop this has done what we hoped and made the internet sympathetic to me again. I exhale with relief.
I walk into my apartment, and immediately hear “Suspended Animation” playing and the video looping. And suddenly I feel a hell of a lot less sure about Riley liking the song.
I walk into the kitchen and see Riley’s bags spread across the floor. She’s packing her chef’s knives up and placing them in the center of her packed suitcase, and it feels like in an instant everything shatters.
“What are you doing?”
Riley looks up at me, tears streaming down her face. “What does it look like? I’m leaving.”
I crouch down next to her and try to take the knife bag. “Riley, please don’t leave. Is this about the song?” She scoffs and looks away, letting me take the knives, then closing the suitcase without them. “Okay. I know it’s about the song, okay? I’m sorry. I’ll take it down right now.”
“Liv is not yours to write about,” she says, almost shouting, her voice cracking.
“And especially not to tell everyone about. Do you not understand that I am so, so fucking ashamed of letting her down like that? And you just threw it out there for the whole world to see. You basically told everyone she was an addict! She was so much more than that.”
“Riley, I’m sorry. I was inspired by what you experienced and I wrote about it and I felt like it was too good not to put out. So many people are going to relate to and be helped by this song.”
Riley pulls her suitcase upright and grabs the backpack she’s already packed. “Are you so self-centered that you actually believe that? You didn’t release the song for them or write it for me. It was all just about you, like it always is.”
And then she walks out the door, leaving me standing there, clutching her knife kit, alone and splintered into pieces in my kitchen.
And I think that not only is she right, but that this may be the moment I’m most ashamed of.
And for the first time, I’m glad that my mom isn’t here, because she would be beyond disappointed to see this.