1 CARTER #2
“So that album, it was all a story about a girl,” Michael says, shaking his head and smiling. A computer sits beside him, and I glance at the red lights of the recording display ticking the milliseconds of my life.
“Aren’t they always?”
“I suppose so. But this was the story about a girl who inspired one of the biggest albums of all time. Launched a band into superstardom. That’s a hell of a story, Mr. Wills.”
“You really do have a hard time calling me Carter, don’t you?”
“To be fair, you of all people don’t really have the best reputation of playing well in the sandbox with the media and journalists. Our last encounter was a little”—he pauses—“dicey, I think would be a good word. So let’s just say, I feel it’s wise to proceed with caution.” He gives me a wry look.
“Fair enough.”
“When we last met, you refused to speak much about that album. Refused to answer most of the questions in general, if I recall. I had a hell of a time piecing it together and almost lost my ass on that one.” He’s referring to an article that came out in Rolling Stone earlier this year, meant to promote the tour.
Promotions have never really been my thing.
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine. But now that we’ve brought it up, it leads me to ask how you feel about the fact that people say you’re enigmatic , when they’re being kind. But others use words like dark and more than a little broken . Are you really? Or is it just another story? Part of the mystique.”
“You don’t mince words, do you?”
“Would you rather I did?”
“No. I like that about you. It’s part of why you’re here. Besides the fact that you came highly recommended by someone I trust.”
“Really?” He looks surprised and intrigued. “I didn’t realize we had anyone in common. Who was it?”
I ignore this and return to his earlier question from a few moments ago about my troubled persona. So many rumors. “I’m just a guy. Just like you. Just like that guy.” I point to a flight attendant fixing a tray of items at the rear of the cabin.
“Something tells me you’re nothing like that guy,” he says.
“You never know. People are rarely what they seem, right? Maybe he’s thinking about how when we land, he’s going to quit this job and convince his wife to start over somewhere green and quiet, where they can plan a life together in the country, raising five kids.
Maybe his mind is swirling right now with images of what it’ll be like to walk in and tell her his plan and is worried that she won’t agree. ”
“A story about a girl.”
“Like I said, isn’t it always? In some manner or another, anyway.”
“Is it always like this in your head?” he asks. “The stories?”
I return my attention to him. “I guess. Isn’t it like that for everyone?” But I already know what he’ll say. I was never able to quiet the stories or the music—the places I go to in my mind. No matter how hard I tried.
“No, I doubt that.”
The rest of the guys have started dozing off, and I speak quietly, not wanting to keep them up.
“You’re giving me too much credit. They’re just stories.
I see it in my head. Sometimes it’s a whole lifetime.
Sometimes it’s just an hour of a life. Only difference with me is that I strum it on a guitar, sing it, whatever.
Bring it from here”—I reach up into the air above me—“down to here.”
“So I shouldn’t be surprised if there’s a song on your next album about a guy who’s going to quit his job as a flight attendant?”
“Doesn’t sound terribly sexy, does it?” I say. “I better skip that one.” I know for a fact that our flight attendant is named Isaac and has no aspirations of living in the country, and he wants to open a techno club in Rio at some point. He told me as we were chatting recently.
Michael laughs and takes a drink from the ginger ale he’s been sipping. “It’s been said that the Sigma Five album is like a full narrative, start to finish, when the songs are pieced together a certain way. Based on what you’ve been telling me, it sounds like that may be accurate.”
“Right.”
“And you’ve never spoken a word about it. The inspiration behind it, the recording process, none of it. You’ve barely told anyone anything about your life, really. Why now?”
We’ve reached an inevitable point, and I breathe in, closing my eyes for a minute.
I never expected to be telling this story.
Not that it’s all that interesting or unique, anyway.
A great love. A broken heart. A story like mine is one that is repeated in all walks of life, in every decade and century. Still, it’s mine.
“Because you asked.”
He gives me a look. “Lots of people have asked.”
“Yes, but you asked at just the right time.”
“And what time is that?”
“I suppose you could say that I’ve finally found a sense of peace. There were reasons why I chose to keep things quiet.”
“What reasons?”
He waits, but I don’t answer.
“Okay, back to the album,” he continues after a beat. He seems afraid that I’m going to change my mind at any moment and wants to keep the momentum going. “The title? Sigma Five. There’s always been a bit of lore behind it. What’s the significance there?”
“It had a dual meaning, really.” I meet eyes with Tommy for a beat and consider my words.
“The word Sigma is pretty extraordinary. It appears all over math, science, philosophy, astronomy, going back centuries. For example, Sigma Sagittarii is one of the brightest stars in the constellation Sagittarius. And the lowercase symbol is used when trying to work out the theories of galaxies and the supermassive black holes that draw everything toward them. The uppercase symbol we used for the album denotes the action of summation, the combining of things to make a whole. There’s poetry in all of that. ”
“And the Roman numeral five?”
I pause as a smile pulls at me. “We’ll just call that a creative choice for now.”
He shakes his head in amused exasperation. “Okay. So. When did you first start writing it? Was it when you first met her?”
“Earlier than that. I think I started writing songs about her before I ever knew she existed. Somehow, I knew she was out there. And it was as if the music led me to her. When I found her, it all came together. I just knew. There was something about her from the very beginning. She wanted nothing to do with me, of course. Clever girl. But ... eventually I won her over. For a time, anyway.”
“But not forever.”
“Forever is relative.” My thoughts flash to the events of the past weeks and then to a place further back.
“One of the songs on the album came from the first night we spent together. The guys and I were on our first big tour and had a few days off. We had been staying at a beach house, and I remember sitting out on the dune in the middle of the night and thinking, My whole life is going to change because of this woman. Here we were, these two people who had been walking along in life, on two different continents, neither of us knowing the other existed and yet somehow knowing all along. In totally different worlds. And then in a moment, our paths cross and nothing is ever the same.”
Two points of light, finally meeting.
“And that’s just the way it is sometimes.
But I just kept thinking, My god, I don’t want to mess up this girl’s life.
I would do anything for her. When it came time to start putting tracks on the album, it fell into place.
The idea of what it would be like for a girl to fall in love with a guy whose life was kind of a crazy, cursed place.
These two damaged people making each other whole. ”
“Does your life feel cursed?”
“It did at one time, but not as much as it used to. I mean, we’ve been incredibly fortunate when you look at all of this.
Had experiences that many people would dream of.
” I gesture around me to the opulent setting in which we find ourselves.
“Obviously, I’m grateful for that. But it hasn’t been easy either.
Happiness can be an elusive thing and certainly isn’t always linked to success. ”
He nods. “And so, going back again, the band had its own history before the success came. But when it came time to make that album, it sounds like it was a whole new beginning. And she was part of it,” Michael clarifies.
“Exactly.”
“Whatever happened to her?” He pauses. “Where is she now?”
“I imagine she’s at home with her family.”
“Ah.” He gives me a sympathetic look and waits a moment. “So ... what was her name?”
“Which one?” Tommy chimes in with a chuckle. “She had a few.”
I smile, recalling the slight origins of humor in the question, combined with years of secrets and memories.
The letters and sounds forming on my brain the way they have millions of times before.
There was a time when I could barely whisper her name in my head for fear of what it might cost me.
But now, it’s different. And I find the letters, two little syllables that encapsulated a lifetime, taking shape.