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CHRISSIE
It is early July and a Sunday morning. We are recording the single today.
When I wake up and get dressed, I am nervous beyond believe. I feel overwhelmed, but I also feel like a famous person, because this morning we are going to be collected from our homes in a limousine.
When the car arrives at my front door, my mom calls me, and then there are at least two minutes of silly jumping and shouting actions performed by my mom, my dad and me, behind the closed doors of my home.
Walking out the door, I am composed and getting into the car, I take the only vacant seat next to Vincent. Sitting so close to him somehow calms my nerves, which is really a contradiction, because usually he has my heart racing.
He looks at me and smiles, his fascinating green eyes are looking into mine and I know I must be imagining things, but it seems as if his eyes are trying to say something to me, but I am not well versed in eye-speak.
He looks away from me abruptly and then starts to talk to George, ignoring me until we stop in front of the tall imposing building. Only then does he acknowledge me again, motioning with his hand for me to get out of the car first.
Most days I scold myself continuously, he obviously cannot stand the sight of me and yet I continue to adore him.
I stand on the sidewalk, waiting for the rest of them to get out of the limousine. I am, despite everything only the sideshow and not the main attraction. I am technically not even a member of the band.
Once we are in the recording booth, we sing the song repeatedly. Not always because of me, but a few times, I do miss a note. I feel awkward and humiliated.
At last, after what feels like hours, the people sitting behind the thick glass pane are happy. I sigh with relief as we walk out of the booth and then we all sit down in the chairs scattered around the room before they play the track back to us.
I am amazed at how good it sounds and unbelievably proud of myself, because I sound like a professional singer as if I have a few golden records behind my name. After we have listened to the band’s first single, and everybody claps enthusiastically, Sabrina’s dad, Mr. Jackson, starts to discuss the rest of the album and a tour he wants us to go on during the next few weeks during our Summer break, so we can promote the album before its release date.
At first, I thought it would obviously not include me, but then Mr. Jackson turns to me. “Chrissie, I need to discuss something with you.”
I look at him and think to myself – here it comes, they do not need me anymore.
He surprises me, by asking, while the four boys stare at me expectantly, “After careful consideration, we have decided to invite you to join the band.”
I stare up at him where he stands leaning against the wall. I notice his belly protruding over the belt of his trousers. I see the way his collar folds up the way they used to wear it back in the eighties, his head is shaved clean and shining in the fluorescent light of the studio. I am trying to determine if he is joking with me, and I wonder if I could say I would have to discuss it with my parents first. I do not know if my parents will allow me to join a band, they have this big dream for me, of being an influential business executive.
Everyone in the room is waiting for me to say something, and then Mr. Jackson says heatedly, “This is a great opportunity and any girl would jump at the prospect of being in a band of this calibre.”
I interrupt him, smiling embarrassed, “I am only in shock here – of course, I want to be in the band. Thank you for giving me the opportunity. I just thought with all the mistakes this morning, you would be asking me to leave as quickly as possible.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Vincent, smiling amused, and I suddenly feel shy and inhibited, so I stop talking.
Vincent stands up and suggests to Mr. Jackson, “Maybe you should discuss it with Chrissie’s parents as well before you proceed any further.” Vincent walks into the recording booth.
I frown as he turns at the door and calls for me to join him. I stand up unsure and walk into the booth. He motions to me to sit on the stool in front of the piano and then he places a sheet of music in front of me. I recognize it from the music I have been practising over the last few weeks, without lyrics.
He speaks through the microphone in the booth and announces, “I have written this song, and I am hoping it will be included on the album.” The other band members start to get up, but he stops them. “Sorry guys, this one is just me and Chrissie.”
They settle back into their chairs, looking uncertain. Mr. Jackson looks as if he knows about this development, and this is probably the reason for the offer. I suppose I should not let this go to my head because they are probably only going to be using me for as long as they need me. I wonder if I should get an agent or a manager.
Vincent looks at me expectantly, and so I look down at the piano keys in front of me. Taking a deep breath, I clear my mind and then I start playing the poignant tune. A couple of notes later, Vincent starts to sing—his voice is soft and beautiful—he holds my gaze for the first few lines, and I feel my breath getting caught in my throat.
Where do I start when I have so much to say?
about this great divide that is in our way.
I couldn’t bear to live without your smile,
as another day just passes by.
Why can’t we figure this out?
convince others what love is about,
cause this feeling I’ve got for you,
just won’t let go.
You’ve got to listen when I speak.
You’ve got to hear it in my voice.
You’ve got to look into my eyes,
see there is something burning strong.
Why can’t we figure this out?
convince others what love is about,
cause this feeling I’ve got for you,
just won’t let go.
Could we make it?
Could we see this through?
It would mean so much to me,
to be there for you.
Why can’t we figure this out?
convince others what love is about,
cause this feeling I’ve got for you,
just won’t let go.
All my life, I’ll wait for you.
My mind will always drift to you.
You’ll always be in my dreams.
Our memories will carry me through.
Until we can figure this out,
convince others what love is about,
cause this feeling I’ve got for you,
will never let go.
The song is finished, without me realizing it. I played the whole song perfectly without thinking, without knowing.
Vincent hastily turns away from the microphone and walks out of the booth.
Tears burn behind my eyes, as I feel the rapidly thumping of my heart and instinctively I know that the song is about me.
He walks through the studio without stopping and I feel six pairs of eyes boring into me, as the door slams shut behind Vincent.
Everybody is silent—everybody is staring at me.
I want to go after Vincent, but I know if I did, everybody will be wondering if there is something going on between us. Especially Sabrina’s dad, who would not be happy, because his precious baby girl is dating Vincent, so I stay where I am.
An angry Mr. Jackson sends the rest of us home and tells me he will discuss everything with me when he meets with my parents before we go on tour.
When we get downstairs, and I get into the limousine expectantly, Vincent is not there.
I feel incredibly sad. The words of the song are burned into my heart, into my memory. Does this mean he likes me the same way I like him? Am I only imagining the song is about me – maybe there is something dividing him and Sabrina? Could it be he does feel the same way as I do? That he experiences the same disillusioned hopelessness which has become my every waking moment.
When I get home, I say hello to my parents and then I go straight up to my bedroom and fall on my bed. I feel desperately sad.
I stare up at the ceiling and I force every thought out of my head. I lay there, staring at the white paint until my phone vibrates.
I lift my arm, reaching for my phone and then I bring it up to my face, while opening the message.
“I need to see you. Vincent.”
I struggle for breath. What am I supposed to do? My parents would never let me go out with him. I decide, rashly, I could see him tomorrow after my parents had gone to work.
I reply, “Tomorrow, 9. I’ll meet you at the mall.”
“Okay, see you then.”
Later, I am in bed already when I get another text message. I grab my phone anxiously, but it is only Anne. “How was the recording?”
“It was fun, took forever though, but I think it was worth it.”
“I look forward to hearing it.”
“They offered me a permanent place in the band, but I doubt my parents will allow it.”
“That is exciting news!”
“Sabrina’s dad is coming to speak to my parents tomorrow, so I would not get too excited too soon.”
“I hate that Sabrina.”
I smile – don’t we all?
I reply though, “Yeah, she is so snobbish, not suitable for Vincent at all.”
“I know.”
We talk until my phone credit runs out, and then I fall asleep fitfully.
In my dream, my dad is screaming and yelling at me, people are looking at me with disappointment, and always I feel Vincent just outside my line of vision.
