Like A Living Shadow
When I wake up, everything feels wrong. It takes me a moment to figure out where I am and that the unfamiliar bed is the reason I feel so off kilter. Then I reach up to run a hand through my hair, and the other reason that I feel out of place in my own skin right now becomes clear. Through the haze of alcohol, I remember hacking away at my hair last night, although I can’t really explain why I did it. I don’t exactly regret it, because it’s only hair, and I know it will grow back. But I don’t understand the feeling that came over me last night, and that’s a little bit scary.
If anyone asks, I’m just going to blame it on the alcohol.
I wait as long as possible before finally pulling myself out of bed. I wouldn’t do it even then, if I didn’t already hear distant voices and movement; they’re already loading things up to move to the full studio and I know I should be helping. So, reluctantly, I crawl out of bed and put on something that looks and smells at least cleaner than I do. That’s the best anyone is getting out of me today.
There’s no one in the kitchen when I walk in, so I feel safe enough. Before I’ve even managed to pour myself a glass of orange juice, I hear footsteps. They stop short in the door, and I don’t dare turn around to see who they belong to.
“What the hell did you do to your hair?” Isaac asks.
I let out a sigh of relief that it’s only him, and consider my options. The look on his face is so comical that I can’t resist going with a comical answer. Shrugging, I say, “It seemed easier than washing out the puke.”
Ike just shakes his head, because what can he really say to something like that? Making completely ridiculous statements to distract from what’s really going on and what I’m really feeling has always been a strength of mine, and it serves me well now that all of this shit is going on with Taylor. If it weren’t for those pictures, which I hope like hell have really all been destroyed, I think we could have kept our relationship hidden forever.
Relationship.
That’s not what it is. That’s never been what it was, and I think I’m only just realizing that. No, I’m not just realizing it. I knew it all along, I think, but I didn’t want to accept it. There’s a subtle but important difference there.
While I ponder that, Ike just stares at me like he thinks I’m probably still a little bit drunk, and maybe I am. If not, maybe I should be. There’s a bottle of vodka on the counter, and I suddenly feel a strong urge to turn this orange juice into a screwdriver. I stop myself just short of doing it, though. Running from my problems, or drowning them in alcohol, won’t fix anything. The former is what gets me into trouble and the latter is what gets Taylor into trouble. God knows I don’t want to be any more like Taylor than I already am, so I just down my orange juice straight and say a silent prayer for the strength to get through the day sober.
No one else sees fit to comment on my hair as I finish my breakfast and join the crowd of people hauling our gear across the ranch to the studio where we will be actually recording the album. I can feel them all looking at me, but no one says anything.
Actually, they aren’t all looking at me. Taylor doesn’t even seem to notice that I exist, and I can’t decide if I prefer it this way or not. It would certainly make some things easier, but being in a band with him might be more difficult if he never acknowledges my existence again.
Of course, Taylor has the attention span of a gnat, so even his attempt to ignore me is short lived, coming to an end once everything is set up and Ike is fiddling with his guitars like the perfectionist he is.
“Why did you cut your hair?” Taylor asks, leaning against the mixing board.
I want to give him the same answer that I gave Ike, but instead, the words that come out of my mouth are, “Because it’s easier than cutting out my heart.”
He just stares at me for a moment, and I don’t blame him. I don’t even know why I said that, even if it is true—literally and figuratively. I can’t expect Taylor to understand something like that, though, when it’s becoming increasingly clear to me that he just doesn’t understand or experience normal human emotions.
“Just forget it,” I say, shaking my head. “I felt like hacking my hair off when I was shitfaced, so I did. Big deal.”
“What does that have to do with cutting your heart out?” Taylor asks.
I sigh. Answering him is unavoidable, so I stare him down with as much strength as I can muster. “Sometimes, Tay, I swear I can feel you under my skin, and it makes me want to rip my skin off completely. If I could scrub every bit of your touch–everything we’ve done this year–off my body, I would do it in an instant. It doesn’t mean that I didn’t want it, or even that I don’t still want it, but I hate myself for it so much. All that guilt you seemed to feel for a while there? It’s not like I didn’t feel it before, but now it’s hitting me like it never has, and I can’t do this, Tay. I can’t. My hair is just the only part of me you’ve touched that I can actually chop off.”
When I’m done, I’m out of breath, but I feel free. For the first time in years, I feel free. The weight of everything I feel for Taylor… well, it might just be dangling over my head waiting to fall on me again, but for now, it’s been lifted.
Taylor still stares at me, like he’s waiting for something more. I’ve finally said it all, everything I’ve been holding in, and it apparently isn’t enough for my brother. Or maybe he still just doesn’t get it. Maybe he’s waiting for words that make sense to him, but I don’t know how to make things any clearer. I don’t know how to break through the walls Taylor has built around himself and find the actual human being inside.
“Just forget it, Taylor,” I say, sighing.
“I’m not worth all of that,” he finally replies, his voice so soft and weak that it doesn’t sound like my annoying, cocky brother at all.
“No,” I reply. “I guess you’re not. Maybe I’m finally realizing that. I just don’t… I don’t want this anymore, Taylor. I guess I’ve never really been normal, since this has been inside me for years, but at least for a while I managed to pretend that it wasn’t. That I was normal and I could have a normal relationship, a normal marriage. And I want that again, Tay. But wishing to be normal isn’t gonna get me there. It’s not enough.”
“And why do you deserve to be normal?” He asks. “What about me? What if that’s what I want, too?”
I give a little shrug. “I don’t know, Tay. I guess you have to try, too.”
I’m met with another blank stare that tells me just how entitled my brother feels. Or maybe he’s wallowed in being a miserable, horrible person for so long that he can’t even fathom trying to live a better life. Whatever the reason, it’s clear that even if he claims that he wants a normal life, he’s never going to take the necessary steps to have one.
But I am. And I’m starting right now by refusing to give in to the glimmer of sadness I see in Taylor’s eyes.
“Hey,” Ike calls out, shocking us both when we realize his microphone is on. Oblivious to the conversation we’ve had, he continues, “You guys ready to start on the guitar part for Tragic Symphony?”
Taylor presses the button that allows him to be heard through the partition separating us from the rest of the studio. “Did we ever decide how it was going to go?”
“Well, we argued about it a hell of lot, so I’d like to think we made some sort of decision after that…” Isaac says, chuckling a little nervously in hopes of defusing the oncoming tension.
Taylor rolls his eyes, but the movement is so subtle that I doubt Isaac even notices. I’m not sure Taylor even realizes he’s doing it. And that basically sums Taylor up, I suppose. Pressing the button again, Taylor replies, “Yeah, alright. We’ll be out in a sec.”
Even though Taylor’s tone is fairly condescending, Isaac seems to have accept what he’s said, giving him a little nod before going back to tuning his guitar. I stare at Taylor, knowing that our conversation isn’t over but not sure where it can go from here.
“Look, Zac,” he says with a heavy sigh. “I’m not a good person. You know that about me, and if I didn’t know that about me, you’re doing a really good job of reminding me. But if just to save our own asses, we know this should be over. If I never do anything else in my life right, maybe I can do that. Maybe I can end this.”
“Maybe,” I reply. “But you tried and I wouldn’t let you. Now… now I’m done. Now I’m telling you that I can’t do this anymore, and I mean it. I’m not going to go around in the same circles over and over again and keep hating you and hating myself.”
Taylor gives me a nod like he understands, but I don’t know if he really does. I feel like I’ve seen a glimpse of a real human being today, a person with actual emotions underneath the hard, empty shell my brother became somewhere along the way. But will that person stick around? I don’t know. I’ve learned not to trust him and not to have any faith in him. I just can’t hang on and hope that he really means any of what he says. I have to give up on him.
Isaac plucks a loud, discordant note to draw our attention, and I know that’s his way of saying we need to stop talking and get down to business. If only he had any idea what we were talking about. Maybe, now that it’s over, I can finally let go of my fear of our relationship being revealed. All I had to do for years was keep my feelings to myself, and I feel confident I can do that again.
This time, I throw my hand up to let Ike know we heard him. Taylor is out of the room before me, though, no doubt ready to get away from me and all the things I make him think and talk about that he would rather avoid.
He dives right into discussing the guitar riff for Tragic Symphony, one of the songs we’ve finished this week, with Isaac. I wonder if he knows how much the song reminds me of him. If he had any clue that the lyrics I contributed, the lyrics he’s singing, are about him… but Taylor isn’t that self-aware. He might have acknowledged that he’s a horrible person, but that’s only touching the surface.
While the two of them fight over a chord change, I feel another song bubbling up inside of me. It’s been months since I’ve felt the music in me so strongly that I just had to write it down, and I didn’t realize how much I missed that feeling. I didn’t realize, until we came here to record, just how empty my life was. No, that’s not entirely true. I had Carrick. I had a lot going for me, more than I had the sense to be grateful for, but I let it all go. Now, at least, I have a chance of getting my music back.
Taylor and Ike don’t even notice when I slip off to grab a notebook and start writing this song down before it leaves me. The words flow easily, the way I remember that they used to flow, back when I lived to write, not the other way around.
Maybe if I get my music back… maybe then I’ll have a hope of getting back the other thing I’ve lost. Carrick.