. keep me on fire

[isaac mcavoy]

"Still by hand, yeah." Lily's observations never failed to surprise Isaac, not least because he was usually too busy thinking about himself to notice things going on in the world around him. But Lily had a knack for noticing every little detail of the moment, and then being able to conjure up those details from her memory even years later. It was certainly a skill that contributed to her talent as a lyricist. It was definitely a fact she was conjuring from memory as he hadn't written much of anything in a long time. "Can't do voice memos, I hate hearing my voice back. Notes app only in truly desperate situations." He nods. "That's what death of the author means, Lils," he says, though he grins at the mention of the exact date. If her memories were HD film, his were more like poorly stored polaroids. Blurred to begin with, overexposed or too dark to make out, a fleeting image of one fixed point free from any context. He had a hard time remembering events clearly and a harder time trying to put them into chronological order, a wide stretch of his life so murky that it was almost indecipherable. But he remembered that evening, the shock of her accepting the offer enough to burn it into his brain. "I feel the same. I have no problem reading lyrics back, but can't stand hearing myself sing them."

[lily mccarthy]

"I wonder how much someone would pay to see one of our journals." It would be one thing to see lyrics string themselves together over different pages - it would be another thing entirely to see the humanity of an artist through the smeared ink of late nights and random musings, cliff notes in the margins and thick, rich strikeouts. She knows she'd never offer hers to anyone - mingling between the lyrics and song titles were long, rambling feelings and questions she asked herself again and again and again. Too much of her heart threaded through clipped pages, safer than resting on her sleeve - though it didn't prevent it from slipping there sometimes, too. "Same here. Though I have a few sleepy voice memos where I tried to record something before I forgot it. They're there if I need a laugh." Her eyes drift peacefully to the ETA on the map, unsurprised so much time had passed already. It often did with them, face hot at his easy confirmation. "Ok...well, you know what I meant," Lily mumbles. "And I did have to look that date up by the way I'm not like...I don't have an eidetic memory." She doesn't know why she's delving further and pushing its importance, all but confirming something she shouldn't so she lets it drift into silence. Turns up the old Buddy Holly song that drums up next from his playlist. "We chose an interesting thing to do, hating the sound of our voices in playback so much," she finally laughs, realizing the weight of what they're training. As if the awkwardness, the critiques, the late studio nights and relentless adjustments hold a candle to the rush of a crowd, screaming the blood, sweat and tears right back at them. "What's your favorite show you've ever done, do you have one?"

[isaac mcavoy]

Another thought he'd never had. Isaac thought about how much people poured over Kurt Cobain's journals, reading into every scribbled lyric. Would anyone ever be that interested in his process? Probably if he'd died tragically, less so now, though he didn't mean to discredit Cobain. "I'd pay $20k per page of yours... am I close?" He finishes his cigarette, flicking it out the window onto the freeway. In truth he wouldn't be able to bring himself to read her journal even if he had the chance, even if he had a guarantee that he wouldn't be caught. It was another thing Zac hated, having concrete proof of what people thought of him, written in black and white, far too avoidant to ever Google himself or even read many reviews. "I love your sleepy voice, I bet they're cute as hell." He laughs, reaching over and giving her thigh a squeeze. "You mean you don't have that date covered in hearts in that journal of yours?" Zac is slipping into an old dynamic they had mostly outgrown, playing the role of an older, teasing brother figure and toning down his usual direct romantic advances. He's not sure why he's doing that, whether he's worried about the length of the journey or something deeper, something more akin to a fear of rejection. But it's a regression and he wants to stop it. "It'll always be the first Cat's Cradle show in New York. We'd played plenty of smaller places, lots in Albuquerque, but that's when I felt like we'd actually make it. Don't think I'd let myself believe that until then. How about you?"

[lily mccarthy]

"Save your money - I feel like you'd never open them, even if you paid millions." Though she's pretty sure there's no direct confirmation littered within the pages, no love confessions or stark revelation underlined and bolded to be found, she knows it would likely offer too much. An unfair advantage into her mind's inner workings, even if she answered any question he asked as honestly as she could. Zac often met her where she was - sometimes treading lightly, others forging ahead. Still able to keep her on her toes as needed, blush coursing through once again. "They're a little unintelligible, much like that drunk voicemail I'm sure you still have saved. Lily After Dark - a little sexy, but more sleepy." "You wish," she lofts back at his continuation, hand slipping down to catch his momentarily before she sees the exit she's looking for. Her fingers curl back around the wheel, and her blinker flickers in their wake. "Probably Red Rocks, right now," Lily reminisces. The dry, balmy heat and blinding lights, the echo of the noise ricocheting off the hills behind her. The wild realization that the moment was real, all but pinching herself under the neck of her guitar. "Reminded me of home, but also that I'd made it further from there, too." This year all-in-all had been life changing for her, brimming with sweet memories and the gentle curiosity of what would come next. In her career, in the here and now, slowing through the residential streets as they drew ever closer. Turning back to face him with a sly smile. "Surprised yours wasn't the VS show, you little sellouts."

[isaac mcavoy]

Lily knew he would never open them in the same way that Isaac knew she would never sell them. Wealth had never impressed her, though she complimented nice things and had bought a place that most could only dream of, it was clear to him that these were not things that made her burn with desire. It was a pleasant byproduct of creating art that she was proud of, which was the only thing he had ever seen truly set her alight. "What drunk voicemail?" Innocence seeps into his voice as a coy grin spreads across his face. "I've got no idea what you're talking about." "Good answer." He falls quiet again as she turns off the highway. It's a nice neighborhood that starts to roll by, a more Californian version of the town he grew up in but closer to that than the Hills from whence they came. "Hey, I'm not a snob, a gig's a gig," he says, holding his hands up defensively. "Besides, it was all in Taylor's name." He glances at the GPS, seeing they're not too far off now. Time always moved quickly when they were alone together, something that frustrated him to no end. "You need to be careful with Facebook Marketplace, you know. What if someone figures out it's you and lures you out to be held captive in their basement dungeon?"

[lily mccarthy]

Lily scoffs at the faux innocence strewn all over his face, ignoring his expression as she blinkered for another turn. So certain that her voicemail still remained in his flooded inbox, a relic of long ago when thoughts of this were but a whisper, spoken to life for the first time through a static mind and rattling thoughts. She'd walked it back from the edge then but she was daring to stand there now, roads sloping over a mild hill before she pulled to a stop. "I'm sure it was a very tough sell," Lily says in mock sympathy, deftly avoiding any mention of Kendra and that aftermath as she jumped out of the truck. A ranch-style home sat nestled in meticulous greenery, Lily warming to the cozy exterior as she double checked the address on her phone. "I had Polly do most of the reachout," she promises, her sweet assistant handling correspondence until Lily decided it was a trip she could make on her own. Or with help, of course, looking over her shoulder to make sure Isaac was following before stepping up to the porch and ringing the doorbell. Admiring the twin rocking chairs swaying slightly in the breeze, the strange sense of peace that seemed to exist here before the hinge of a door directs her attention back. "Hi," she greets instantly, lips pulling into a grin to mirror the welcoming face peering out from the screen door. "We're here for the dresser? I...you were speaking with Polly?" "Oh yes, you made great time - come in, come in, I'm June - and, oh - you'll meet Roger around here somewhere," the woman greets, glasses reflecting briefly off the sun as she pushed open the screen door to let them through. Lily eyes Zac briefly before following, instantly absorbed into a home that feels so full of love her heart squeezes in her chest. Amidst cozy velveteen couches and ornate, wooden armoires, family photos clutter the walls and end tables, spelling out a history she feels she could only scratch the surface of. "Tea?" She hears from down a narrow hallway, barely realizing she hadn't followed June at all as she unconsciously explored. "Sure," she squeaks out, slightly embarrassed at the nosiness but feeling so, so close to home she can barely hide the hitch in her breath, watching generations play out in photographs that provide a painful reminder her father would cease to exist in any further ones she took or witnessed. Another one when she looked to Isaac, unsure if she was seeking comfort or remembering a far flung conversation they'd had about children. It's unsettling, the indecision, hesitation apparent in the shift of her body before she goes to brush past him, following the echo of conversation down the hall and forcing a quick breath to quell her rapid, aching heart. "How long have you two lived here?"