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NIGHTS
By : fadingsummer
Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Daft Punk
Views: 1172 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: I do not know the members of Daft Punk, and this is a work of fiction. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. I wish to insult or harm no one. - Chapter List
Nous étions connectés ensemble
All I remember are NIGHTS. I'm sure I must have lived through the day, too, but when I try to recall them, all I see is a bleak kind of grey sunlight. The nights are dark, but so much clearer. The air is cooler, the people moving around us are louder. I walk alongside him, constantly adapting my pace to his, calculating the humidity and temperature of the air. I have done so for many years of my life, not exactly from the first moment we met, but it isn't far off. It can't have taken more than a few months.
We listened to records on his attic. We used to buy them together as soon as something new was released. Old stuff that we wanted, we already had. Our separate collections put together formed the perfect pile of recordings. I always went to his house, and I always brought some music with me. When we had finished listening to everything, it had become late. We sat on the attic, on the wooden floor, with the lights switched on, and when I looked up I realized the windows had become black holes, mouths that looked kind of threatening because I could not see through them, but the outside could. We never closed the curtains. We put on another record until his family went to sleep. Then I quietly left him, gliding through the chilly night air on my bike. The birds would have grown silent. There were crickets, sometimes, but most of the time there was no sound but an airplane or a siren now and then. The music was still in my head, but the silence in my ears was overwhelming. It was worse in the winter.
We only talk after twelve.
We don't talk much, anyway. It has always been like this, really. We listen to music, we comment on it, we share a few short ideas. Not more. Not before twelve. It's not necessary. And it's nice, because I'm no good with words. I noticed immediately that he is, but not when he's with me. In order to communicate, we needed background noise, or alcohol and nicotine. We went out together, every Friday and Saturday night. Not to dance, like the masses, but to watch and listen. Knowing there was something going on in town while we were sitting at home was unbearable, but we were only allowed to go in the weekends. Without parental supervision, we would only have gone home to sleep.
Maybe it's strange, but the things I think about the most were the subway drives home. Mostly there weren't many others but the driver and us. We felt ecstatic. We needed to talk. What we said wasn't important, unless it was about the plans and ideas that were gradually starting to form. He talked, he smiled, he laughed at my jokes. I was surprised every time, but it was so easy. We bumped into each other when the train shook. I pushed him, he pushed me. One time we were too loud and an old guy told us to be quiet. Thomas had to get off the train first, and I spent the last three minutes alone in my seat, a stupid grin still on my face. When I pulled the covers over my head, I could still feel the bass trembling, shaking in my stomach. The adrenaline made it difficult to even close my eyes.
But I was a boy back then. I know I must have had emotions. I can remember how I felt, because I still have some notes and scribbles left that I found in my room one day. But as I read them, I remembered only the circumstances, the facts. Not the feeling. It meant nothing to me anymore. I wrote how excited I was about my project with Thomas. I wrote how I wanted our music to sound, and how the demos we had made had made me feel: dizzy with confidence, and amazed that we had done it. I said I couldn't believe we had already gotten this far, and that I still had tons of inspiration. I understood some of these notes perfectly, because I still had inspiration and I still made music in more or less the same way. But I know I am light years away from the boy I was in the early 90s.- You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
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