Our Downfall
Our Downfall
He was everything I ever needed, he was everything I ever wanted, he was everything but mine.
“So I was thinking that maybe we should stop with the whole…circus look.” Ryan said before taking another forkful of noodles to his mouth and eating it.
Some of the noodle juice laid on his lips after he began chewing, it obviously distracted me.
“Bren? Are you listening?” he put his bowl down on the counter in front of us.
We were at Spencer’s house, just got back from another gruesome, long, but fulfilling tour.
“Oh, yeah. You want us to…” I tried to remember what he said but in my head all I saw was his tongue sticking out to lick the remains of noodle juice.
“Stop wearing circus clothes.” he finished my sentence.
It sunk in finally.
“Wait, what? But that’s like us, that’s our thing.”
“We shouldn’t have a ‘thing’ though. I don’t want us to be stuck in labels, Brendon. I don’t want us to be known as the circus band. I don’t want us to get attached to items or a certain style. I just want us to be whatever.” he shrugged at the end of his speech.
“It’s not that big of a deal, to be connected with circus clothes.” I said.
“No, it’s not just the clothes, it’s everything. I think we should stop wearing makeup too. And it’s not just appearance…I think we should head in a new direction with our upcoming album. I want to keep people guessing, I don’t want to repeat. After all it’s like…watching…your favorite movie or something. There will always be a spark even after you’ve seen it over a hundred times but slowly that spark will just go. You know?” his brown eyes searched my face, looking for agreement.
“No, I don’t know. So you’re saying you don’t want us to be Panic! but to be…whatever?”
“We’ll always be Panic! but in another way.” he took a hand and ruffled his hair in frustration. “We’ll always be us but in another way.”
“I still don’t understand, why ruin a good thing?”
“But why not take a risk?”
We stared at each other for a minute or so, quiet.
And that was the start of our downfall.
. . .
“What the hell is this?” I grabbed at some fabric in the trash bin by the kitchen. It was a dark red, v-neck shirt in perfect condition. “Ryan why are your clothes in here?”
“I don’t want them anymore.” he said flipping to the next page of whatever magazine he was reading. He’d been reading music magazines lately, I didn’t know what they were called but it wasn’t your average Spin or Alternative Press if you know what I mean…okay, that probably doesn’t make sense. The magazines were just different from our sound, alright?
“Why? What else are you going to wear?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t want to wear those kinds of clothes anymore.”
I took another glance into the trash. “What the fuck, are those your gloves?” I resisted the urge to rescue them from the dirt that actually deserved to be in the bag of garbage. I secretly loved those gloves on him. A lot.
“Yes, they are.”
I threw the red shirt back in, covering the rest of the shit he decided was no longer good enough and walked away from the scene.
Something was changing and I had never really enjoyed change.
. . .
“No, no, stop. That’s not how I want it to be sung.” Ryan told me firmly, annoyed.
“Well, how do you want it to be sung?!” we had been working on this same verse for over 15 minutes. We had been in this studio for over 4 hours. I was getting a little pissed off at the world and Mr. Picky wasn’t helping at all.
“Your voice is fluctuating too much again, just try to sing it more normal. Okay?”
I rolled my eyes. Sing normal? What the hell was that suppose to mean? And since when was my voice just not working? I think it sounds pretty damn good, it must sound good if I’m the lead singer. But now apparently I just have no talent.
“I know it’s mad but if I go to hell will you come with me or just leave? I know it’s mad but if the world were ending would you kiss me or just leave me?”
I gave it my all. I tried my best to sound “normal”. Because even when Ryan is bugging the hell out of me I still try for him, because I care.
I finished the line and he sat their with pursed lips, thinking.
“Better. We’ll work on it more tomorrow.” he stood up from his chair and walked passed me and out the door.
From then on I got used to be left behind.
. . .
“How about I sing most of it and you sing the bridge?” I heard Ryan saying to someone in Jon’s apartment. I assumed it was Jon.
I knocked on the door lightly, just loud enough for them to hear.
A few moments later it opened up.
“What are you doing here?” Ryan asked, standing in the way between me and Jon’s living room.
“Well, rude much? Just coming to visit a friend, it’s completely normal. You should try it sometime.” I said sarcastically. Ryan hadn’t bothered to see me in the last few days. I tried to ignore how good he looked when I let myself into Jon’s domain, pushing his body to the side since it decided to continue blocking me.
“What are you two doing?” I sat down on Jon’s black leather couch.
Ryan looked guilty. “Uh, writing some songs. You know, just messing around and stuff.”
“Oh, really? Can I see them?”
His face flushed and his hands started fidgeting around.
“It’s not really meant for the next album though…” he looked at the ground and then back up to me, trying to say something but not finding the words. Or the right words. Or the words that wouldn’t hurt me like the next ones did. “Jon and I kind of decided to write our own album together.”
“…Meaning?” I stood back up, attempting to ready myself for this breaking news announcement that clearly hadn’t been shared until last minute. I could tell by the papers I noted on Jon’s table, material for songs that I didn’t know were in the making.
“We don’t want to be in Panic! anymore.”
That’s when I left to have a breakdown, in my car, in the parking lot, where I thought a friend lived. But it was really just a lie.
Because why would a friend sneak around like that and not tell not only me but Spencer that they decided to just pack up and move on?
. . .
“Do you like The Young Veins?” a girl asked me, paying great attention to my reaction. I had bumped into some fans around a record store in the Beatles section area.
The Beatles gave me some comfort, it was pathetic and sad but sometimes if I missed…him I’d take a listen to his favorite songs.
Like I said, it was pathetic and sad but all I really had left and all that I could do at the moment. Considering that we hadn’t talked formally in months.
And no, tweets don’t count.
“Yeah, they’re great.” I tried to smile as the pain in my heart (not dramatic at all) squeezed a bit tighter.
“What’s your favorite song by them?” her friend asked me, taking the piece of paper I had signed for her out of my hand.
“Heart of Mine.” this time the smile wasn’t a lie. It was a great song.
“What’s your least favorite song by them?”
I stood there, thinking, flashes of memories played on my eye lids as they closed for a moment to concentrate.
“Change.”
“So I was thinking that maybe we should stop with the whole…circus look.” Ryan said before taking another forkful of noodles to his mouth and eating it.
Some of the noodle juice laid on his lips after he began chewing, it obviously distracted me.
“Bren? Are you listening?” he put his bowl down on the counter in front of us.
We were at Spencer’s house, just got back from another gruesome, long, but fulfilling tour.
“Oh, yeah. You want us to…” I tried to remember what he said but in my head all I saw was his tongue sticking out to lick the remains of noodle juice.
“Stop wearing circus clothes.” he finished my sentence.
It sunk in finally.
“Wait, what? But that’s like us, that’s our thing.”
“We shouldn’t have a ‘thing’ though. I don’t want us to be stuck in labels, Brendon. I don’t want us to be known as the circus band. I don’t want us to get attached to items or a certain style. I just want us to be whatever.” he shrugged at the end of his speech.
“It’s not that big of a deal, to be connected with circus clothes.” I said.
“No, it’s not just the clothes, it’s everything. I think we should stop wearing makeup too. And it’s not just appearance…I think we should head in a new direction with our upcoming album. I want to keep people guessing, I don’t want to repeat. After all it’s like…watching…your favorite movie or something. There will always be a spark even after you’ve seen it over a hundred times but slowly that spark will just go. You know?” his brown eyes searched my face, looking for agreement.
“No, I don’t know. So you’re saying you don’t want us to be Panic! but to be…whatever?”
“We’ll always be Panic! but in another way.” he took a hand and ruffled his hair in frustration. “We’ll always be us but in another way.”
“I still don’t understand, why ruin a good thing?”
“But why not take a risk?”
We stared at each other for a minute or so, quiet.
And that was the start of our downfall.
. . .
“What the hell is this?” I grabbed at some fabric in the trash bin by the kitchen. It was a dark red, v-neck shirt in perfect condition. “Ryan why are your clothes in here?”
“I don’t want them anymore.” he said flipping to the next page of whatever magazine he was reading. He’d been reading music magazines lately, I didn’t know what they were called but it wasn’t your average Spin or Alternative Press if you know what I mean…okay, that probably doesn’t make sense. The magazines were just different from our sound, alright?
“Why? What else are you going to wear?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t want to wear those kinds of clothes anymore.”
I took another glance into the trash. “What the fuck, are those your gloves?” I resisted the urge to rescue them from the dirt that actually deserved to be in the bag of garbage. I secretly loved those gloves on him. A lot.
“Yes, they are.”
I threw the red shirt back in, covering the rest of the shit he decided was no longer good enough and walked away from the scene.
Something was changing and I had never really enjoyed change.
. . .
“No, no, stop. That’s not how I want it to be sung.” Ryan told me firmly, annoyed.
“Well, how do you want it to be sung?!” we had been working on this same verse for over 15 minutes. We had been in this studio for over 4 hours. I was getting a little pissed off at the world and Mr. Picky wasn’t helping at all.
“Your voice is fluctuating too much again, just try to sing it more normal. Okay?”
I rolled my eyes. Sing normal? What the hell was that suppose to mean? And since when was my voice just not working? I think it sounds pretty damn good, it must sound good if I’m the lead singer. But now apparently I just have no talent.
“I know it’s mad but if I go to hell will you come with me or just leave? I know it’s mad but if the world were ending would you kiss me or just leave me?”
I gave it my all. I tried my best to sound “normal”. Because even when Ryan is bugging the hell out of me I still try for him, because I care.
I finished the line and he sat their with pursed lips, thinking.
“Better. We’ll work on it more tomorrow.” he stood up from his chair and walked passed me and out the door.
From then on I got used to be left behind.
. . .
“How about I sing most of it and you sing the bridge?” I heard Ryan saying to someone in Jon’s apartment. I assumed it was Jon.
I knocked on the door lightly, just loud enough for them to hear.
A few moments later it opened up.
“What are you doing here?” Ryan asked, standing in the way between me and Jon’s living room.
“Well, rude much? Just coming to visit a friend, it’s completely normal. You should try it sometime.” I said sarcastically. Ryan hadn’t bothered to see me in the last few days. I tried to ignore how good he looked when I let myself into Jon’s domain, pushing his body to the side since it decided to continue blocking me.
“What are you two doing?” I sat down on Jon’s black leather couch.
Ryan looked guilty. “Uh, writing some songs. You know, just messing around and stuff.”
“Oh, really? Can I see them?”
His face flushed and his hands started fidgeting around.
“It’s not really meant for the next album though…” he looked at the ground and then back up to me, trying to say something but not finding the words. Or the right words. Or the words that wouldn’t hurt me like the next ones did. “Jon and I kind of decided to write our own album together.”
“…Meaning?” I stood back up, attempting to ready myself for this breaking news announcement that clearly hadn’t been shared until last minute. I could tell by the papers I noted on Jon’s table, material for songs that I didn’t know were in the making.
“We don’t want to be in Panic! anymore.”
That’s when I left to have a breakdown, in my car, in the parking lot, where I thought a friend lived. But it was really just a lie.
Because why would a friend sneak around like that and not tell not only me but Spencer that they decided to just pack up and move on?
. . .
“Do you like The Young Veins?” a girl asked me, paying great attention to my reaction. I had bumped into some fans around a record store in the Beatles section area.
The Beatles gave me some comfort, it was pathetic and sad but sometimes if I missed…him I’d take a listen to his favorite songs.
Like I said, it was pathetic and sad but all I really had left and all that I could do at the moment. Considering that we hadn’t talked formally in months.
And no, tweets don’t count.
“Yeah, they’re great.” I tried to smile as the pain in my heart (not dramatic at all) squeezed a bit tighter.
“What’s your favorite song by them?” her friend asked me, taking the piece of paper I had signed for her out of my hand.
“Heart of Mine.” this time the smile wasn’t a lie. It was a great song.
“What’s your least favorite song by them?”
I stood there, thinking, flashes of memories played on my eye lids as they closed for a moment to concentrate.
“Change.”