Going On...

The room felt strange despite its familiarity. She'd never been in this specific room before, but she recognized the layout and equipment set-up. Four solid, sturdy walls for acoustics and sound-proofing. Sparse furnishings as not to dampen the sound. A basic multi-track recorder, not as advanced as one in a recording studio, but good enough for decent quality playback. A small collection of various musical instruments for those who wanted to experiment or just couldn't bring their own. Mid-sized speakers in every corner. Mic. Music stand. Plain wooden stool.

She knew the room; she'd been in a thousand rooms just like it. But those rooms felt like they belonged to a thousand other lives.

She opened the guitar case at her feet. Light flashed off the black gloss finish of the hollow, wooden body within, as she reached in to lift the guitar out like a friend who had fallen down. She had still played over the last few years, but not in the same capacity she once did. There were the occasional family get-togethers, the requests from Jake for a song, the quiet nights on the deck of the beach house plucking an accompaniment to the rhythmn of the waves.

How long had it been? Over twenty years since she had walked out of that Toronto music shop with a brand-new shiny black acoustic guitar? Back when the world was an adventure she couldn't wait to begin, when she wanted to sing to the world and hear it sing back.

The stages, spotlights and roaring crowds felt like a dream now.

That was a different world and a different life.

Settling herself onto the stool, she flipped open the battered folder on the music stand. Years expressed in notes and staves on the page looked back at her, waiting to be sung. The song she co-wrote with Faith's father peeked out behind lyrics dedicated to the memory of her first love. Beside them, an incomplete melody for her late fiancé begged for a bridge and final verse, while the corners of a silly parody penned by her deceased band mate curled around it as if attempting an embrace. The music seemed to hold its breath, waiting for permission to exhale.

She adjusted the mic, sliding her fingers onto the familiar frets of the guitar, and took her own deep breath.

No matter what happened, no matter who lived and who died, life kept going on.

Strumming a simple chord progression, she began to sing a random melody.

Time to go on with life.