Chapter 76: The Weight of Unwritten Years
Later that night, after my mother had gone to bed, I sat at my bedroom window, laptop balanced on the sill as I worked on what would become our breakthrough track. The screen's glow painted modern shadows on walls that held memories from two different timelines – posters of artists whose careers I'd watched rise and fall, some of whom hadn't even released their first singles yet.
My fingers moved across the keyboard, programming drum patterns that wouldn't be common for another five years. The track's working title stared back at me: "Tomorrow's Legacy." Devon's vocals from earlier were still raw, but beneath them I was laying the foundation for something that would bridge decades:
Time is currency, spend it slow Plant these seeds and watch them grow Building bridges to tomorrow Between the yes and the no
A text from Rico lit up my phone: "Meeting tomorrow. Label interested. Big money." I let it sit unanswered, knowing how this particular dance would end. In my previous life, we'd signed too early, too eager. The contract had seemed generous then, but I now understood its hidden thorns. This time, we'd wait. Three months from now, Platinum Records would offer double, with fewer strings attached.
The beat pulsed through my headphones as I added another layer – a subtle synth line that would become a signature sound, though nobody would know I'd borrowed it from a 2019 production technique. My finger hovered over the modifier key, remembering the first time I'd heard this combination in a Tokyo studio that didn't exist yet.
Every move a prophecy Every choice a legacy Walking tightropes made of dreams Between what is and what seems
A siren wailed in the distance, its doppler shift a reminder of time's fluid nature. Across the street, lights still burned in Mr. Patterson's window – in both timelines, the old jazz musician kept vampire hours, though in this version of 2004, he'd become an unexpected mentor. Last week, he'd listened to my latest track and given me a long, knowing look before saying, "You got old soul ears, young blood. Real old soul ears."
I pulled up the teaching program proposal I'd been drafting. The curriculum was designed to teach what I knew would be relevant in 2024 while staying grounded in 2004's reality. It was a delicate balance, like everything else in this second chance at life. The document's working title read "Future Sounds Initiative" – a private joke that would become a movement.
My phone buzzed again. Rico: "You sleeping on this? Tomorrow 10am. Wear something clean."
I typed back: "Got a counter-proposal. Trust me on this."
Three dots appeared, disappeared, reappeared. Finally: "Always do, kid. Always do."
Except I wasn't really a kid, hadn't been for years that hadn't happened yet. The weight of unwritten decades pressed against my shoulders as I turned back to the music. The chorus swelled in my headphones:
Standing at the crossroads where Yesterday meets tomorrow's air Rewriting history's page While time dances on its stage
From down the hall came the soft sound of my mother's TV – some late-night novela she watched to help her sleep. In my other life, she'd already have given up this small luxury, trading it for extra shifts to cover my studio time. The guilt of that memory, sharp as new vinyl, drove me to make another adjustment to the track's mix.
The song was almost ready. In three weeks, it would catch the ear of a radio DJ who owed Rico a favor. By summer's end, it would be climbing charts I remembered from another life. But this time, the success would come with wisdom pre-installed, with choices informed by a future I was carefully dismantling and rebuilding, piece by piece.
I saved the project file and closed my laptop, letting darkness reclaim the room. Somewhere in Brooklyn, a teenage Beyoncé was probably rehearsing, unaware that in both timelines, our paths would cross – though this time, I'd make sure we were both ready when they did. The thought brought a smile as I finally lay down, tomorrow's memories mixing with yesterday's dreams.
Outside my window, the city that never slept continued its eternal rhythm, unaware that one of its sons was orchestrating a revolution from memory, conducting a symphony of moments that hadn't happened yet. As sleep approached, Devon's lyrics floated through my mind, a reminder of the tightrope I walked between what was and what could be:
Time's a circle, not a line Future's in this present shine Betting on these dreams of mine Living twice to get it right
In the darkness, I whispered a promise to both timelines: "This time, we all win." The words hung in the air like studio reverb, echoing between the life I'd lived and the one I was creating, between the boy I appeared to be and the man I remembered becoming. Tomorrow would bring another day of careful calculations and measured revelations, of building a future that looked like destiny to everyone but me.
But tonight, in the quiet hours between inspiration and dawn, I was simply a musician making music, letting the beats bridge the gap between what had been and what could be, one carefully crafted track at a time.
new book out
Title: Second Chance: Rise from the Dead
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