Page 169 of Goodbye Note

“I have to keep some of the magic behind the curtain.”

“Are you the Wizard of Oz now?” he asked.

I cracked up. “Sure, you could say that. I don’t want to give everyone a view behind the curtain and ruin it. I think it's part of the enjoyment.”

“I do think there is a kind of romantic aspect to listening to lyrics by an artist and wondering what they are about. So to stay on that theme—unless you’d rather change the topic?”

I held back a groan, not sure where he was going. “No, bro, ask what you’re going to ask.”

“There’s been rumors over the years…” Lennon held up a hand as his producer gave a low whistle. “Calm down, I’m not getting into it. I know that would be a deep rabbit hole we do not have the time or patience to go down. Give me a chance.”

The producer rolled his eyes but gestured for him to continue.

“Everyone is judgy today. Jesus Christ. Like I don’t know how to do my job here, right?” Lennon shook his head.

I laughed. “I have faith. Or at least more faith than those motherfuckers. Let’s do it.”

“So, rumors… There’s been a lot of them over the years, and no, I’m not bringing up individual rumors. I want to know how you cope with them affecting your real life and how hard releasing music that’s so personal to you must be. Surely there are people who know what the lyrics mean, considering how pointed some of them are.”

His question was actually a good one. Insightful. I could already see it being used in clips all around social media.

Which meant I had to answer this perfectly, not only to draw attention to the episode and the album but to make sure I didn’t give away anything. Media in this business was like walking a fucking tight rope some days.

I smiled when it came to me, as a calm settled in my chest. There was only one person who could connect all those dots, and I doubted he paid attention to my albums anymore. And if he did, he wasn’t going to say anything about it.

“As I’ve talked about, I am bipolar type one, and before it was well-controlled, my headspace wasn’t great and I would get drawn into those narratives. As much as I had the internet to thank for my career, I also had it to blame for keeping my worst moments front and center. There was no escape from fame, only sloshing through it. But I can’t be mad because it was genetics that had fucked me, wasn’t it? So I’ve learned to accept my brain while disengaging from observing the narrative as much as possible. My mental health has been a lot better since I stopped reading stuff about myself.”

If only I could stop reading all the shit about Varian.

“So who knows the meaning behind the lyrics? Anyone?” Lennon leaned forward.

“Ser probably has some idea because he spends the most time with me. But I’m sure he still doesn’t know everything. You’d have to be a fly on the wall for every moment of my life to have a chance.”

“I guess Ser is the one we need to get under the lie detector.”

“Good luck with that. He is so introverted, he doesn’t even like to do interviews.” I laughed, glad that it worked to my benefit.

“So what you’re saying is we are never getting a book with all the inside details?”

I shook my head. “I have no plans, and I don’t think Ser would ever do that to me. Maybe when I’m dead.”

Ser poked his head in. “Nah. I wouldn’t do that to him.”

“Since you at home can’t hear what’s being said from people without mics, Serafin came in just now and said he wouldn’t. Come get on a mic, Serafin!”

Ser made a cutting motion across his neck.

“Come on. You’re here! I’m going to start taking it personally if you don’t want to be on the podcast.”

Serafin sighed. At heart, he was a people-pleaser. So he let the producer hand him a headset and took a seat next to me on the sofa. “I blame you for this.”

“Me?” I asked, laughing.

“Yes, you. You put my name in their mouth!” He grinned good-naturedly about it. “So here I am, hello. This is Serafin from Second Star, and I would never write a tell-all about Arik’s life. Those secrets will be taken to the grave. If he wants to write a book, that’s up to him.” Ser had been asked enough that he was well-versed on what they were expecting.

“No introduction needed, but thank you,” Lennon Roy said. “You have it here first; you all have to ask Arik to write his own tell-all. Is that something you’d ever do?”

“No, I don’t think I would. It’s one thing to turn my own experiences into art because it’s mine. My feelings. My view. But it feels uncouth to bring real people into it with names without their consent. It takes two to be in a relationship, and there are three sides. It’s not my place to make those very personal things public. Nor do I want to.” I watched Lennon for his reaction, not sure what I’d get.

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