Page 58 of When the Lights Come On
“We make our own truths
Set them like sails
Close ourselves in coffins
And use them as nails.”
Youssef is just sitting there, letting the track play while he stares at the computer screen. I can’t tell if he knows. There’s really no way hecouldknow. My singing voice doesn’t sound much like my talking voice, and there’s nothing in the file name to give it away.
Still, I find myself perched on the edge of the couch, my heart pounding as I wait for him to give me some sign he’s figured it out.
We get all the way to the chorus before he moves at all, but it’s just to shift his position as he keeps sitting there with an unreadable expression.
“You found your truth in the dark
So what are you gonna do when the lights come on?
Who are you gonna be when the lights come on?
When the lights come on?”
The drop hits, and he starts tapping his finger against the table’s edge in time with the beat. It’s a small gesture, but I feel a swell of satisfaction. I’m more proud of the production on this track than anything else I’ve made.
He lets the whole song play through to the end and hits the pause button once it’s faded to silence. It’s so quiet I can hear both of us breathe.
“That was... He looks at me for the first time. “That was incredible. You’re incredible, Paige.”
The warmth in me changes from a glow to a roaring blaze. I still can’t tell if he knows it was me singing, but even if he’s only talking about the production, his praise means more than most of the compliments I’ve received in my entire career.
It means something becausehemeans something.
And that’s the inescapable truth: he means something. He always has, and I’m starting to think he always will.
