Remember

Inside the studio, Ross wore huge headphones, playing the feedback of Kip and Chandler's session earlier in the day along with Mike's drumming. The boom mike cast over him, ready to record his frenetic riffs.

Although they had already recorded several songs in the last two weeks and were close to almost finished with the album, the whole process still felt surreal to all of them, particularly Ross. He pinched himself at least once a day to see if he were dreaming.

With the recording of Chandler's half-screaming vocals reverberating in Ross' eardrums, he played his part on his Gibson guitar with a pick and synchronizing with the lyrics,

"They are sick, they are poor
And they die by the thousands and we look away.
They are wolves at the door
And they're not gonna move us or get in the way

'Cause we don't have the time
Here at the top of the world
Feeling alright
Here at the top of the world…"

He continued in an intense manner. His fingers slightly tightened and cramped as they slid up and down the frets and neck of the guitar. He made it look gracefully hectic, but also, incredibly easy.

"Different god, darker skin
They are just not a burden that we'd like to bear.
They are living in 'sin'
There are so many reasons for us not to care.

'Cause we don't have the time
Here at the top of the world
Feeling alright
Here at the top of the world.

We've learned money matters most
So we keep our cards closed
Here at the top of the world…"

"So, what's the title of the album?" their manager pressed.

"Well, all four of us have a title we like, but don't which to use," Kip informed.

"Spit them out..."

"Mike wants Artist in the Ambulance. Ross likes Disorientation. Kip wants something oxymoronic like Sleeping with Insomnia while I like Euphoria," Chandler spilled the beans.

"They all sound good, but based on how the album sounds so far, I'd go with a combination like Euphoric Disorientation," the man said with a sense of neutrality, covering all the bases. "So, the sound engineers will get your songs mixed, spliced and whatever else that has and needs to be done. And at the earliest, it could be released before the end of the summer. You still need to submit the artwork for the cover and then you're done until the next album."

He placed a flyer on the already scattered bulletin, tucking the rest of the flyers between the crevice of his arm and side of his body. It read, "Looking for a bassist, guitarist and drummer to start up a punk rock or hardcore band. Interested? Contact Ross Geller at (631) 394-5542…"

"Times New Roman is better," he joked, startling the man. "Arial is just so plain."

Removing the headphones from his ears, Ross scanned him, slightly pessimistic due to his Members Only jacket and Flock of Seagulls haircut. Then again, he wasn't much to talk with the curly 'fro.

"You're not checking me out, are you?"

"Ha, no," he articulated, "but you do know the 80's died over a decade and a half ago?"

"Nice Chia pet you got going on there," he fired back. "How long it take you to grow?"

Damn, he'd already run out of ammunition, getting slightly irritated. "Yeah, well…"

"Eh, don't worry about it, masquerading insults as jokes is sort of my thing," he revealed as he extended his hand out for a handshake, "Chandler Bing."

The latter reluctantly accepted the gesture, rolling up the flyers into his left hand, "Ross Geller."

"Wait, Bing, is your mom…"

"Yeah, don't," he cut him off, "I know who she is. However, I do play the guitar. And I have a good friend who plays bass who I'd say he's pretty good. So if you're interested, I'm in."

"Of course," Ross declared, changing to a friendlier tone. "Dude, I'm not denying your talent, but you still need to addition. In the name of 'fairness,' you know?"

Chandler asked, "…this your first semester at NYU?"

"Yeah."

"Cool, at least there's one other freshman I know."

There were several calls, inquiring about the band and asking to have impromptu auditions. So, he'd picked up his electric guitar one weekend, and had people come into his dorm to showcase Ross what they had to offer. Some were really good, some were really bad and everyone else fit somewhere in between.

Thanksgiving break had come and the band hadn't been set, much to his disappointment. He'd heard some of Chandler's vocals after becoming roommates, so he was probably the only one officially in. Ross was definitely looking forward to coming home, being the slightest bit homesick. In the following weeks and months at NYU, he'd become really good friends with Chandler and Kip.

He decided to bringhis roommateover for the holiday since Chandler didn't really want to go home for undisclosed reasons. Kip told them they would meet up sometime during the weekend. That he would need to pick up his bass guitar.

"Wow, so have you guys played in a band before?" Ross inquired in the garage of his parents' home. Compared to some of the acts he had seen earlier, he was easily impressed from Kip and Chandler's audition. The latter's vocals floored Ross the most. It just fit the style of music he'd envisioned for the band. While Ross' vocals were good, it came off slightly nasally and whiny. Andeven he had to admit that... reluctantly.

"Yeah, we played for a few years, but nothing too serious." Kip answered in a diplomatic fashion. "Heard of Anatomy of a Failure?"

"That was you guys," he replied, fascinated.

"Yeah," Chandler said. "It gave us something worthwhile to do at that all-boy school. That and going to skate parks and, well, skateboarding…"

"So, Ross, we're you in a band?" Kip wondered.

"Yeah, but it was kind of small," he divulged, "The Velociraptors mostly because how we were so into dinosaurs. An old friend wanted to name it 'Hating Rachel', but it didn't stick."

Confused, they looked at him, "Anyways, now all we need is a drummer."

Three down, one or two more to go, he thought, thinking more optimistically.

"I can't go to my own prom without a date," the brunette claimed, "I can't. It's too late."

"If you're not going then I don't want to go," his pudgy sister replied.

A sense of desperation filled the air. With senior prom being the culmination of high school, she was practically in tears at the thought of not being able to go.

"Oh, I'm gonna to kick Chip's ass," Monica's date mumbled.

Indifferent, he played the theme from the Beverly Hills Cop on his keyboard by the stairs listening to all the events transpiring. Other than being her best friend's brother, she never thought much of him anyway.

…then came the chiming of the light bulb.

"I have a wonderful idea," his mother suggested to her elder (and favorite) child. "You should take Rachel to the prom."

"Doubtful," he replied, panicking at the 'indecent' proposal.

There was a lot of back and forth between both parties while Monica did her best to comfort Rachel, oblivious. Sure, Rachel had been the girl of his dreams at one point, but he continually convinced himself he was over her. And after buying into the same rhetoric again and again, he felt he was over her. However, all those feelings seemed to rush to the forefront…

"I can't believe I don't get to go to my own prom," the homecoming queen droned on rather dramatically. "This is so harsh."

This was the trigger. Having missed his own prom just last year, he knew all too well the feeling of missing out on the "most prestigious" high school event. Of course, he wasn't nearly half as popular as her, so the effect wasn't on the same grandeur. Finally, he yielded to their requests…

It might be fun, he thought, handing his father the keyboard like a baton. "Okay, hold my board."

"Atta boy," his father exclaimed.

He quickly undressed out of his khakis and short-sleeved shirt. Somewhat excited about aspect of "going to prom," it rejuvenated what feelings he had for her. Butterflies floating in his stomach, he rushed to get the pants, shirt, cummerbund and jacket on. It had been a rush that could only compare to performing in front of an audience, large or small.

"C'mon kid, let's go," his dad directed.

Judy gleamed, "Ah, are you handsome."

"Let's show 'em."

"Uh, just a sec dad," he dawdled nervously, "Okay, be cool, just be cool…"

Growing infinitely confident by the second, he improvised by grabbing the bouquet of roses in the vase, "Okay, dad…"

"Rachel here come your knight in shining…" Jack declared, then hesitated, "oh no."

"Bye," the quartet chirped in unison, rushing towards the limousine their parents helped pay for.

The formerly shattered prom queen was now hopeful, bursting to get into the limousine and experience the event most teenagers waited four years for.

He should've seen it coming, but still he allowed his hopes to get high only to come crashing back down to reality. He knew it was a dumb idea and he wanted curse his parents up and down. It'd get him nowhere though. He felt like regurgitating those approving words he'd said that laid at the back of his throat. Now, he had to pick up whatever was left of his heart off the floor.

He ran up to his room, slammed the door shut. He wanted to cry. And although, she hadn't rejected him directly, it stung like hell. Grabbing a random black spiral-bound notebook from the second drawer, he began writing on the first sheet of paper.

"I hear you're looking for a drummer," the guy asked. "Joey, I'm from Queens."

Fortunately, Kip still had and was able to load the drums from his and Chandler's old band onto his truck, storing it in their homes. The Gellers' basement had become the temporary home of Way/No Way.

Kip tossed him a pair of drumsticks, "Show us what you got, Joey."

Joey played. Nerves and anxiety got the best of him, causing him to play off-key but was able to finish the song strongly.

"Not bad," Chandler noted, no longer sporting the Seagulls hair and more of a shaved buzz cut, "But thank you."

An hour and few breaks or so later, they had seen a handful of drummers and none of them had really blown them away.

"I'm grabbing myself a beer," Kip announced.

"Yeah, I'm going for a quick smoke," Chandler chimed. "You want a cig, Geller?"

"Nah, I'm good, Chandler," he turned down. "I don't smoke."

"So, the second to last one was really good, yeah?" Kip recalled, "Mike Gander-something."

Chandler added, "Yeah, he had a lot of confidence about it too, can never have enough of that."

"I think I've seen him in an anthology class," Ross remembered, having replaced the 'fro with shorter, spiky gelled hair.

"He seems cool, plus I guess it'd be easier if we all are at the same school. Other than Kip and maybe Mike working, we wouldn't have to deal so much with schedules and traveling."

"Well, call up Mike and tell him he's in," Ross suggested.

The band was settled and before the semester was over, yet now came the harder part: writing songs and getting everything to gel.

There it was, the finished product: months of hard work, sweat and empty bottles of booze from playing shows in different cities contained in a single plastic disc. They towered over it like a parent would over a newborn child.

"Man, I'm glad the album's going to be out in a month, but I am fucking beat," Mike decreed (and the other three nodded wordlessly, too exhausted to express it), pouring a bottle of SKYY in one hand into a shot glass.

They'd been on the road if not every day, every other day. Their record label had upgraded them from a couple of vans to a slightly bigger tour bus, equipped with practically everything. They'd been down and then up the east coast the past month and a half.

"Seriously," Ross clamored. "One more show to go; fortunately, it's a smaller venue, the opening of Central Perk. It's supposedly outdoors and we're the only ones playing though, so that's good."

"Damn, it's like 95-plus degrees outside," Kip said, sitting around on one of the plush chairs of the air-conditionedbus.

Chandler picked up the small flyer, "It's tonight though, so it'll hopefully have cooled by then."

A few hours later, the guys had changed into fresh clothing. The stars dimly lit the place, creating an intimate atmosphere. They prepped inside the actual shop, what appeared to be a coffee shop.

They remembered playing here before when back when it was a bar. Mike loosened up, twirling the drumsticks and tapping them gently on one of the tables metrically to the beat of the music he was listening to.

Terry, the owner of Central Perk, introduced the band, "Ladies and gentlemen, it's a huge honor to welcome one of New York's finest, The Switchblades."

They drew a warm ovation of about a couple hundred or so, which had temporarily shut down traffic on that block. The feeling still gave them a slight case of the goose-bumps. After all, it was one thing to play in other cities, but in front of your home town and state, it was even more special.

"Good evening, Manhattan!" Chandler yelled while adjusting the microphone, placing earplugs in each of his ears. He had on a light blue shirt that contained the phrase, "There's only one good bush" (ironically, a gift a female fan had given him after a show in Jacksonville, Florida). In any case, the shirt brought out his eyes and fair skin.

Ross tuned his guitar and adjusted the volume of the amp, wearing a light green shirt of another band they had become friends with. He took a couple sips of water to prevent dehydration.

"We have a new album in stores on August 29. We're also featured on the cover Alternative Press and there's a neat little interview." Chandler continued to speak. "Anyways, this first song you've probably heard on the radio. It's loosely based off some of C.S. Lewis' work. It goes a little something like this…"

Mike rhythmically laid down drum beats while Chandler chimed in with power chords,

"Wake up everyone! It's not too late
To save the remnants of our hearts,
So stop giving up our last shot at love,
Our only chance to find the meaning of
The beat beneath the blood,"

Ross threw down some wild and furious riffs to compliment Mike's drumming,

"We laugh at honor and are shocked when
We find the knives in our backs.
We follow those who cheat and steal.
Look in my eyes, you won't find your way back.
Our only compass smashed under our own heels

Reason abandoned to appetites and addicts arms
Shotguns and silence have been the best of charms…"

At this point, Mike slightly "outplayed" Ross musically, but that only drove him to play even louder and more frenzied throughout the rest of the song...

They played four more songs,allbut onefrom the brand new album. With each song, the crowd continued to respond vigorously to their energy by twofold. Wiping the sweat dripping down with a towel, Chandler gulped water and tossed the rest of it towards the audience, somewhat spraying them with it.

"Was that good for you like it was good for me? Damn, I need a cigarette," he joked. "Anyways, we're going to slow things down a bit. This was one of the first songs I wrote when I joined the band. You may know the Greek mythology behind it…"

Ross and Mike started things off. A little bit later, Kip added some bass to the song and Chandler input his vocals,

"I've waited for this moment
All my life and more
And now I see so clearly
What I could not see before.
The time is now or never.
And this chance won't come again.
Throw caution into the wind.

There's no promise of safety with these secondhand wings,
But I'm willing to find out what impossible means.
A leap of faith…"

A brief interlude with mostly Kip playing in the background, Chandler continued,

"Parody of an angel,
Miles above the sea
I hear the voice of reason
Screaming out to me
'You've flown far too high boy now you're too close to the sun
Soon you're makeshift wings will come undone'
But how will I know limits from lies if I never try?"

Chandler repeated the chorus, but added a little,

"There's no promise of safety with these secondhand wings,
But I'm willing to find out what impossible means.
I'll climb through the heavens on feathers and dreams
'Cause the melting point of wax means nothing to me
Nothing to me
Nothing to me..."

Ross and Mike continued to play their respective instruments,

"I will touch the sun or I will die trying,
Die trying
Fly on these secondhand wings
Willing to find out what impossible means
I'll climb through the heavens on feathers and dreams
'Cause the melting point of wax means nothing to me
Nothing to me
Means nothing to me,
Miles above the sea."

He slowly finished, enunciating the final eight words to add emphasis, "Thank you."

Mike hurled his pair of drumsticks towards the audience as mementos while Ross and Kip each threw a few picks.

The lights turned off, allowing the band to exit the stage and head inside. There were several chants for an encore or one more song. For the most part, they had the crowd eating out of the palm of their hands, which left the same effect on the audiences from all the other stops, one of the marks of a solid musician and performer.

Terry congratulated the foursome on a solid show and wishing them well.

"My throat," Chandler said hoarsely, "is fucking shot."

"Hey guys," Monica blurted before perching herself on her boyfriend's lap, "Really good show tonight."

Ross pointed at the general vicinity near the counter, "I need something to drink."

"This place is kind of cool," Chandler noted. "Mon, do you know if the apartment next to your grandmothers' up for rent? Kip and I are looking for a place to crash after graduation."

"Not sure, but I'll check for you."

Ross was observing the quaint establishment and furnishings, accidentally bumping into an all too familiar face he'd seen before. The slight collision caused to her drop the coffee mugs, sending them crashing to the ground.

"Oh, sorry," he nervously sputtered. "It was my fault."

"Damn right, it was," she muttered angrily. "Those are coming out of my paycheck."

He was too distracted, still trying to spot where he'd seen her before.

"…you there?" the voice asked, snapping him from his little trance. She reiterated, "Hello?"

"Yeah, I'll cover it, don't worry."

"Right," she growled, snippy. "I've got to get back to work…"

What a bitch, he thought but disbelief still punched him in the gut, leaving him winded, "R-Rachel Green?"

The mention of her name caught her dead in her tracks, "How- how did you know that?"

"Just a guess," he said casually, feeling like he had the upper hand neatly tucked away in his back pocket.

"Well, it is Rachel Matthews now," she corrected, "but seriously, how'd you know my name?"

"W-we used to go to school together, Lincoln High?" he reasoned. "You were my sister's best friend?"

"Really, wait," she paused, taking a moment for all of it in. "…Ross?"

He seemed baffled by both the length it took and her inability to remember him, had he been that transparent to her? Sure, she'd simply known of him as Monica's older brother, but seemingly, to completely forget?

"So, that was your band performing tonight?"

"Well, there's also three others involved."

"Not bad," she acknowledged.

"Thanks, so what're you doing here?"

"Well, my hubby's on a football scholarship at a community college for now. And I'm working here to help pay off rent while trying to get an internship in the fashion industry."

He didn't want to pry too deeply, "Sounds like you've kept yourself busy..."

"Well, whatever it takes to get you 'prepared for the real world', right?"

"Yeah, anyways, it was good seeing you, but I've got to get back to the dorms," he concluded, watching as his friends and sister were taking off.

"Geller, is your ass coming or not?" Mike spoke, a notch below an actual scream. Ross scrambled over to the door, panting. "Party at the casa, eh?"

"'Sup Janine," he said, wrapping his arm around his girlfriend. "I'm there."

A/N: Lyrics in this chapter are Thrice's "Cold Cash…," "Abolition of Man" and "Melting Point of Wax." It isn't crucial to hear the songs since the lyrics are the crux (although the introduction to and piano playing at the end of "Deadbolt" are, IMO, all kinds of awesome). Reviews are always welcome, and I'm a groupie for those…