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“Say cheese!” Middy called loudly, as he raised his camera in the air, trying to pan out and get everyone seated at their table in the picture.
“No way!” Johnny shook his head, hiding his face behind his bottle of beer.
He was smiling as he said it, but Samy could tell he was serious about not wanting to be photographed.
“Did I blink?” Taz asked curiously, as Middy sat back down.
“Nah, you looked great,” Middy assured him. “But, I might take another one later.”
“I think I’m going to go get us another round of drinks,” Johnny decided, standing up.
“I’ll walk with you,” Samy offered.
“I’m just walking over to the bar,” Johnny chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Not to Berlin. But, suit yourself.”
Once they were out of the earshot of their blonde friends, Samy put an arm on Johnny’s shoulder.
“Can I ask you a serious question?” he said, looking up into Johnny’s eyes.
“Uh…yeah, I guess,” Johnny shrugged. “What’s up?”
“When did you get so camera shy?” Samy frowned.
“What do you mean?” Johnny asked, shifting uncomfortably.
“I mean, you’re not a shy person,” Samy explained. “You’ve made friends in every corner of the Finnish music industry.”
This much was true. Johnny had connections not only to metal bands, like Lost Society and Blind Channel, but also with pop stars, like Bess and Robin Packalen. He could start a conversation with just about anyone.
“You’re definitely not a hermit,” Samy continued. “I mean, we’re out partying right now. But when it comes to social media, you’re a ghost.”
“I quit using Instagram six years ago,” Johnny mumbled. “You know that.”
The last Instagram post he’d ever made, was his announcement that he was quitting Santa Cruz.
“Why did you do it?” Samy demanded. “Why do you avoid having your picture taken now? Do you think that if you post pictures of your location, fans are going to show up here, wanting autographs?”
“No, nothing like that,” Johnny shook his head. “I’m not fucking Käärijä.”
“Right,” Samy nodded. “I’m not that famous, either. But, I’ve been following your page since I was a teenager, Joonas. You used to post selfies all the time. Did something happen to your self confidence? Do you feel like you don’t look good anymore?”
“I…,” Johnny hesitated. “I’m about to turn thirty-two, Samy. I’ve definitely aged a little since I quit social media. But, I’d like to think that I still look pretty good.”
“You’re handsome as fuck,” Samy assured him.
“Thank you. But…I’ll be honest with you,” Johnny sighed. “That’s not what it’s about.”
“Then what is it about?” Samy wondered.
Johnny figured that he might as well just tell him, and get it over with. Taz and Middy must be wondering by now, what they were standing in the corner whispering about.
“Instagram is just…full of too many memories,” Johnny confessed.
“What do you mean?” Samy asked, staring up at Johnny with such confused, concerned brown eyes.
“If you scroll through my photos,” Johnny explained, “there’s a million pictures of me onstage. Playing music. And I…I don’t get to do that anymore.”
“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Samy realized.
“Can you imagine never playing a gig ever again?” Johnny asked seriously.
“No,” Samy shook his head. “I honestly can’t. I’ve been a touring musician since I was sixteen.”
“I started when I was seventeen,” Johnny nodded in understanding. “And then I woke up one day, and I was twenty-six, and suddenly my life as a touring musician was just…over. Up in smoke.
Look. I know I’m lucky to have started a second career, as a producer. I’ve helped make some amazing records in the last six years. And I’ve made good money doing it. I’ve got nothing to cry about. But…”
“But, does it ever make you want to cry?” Samy frowned, beginning to understand the pain Johnny was feeling. “Looking at pictures of your younger self?”
“Do you know how many pictures on my Instagram, are of me smiling at fucking Archie?” Johnny snapped. “Looking at him, so trustingly, like he’s the best friend I’ll ever have. And it makes me remember how - how I really thought that, at the time. I thought he and I would be on the road together until we were Mick Jagger’s age. I’m a fucking idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot,” Samy assured him, pulling him into a hug.
“What if I turn around one day,” Johnny mumbled into Samy’s curls, “and you’re gone, too? What if someday, looking back at pictures I’ve taken with you hurts the same way? It’s better to have no pictures at all.”
“I’m not him!” Samy cried. “Johnny, there’s no way I’d ever betray you like that.”
“What if you died?” Johnny asked, trying not to break down in public. “Samy, every fucking time I re-listen to If The Sky Came Down, I thank the gods that you didn’t die, before we finished making that record. Because I would never be able to look at the photos of us in the studio together ever again. In the same way that Middy can’t stand to look at any of the photos he took with Alexi, when they were recording Paint The Sky With Blood .”
“Johnny, I’m not going anywhere,” Samy promised, squeezing his friend tight. “I swear to you, I will never make you regret taking a picture with me.”