But tonight, I’m not thinking about our band.
I’m not thinking about how music lifts me, taking away the memories. Or how everyone thinks I’m the joker, the immature, older member of Recoil who’s never serious.
Tonight, I’m drowning my sorrows.
Like I do on this day every year.
The memories are so haunting, so vivid, they never leave.
Even all these years later.
I may be a joker, but thiswasn’ta joke.
And remembering them, once a year, is theonlytime I allow myself to be swallowed by guilt.
Footsteps filter through the hall, and Danger steps into our kitchen, flicking on the switch, blinding me temporarily. I squint, closing my eyes and opening them a few times while rubbing my temple.
“Drinking alone? You okay, dude?” he asks, walking over to the small table.
“I’m fine. Go back to Lunar.” I don’t bother looking up while I speak.
“It’s really late or early… maybe call it a night, Ry?”
“Leave it!” I raise my voice.
He pulls out the chair beside me, its wooden feet scraping against the floor, making a squealing noise. “Okay, things are going great for us, but you look like shit. Talk to me.”
I take a small sip of the amber liquid that burns my throat just as I like. Licking the bitter taste from my lips, I exhale. “It’stheiranniversary,” I simply say, and his face drops in understanding.
“Oh, shit! With so much happening…” he trails off, hesitating for a moment, then continues, “I’m so fucking sorry, man.” Danger reaches out for another glass and pours himself some liquid courage. He then tops off my practically empty glass, saying nothing more.
He knows.
This is the one day I fall apart.
The one day, I allow it to happen.
Because nine years ago today, I was driving the car that crashed, taking the lives of my wife and daughter.
