***
August
We cancel three shows. Then five.
Finally, Carter releases a statement: “creative hiatus.” Any chance of securing a label deal is officially off the table.
The fans are kind but confused. They want answers.
So do I.
I finally get my driver’s license.
It takes me three tries and a deep breath that feels like swallowing glass, but sixteen-year-old me would be proud.
Back then, it was raining.
I remember the sound of the wipers. Alex screaming at me from the passenger’s seat, telling me I was doing it all wrong.
The hiss of metal. The silence after. The guilt.
But today I pass.
Parallel park without crying.
Thank the instructor without shaking.
I walk out of the DMV with a temporary license clutched in my hand, my photo slightly crooked, eyes too wide.
Still, it’s mine.
Proof that I can move forward.
***
September
The band stops practicing.
No more check-ins. No more late-night theories.
Everyone’s waiting. Holding their breath.
September is when the money shows up. Deposits are wired to every member of the band.
No note. No sender name.
But we know.
The house is quiet.
I sleep on the couch in the basement because I swear I still smell him in the timeworn cushions.
I dream of his voice.
But loving him is no different than dreaming: I open my eyes, and I wake up.
Fall is coming.
