Page 88 of A Tragic Melody

“You’re okay.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You will be.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Tues, I got you. Trust me, okay? I’ll get you through this.”

Quinn walks out. “Joint.” He hands it to Wyatt. “And a lighter.”

“Thanks.” Wyatt takes it. He places the joint in my mouth, holding it. I watch him light it. “Inhale. Slowly,” he says. I do as he says. “Good. Hold it. Now exhale.”

He makes me do that three times. My head feels heavier, but my body buzzes less.

“Quinn, tell them we will be there in five more minutes, okay?”

“Yeah,” Quinn says, putting out the joint Wyatt passes him.

“How are you feeling?” Wyatt asks when he is gone.

“Heavy, but less buzzy.”

“That’s good.”

“Thank you,” I say softly. I feel a little more normal than I did a second ago. “I think I can sing now.”

“Good.”

“I didn’t like that.”

“Also good.”

“You did?”

“Well I’m not sure I ever mixed it with ecstasy, but the buzzing feeling was nice for me. It shorted out my thoughts. I went into autopilot. It was nice.”

“You are insane.”

“I was a drug addict trying to bury my problems to avoid thinking about how I had to bury my family.”

“My problems must seem so silly in comparison.”

“Problems are problems. Comparing them is the silly part.”

“I missed you today.” He looks away from me, and it hurts. “But I get it. We should go inside. We have a show to play.”

“Tues…” He looks back at me.

I don’t wait for him to speak, I just walk away.

“Ready now?” Paulie asks when I walk up.

“What two songs did you cut?” I ask. My heart still thumps in my chest, but in a more much familiar way.

“Carousal and Noise. It saves on guitar changes, too,” Quinn says.

“Sounds good.” I crack my neck. “Let’s do this.”