On this day in 2004, I woke up with a hangover at my dad's house to the phone ringing. I was watching his pad, and I'd had a few beers the night before while watching tv. I planned to chill out, make some breakfast, and maybe go to a show that night with my friends.
Instead, my girlfriend at the time, the voice on the phone, told me Derek was dead. There'd been a car wreck, he and some friends were coming back from Gainesville in the rain and the SUV flipped. He never had a chance. Everyone else made it through.
I had to pass the word to our crew. Is there anything worse than telling friends that someone's not coming home? The rest of that week is a blur of wakes and drunken sorrow and memorial shows. And there's still a big hole in the scene that will never be filled.
Derek, bro, I miss you.