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.
2 comments:
I remember I was in Las Vegas, of all places, and my cell phone rang and it was Lily, crying, crying. She told me and I was so heart-sore, to hear that news. I didn't know Derek well at all, but I knew that some of my children did and loved him and that his death was a terrible loss to them and I was so far away and could do nothing to help you through it.
Nothing. Just words on a phone, so many, many miles for them to travel that they couldn't possibly have any use by the time they'd gotten to you.
Wasn't he beautiful? Wasn't he a beautiful boy?
He was. I still think I see him sometimes as shows.
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