Steven LaChance Blog

The door to the bar opened and light flooded in. The sun was rising outside but we didn’t care. We sat at the bar, still half-dreaming from the night before. Roy was behind it, wiping glasses, humming along to the sound system. I can still see him smiling at something silly Anni had just said as a song began to play over the speakers. What’s Going On.

In a moment we all started to sing the chorus at the top of our lungs, trying to chase away the night and the reality of the world we were living in. There was something pure in that sound, a kind of desperate joy that only people who have seen too much can understand. We sang because the world outside was heavy. We sang because for those few minutes we were free from it.

I looked at my friends singing. Happy. Alive. Faces flushed from laughter and cheap alcohol. Eyes glassy from exhaustion and the weight of everything we refused to talk about. It didn’t stay that way for long. Out of the group of us there that morning, only Anni and I remain. Funny how life works that way. It almost sounds cliché now because the younger generation can’t possibly understand what it was like to watch your friends die too young and too early.

Twenty-five years and my life is still…

The song faded. The door opened again and the sunlight poured in. It was brighter now, almost blinding. We squinted and laughed, finishing our drinks as the night surrendered to morning. Then we stood, gathering our things and promises we would never keep. It was summer. The air outside was warm and full of light, the kind that makes you believe life will last forever.

The moment passed. The night was gone. But it lives in my memory, and so do they.

For those when the sun rose without them and the music was left behind.

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