Carolina [h.s]

forty three

august 7th, 1990
south carolina

Harry

//

7:56 p.m

It's just before dusk as I'm driving down first and second street.

With all my windows down, wind blows summer air through my t-shirt and evaporates the cigarette smoke from my mouth. Sunglasses cover my eyes, the rest of my body hums in a delicate rhythm as the usual white stream flows through my veins.

As last night and the week before seemed less distant than I would like it to be, I've doubled up on my doses.

Playing house with V keeps me in line, but the more I watch gray eyes pull back their suffering just in spite of me, the less easier it's getting to look at myself in the mirror these days.

Back in the car, conversation flows easy and laughter pulls me back from my spiraling thoughts.

Zayn's in my passenger, turning up AC/DC and in the rear view mirror I can see the top of Niall's blond ends and the curve of Louis' smirk from my backseat. The three go on about something unimportant and every once in a while I find myself nodding along whenever they pull me in the conversation.

After last night's show, I realized we needed some practice on the latest song.

My absence is appearing to be affecting how we play. We're getting sloppy with too easy chords and mismatched lyrics. Not only that though, because with last minute show ups, our trust starts to waver between the four of us and I know I'm the one who can get us back on track.

"1...2...3...4" I call out into the microphone before Zayn's drums sound and our guitarists pick up the rhythm.

We go through our set a few times, add pointers to our new songs and feel ready within the first few hours.

"Damn, where are our girls when you need them?" Louis says, noticing the lack of audience we've had as we start to pack up our equipment.

"Cheer the fuck up, Tommo," Niall tells him, raising his eyebrows with a familiar smirk. "Who says we have no audience tonight?"

And that's when we hear tires turn on the gravel outside and we all give him the same look.

"What the fuck did you do now?" Zayn's up from behind his kit and opens the garage door to reveal the filling parking lot of random strangers.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding," I shake my head pushing my guitarist's shoulder as he just laughs.

"Come on, man, boss hates us enough already," Louis says. "We're fucked if he catches us trashing his garage."

"Relax," The easy-going blond tells us as he interrupts our much needed practice for another one of his distracting kickbacks.

"Grab a beer, do a line." He suggests as a young adult crowd pours through the doors. "What better way to practice than this? It's showtime baby."