I remember that day.
I remember the cold air and the dark sky.
I remember the bright lights for the rehearsal.
I remember the way she pulled me outside.
I remember hearing the fear in her voice on the phone.
I remember thinking I lost you without getting the chance to apologize.
I remember the wave of relief, followed by guilt, followed by sadness.
I remember sliding down the wall onto the floor.
I remember her arms around me.
I remember telling them I hadn’t heard anything.
I remember imagining the blood and glass and snow.
I remember the snow.
I remember the big, fluffy flakes that seemed too beautiful for this night.
I remember the air hurting my lungs.
I remember the panic of trying to reach you.
I remember reaching her by chance.
I remember how happy she was that day.
I remember telling her she needed to call you right away.
I remember the tears of sorrow, knowing her bright day would be marred forever.
I remember you telling me that she kept screaming.
I remember hearing that you were okay, but knowing you were far from it.
I remember all the ringing and all of the voices trying to figure out what was happening.
I remember his anger at you.
I remember picturing him alone in the field, unleashing his rage upon the dead crops.
I remember her telling me that it was bad and that I should pray.
I remember you going to stay with him as you watched his lips turn blue.
I remember the tremors in your voice.
I remember trying to say something reassuring, but I think it came off as insensitive.
I remember sympathetic pats on the back and awkward exits, not knowing what to do or say.
I remember the grilled cheese sandwich.
I remember the knots in my stomach.
I remember the strange peace when I fell asleep.
I remember waking up to a call confirming he was gone.
