Death

I go to seek on many roads
What is to be.
True heart and strong, with love to light;
Will they not bear me in the fight
To order, shun or wield or mould
My Destiny?

Unpublished Poems of David Mignot.

It’s been thirteen years since I passed away. Thirteen years, eleven months, and 7 days, to be exact. It was on a day that the world was enshrouded in a most peculiar fog - gray, damp, and endless. Patches of memory still resonate with the clarity of a waking dream; her short brown hair as it hung partially over her face, barely hiding her soft blue eyes; the wispy clouds of rank cigar smoke drifting across the room; and the noise. I remember clearly how I hated the noise.

It wasn’t loud, but it was angry. It was that of a million voices all murmuring together, unintelligible, but it infiltrated my soul like the cold of a winter day.

I’m a musician – or rather, I was a musician. I started playing when I was four. Nothing outstanding, just banging around on an old drum set that my parents picked up at some shady pawnshop. I practiced, and learned my art as well as anyone. By the time I was twelve, I could imitate just about any song I heard. At seventeen, I started a band. We were good; in fact, we were damn good. In less than two years, we were playing weekends at one of the finest jazz lounges on the west coast of Florida.

It was at this club where I met the woman that took my life.

It was unexpected, as all encounters of that type are. She had a way of captivating people with just a look. She had the kind of smile that set one’s heart beating so hard that it felt like it would explode. I knew that before the night was over, I would have to meet this girl.

After the third set, I calmed my trembling hands and nervously introduced myself. I told her my name, and stated that I was the drummer. Of course, she already knew that, but I had never been one who was good with the opposite sex. Still, it made her smile. After the show was over, we sat and talked until the manager kicked us out, and then we talked some more. Whatever I said must have worked because from that day, and for the rest of her life, we were inseparable.

It’s true, we were inseparable, but we were never together. Some things are meant to be, and then, sometimes the forces of nature conspire against us. I loved her, of that there was never any doubt, and she loved me. The things that we felt for each other went beyond words and beyond measure. Despite that love, we could never bring ourselves to admit to it. We were from different worlds. One world involved a refined sense of class that the other world could never fathom.

Still, we knew what we felt for one another, and that was enough.

And so, time moved on at its slow, relentless pace. I felt as if I was a king, and the world was mine for the taking. There were nights that everything was perfect. We would stay out all night, drinking and laughing as the after-party party continued ahead at full speed. Rene was always at my side, leaning on my shoulder, always ready with a mischievous smile or a witty joke. My closest friends surrounded me, protecting me from the reality that we call life. Nothing could touch me, I had built my world out of solid rock. I never dreamt that that world could crumble in so little time.

It all began with Biviano Cortinez, our bass player, and everyone’s friend. We had a private gig in Sarasota; some reunion or anniversary, we played so many that that all blended together. The band was on that night, and the crowd was into it. We went out for a few drinks afterwards to celebrate, and by the time the night was over, we had sunk into oblivion. It had become a tradition. After the show was over, we would hang out for a while with the locals who frequented the lounge, and then, after they went home we would hold our own private party – a toast to our success, as it were.

Biv left early that night, which wasn’t unusual. He had started leaving early several months before, but we never thought anything of it. We found him the next morning lying lifeless on the floor, the motel room a wreck. He never left a note, just an empty pill bottle sitting on the nightstand.

I knew that I should have been a better friend. I should have listened when he spoke of loneliness, I should have stopped him when he first started using pills, but we all did it, and I was too self-absorbed to notice.

We played one more show after that horrible night, and then called it quits. It has always been a bittersweet memory. The Quarter Note was packed; everyone that knew him had come to pay their final regards. When I close my eyes, I can still see his bass as we leaned it up against the chair, I can still hear him plucking out his steady rhythm in four/four time, driving us on. For a moment, there was just the band, and silence. Finally, the last note rang out, and seemed to linger before finally echoing off into the distance.

One by one, we each said our good-byes. We drifted apart like leaves in the wind, and never once did we look back.


---


Rene stayed for another week before leaving to live with her father in New York. I begged her to stay, pouring my entire soul into those words as she just stood there with a sad look in her eyes. She was all that I had left. As I watched the plane taxi down the runway and then lift into the sky I felt my heart sink into the depths of despair.

I sat alone that night and tried to see my reflection in the bottom of a bottle of vodka. I wanted to cry, but I no longer had it within me. Each passing moment was a study in anguish. I could hear the clock ticking down the seconds until my final moments. I could feel each twinge of the second hand as if it was a dagger thrust into my flesh.

And so that is what was to become of my short life.

I would live through two more deaths until I heard from her again. The first was from an overdose of a fairly unknown drug, the second from a gunshot. By this time, I had become numb to the pain of death. That’s not to say that I didn’t care, but rather, I just chose not to accept them as reality. In fact, I no longer knew what reality was.

To say that I was surprised when she called would be an immense understatement. It was on a Tuesday. I remember because I was supposed to see her that night. She called just before she boarded the plane. I could hear the trembling in her voice as she spoke, “I miss you”, she paused and took a deep breath, “I miss you more than anything.” I didn’t know the words to say. When she walked out on me it tore my life to pieces, more even than Biv’s death.

“I miss you too…”, was all that I could reply.

There was silence for a moment, and then, “I’m coming home. I want to see you.”

Those few words shocked me more than anything ever could. I had put her out of my life. I did all that I could to replace her, even if that meant waking up at six am to a bottle of vodka. That was my biggest vice, I could not let go of that damn bottle.

I promised her that she would, that I would meet her that very night no matter what. I felt the lie sting as it escaped me. It tasted bitter, like all the hatred of the world was wrapped up in those few little words. I knew that I couldn’t see her, not like this.

So, as the time came and passed, I found myself in the arms of another woman. I hardly knew her name, but that’s not what mattered. For a moment, I felt free, as if I could somehow escape this abysmal world that I had created for myself.

That was the last taste of freedom that I would have.

The phone rang sometime in the early afternoon. I ignored it. The effects of the previous night still hadn’t wore off, and I felt like I had gone through hell and back. I knew who it was, but I couldn’t bring myself to talk to her again, not after what I had done.

Some hours later I awoke with a strange feeling. I stumbled to the bathroom and washed off my face, trying hard not to look at myself in the mirror. God, I felt like hell. I was in no mood to call her back, but I knew I must. Better to get it over with now before I felt any worse.

Her mother answered on the first ring. I knew instantly that there was something wrong – her mother never answers the phone.

“Lee?” – her voice sounded unsteady. “Lee.. I’m so sorry…”

What the hell? “Sorry for what? What happened?” I’m sure that she could hear my heart beating through the phone.

“She’s gone.. My baby’s gone..”

My knees buckled under me as I dropped the phone. It couldn’t be true, I had just spoke to her the night before.

I drove over to her mothers’ place. There was nowhere to park, so I drove around the block a few times before finally deciding to walk. When I got there, I couldn’t help but stare at all the people wandering about. It was at that point when I realized that it was true.

I would never see her again.

She had waited for me, like I knew she would. It was close to two in the morning by the time she finally gave up and left. She never saw the truck as it slammed into the side of her small car, killing her and her passenger instantly.

---

A bloodshot moon hung low in a starless sky. I felt the night chill infiltrate my soul as I shivered. Everything, in all of my life, had been washed away. I watched as the tide crept into the shore and vanished again, being drawn out into the endless night.

It had been four months, four long months of blindly stumbling through this life. Four months, and I still could not forget. If I were to tell you that I was sane, then I would be lying. I rambled through life like a madman; screaming and cursing the very god that created me. I remember nights where I would find myself laying under a park bench; cold, hungry, and numb. I remember picking food out of trash cans, just because it was the only way to stay alive. I remember the throbbing in my ears, the noise, the never-ending noise. Beyond that, my memory was as vague as the morning fog.

I closed my eyes, but still, I could not escape her. She was everywhere I went. I knew that I had killed her. If only I had been there, if only I had not made that promise. She would still be alive if it wasn’t for me. I saw her in everything. Her eyes were as blue as the sky, her touch as warm as the sun. Every time a child laughed, I could her hear laughing. I’m the one who smothered that laughter, I’m the one that turned her eyes gray.

I felt myself falling deeper into the abyss. Delirious. I saw her in the moons shadow, she was dancing across the sea. I heard her voice as it called out to me, moaning silently with the ocean breeze.

There, I felt her as she brushed up against me, as she wrapped her arms around me..

My hands trembled. My heart ached. I felt it, as if it were a sledgehammer within my chest.

She squeezed..

Tighter..

I dropped the bottle and watched as the clear liquid sank into the sand.

I heard her voice as it cried out to me, screaming with the crushing wind.

The noise.. a thousand voices screaming at once..

I tried to run..

Stumbling..

I felt the world spinning under my feet… Endless... Falling...

Darkness…

Silence…


---

Death came so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that I had neither time to react nor time to beg for forgiveness. It was a beast that crept up on me and stole my soul while I was wasting away, drowning myself in self-loathing and pity. I felt the rot eating away at my flesh, consuming me as I lay there under the unforgiving night.

Still, as you may have guessed, this is not yet the end of my story.

As the forces of nature conspired against me, I was not yet ready to give in to their desire. My memory of this time is fragmented. I felt hands touching my body. I felt myself being lifted up and carried away. I remember the shouting, the crying.

I remember waking up.

I was cold; colder than I had ever been. I tried to sit up, to look around, but I could barely move. The tangled mess of tubes and wires held me pinned down as tight as a straight-jacket.

It took me three weeks to recover from my death. It had only lasted for two minutes, but that was enough. My heart stopped, and if it had not been for a secret angel watching over me, my story would have ended thirteen years ago.

Since then, I have battled disease, depression, and disenchantment, and with each battle, I grow stronger.

I am no longer indebted to the bottle, nor has my soul been broken. I have been baptized by tears and tempered by fire, and still I remain.

There was a time where I was controlled by life, and I was suffocated by its evils, but that time has long ago been washed away.


We each travel different roads, we all have our own stories to tell. Some roads are broken, and some winding. Some roads lead straight as an arrow. Still, we all choose the roads in which we travel. Sometimes those roads lead through sorrow and despair, sometimes through joy and passionate bliss. And yet, all things come to pass.

Life is merely life. We make of it what we will.

-------------------------

For the most part, everything I wrote about above is true. The only thing that I've changed have been the names of the people.

For approximately three years of my life, I was completely lost. After my bass player died, I began a downward spiral that would not end until I ended up in the hospital. I was a drunk, and to honest, there wasn't much during that time that I had to be proud of.

I spent six months in the hospital before I was released. The doctor told me that I had maybe two years left to live, and that I should get my life in order. It was a heart condition, aggravated by the drinking and various other things that I was into.

Since then, I decided that life was more than all of that. I quit drinking, and completely changed my life. It is because I worked so hard to make a change that I am still alive today. I no longer have heart problems, and have since resolved all of the other issues that I had in the past.

Since that time, I have devoted my life to helping others. I never regret that time in my life, as having gone through all of that has helped me help others who have similar issues.

I hope that someone somewhere gets something out of all of this. It's not what happens in our lives that matters, it's how we handle these things. It's all about attitude.

I wish you all the best.