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You live the way you must
But it’s twenty-one or bust
You only get one chance at bat
Even great men crash
But they take the unworn path
Never speaking of their loss

Don’t ask for much
‘Cause you won’t live forever
And this won’t last very long
You won’t live forever

For all your time and trouble
You won’t amount to much
You’re going end up bones and dust

I finished a bit sheepishly and let my hair fall over my eyes. I really hadn’t intended for those words, scribbled in a notebook late at night over the sounds of Kate being sick in the bathroom, to be a song. It was just a poem, just a thought. But it stuck in my head and matched itself up to a melody I’d been humming, and before I knew it, I was presenting a new song to my brothers. After we had gone through it a few times for them to learn the words, I mumbled an apology for how much the song and my guitar playing both sucked.

“It’s good, though. Sing it.” Taylor was ever the encouraging presence, indulging just about any idea either of us brought to the table.

“I think what I normally sing is early on the first one and late on the second one,” I mumbled.

“If you realize it, that’s the tagline for the chorus, not its own section,” Isaac remarked.

“The problem is the chorus cannot be the chorus plus that section,” I replied.

“It’s like, it goes out somewhere else for a second, but it’s not a verse,” Taylor said, and I could feel an argument coming on that I wanted no part of. Of course they’d find a way to tear apart this thing I hadn’t even wanted to share in the first place.

While they talked, I picked at a spot on my thumb. I’d managed to slice it with a letter opener a week or so ago, and the injury wasn’t healing well thanks to my tendency to pick at it. There was just something oddly fascinating about it. I couldn’t say what. I wasn’t clumsy like Taylor, so I didn’t go around constantly injuring myself, and I rarely sunk low enough to injure myself on purpose. I could honestly say that had only happened once or twice in my life. The letter opener had truly been an accident, but I couldn’t really deny how fascinated I’d been to watch the blood flow.

“Unless you figure out a verse-ish section, that tells a real, proper story, you end up with a chorus and two b sections.” Isaac replied.

“There’s gonna be a story. It’s just not gonna be in the frame of a verse,” Taylor, attempting to play the diplomat, replied.

“It loses what you like about it when you turn it into—” I tried to cut in, but I should have known better. I could see the frustration growing in Isaac’s expression and I let myself stop before he could actually interrupt.

“I don’t disagree,” he said, “but you’re gonna have to come up with something else. Right now it’s just a loop and a chorus.

“The thing that’s hard about it, Zac—” Taylor began, and I could have sworn he was using his dad voice on me.
I didn’t want to hear it. I began to strum again, trying to drown him out. It almost worked.

Isaac was louder, though. “My biggest concern with the song is that the ‘you won’t last forever,’ the chorus quote-un-quote, it’s not enough on its own. I’ve always felt like it’s too short, it needs a refrain or something like that. “

I just kept on strumming. I hadn’t even liked the song at first, but now I was determined to get my own way. Eventually, my brothers took the hint and joined in, adding their voices and instruments to mine until it started to sound like a real song.

“You won’t live forever… and life won’t last very long.” Ike sang out as the song ended, his voice louder than mine so I would hear the lyrical change.

I shook my head. “Well, this is talking about your current situation, great or bad, wonderful or terrible, it just won’t last very long, you’re not gonna be there—“

“Or life won’t last very long. This experience, this entire everything.” Taylor mumbled, then wandered out of the room, toward the kitchen.

We had made a point of leaving our cell phones in the other room so that we wouldn’t have any distractions while we worked, but we couldn’t turn the ringers off in case our wives needed to contact us. With two of them pregnant and the other at home with two small kids and a newborn, there was always some reason for one of them to call. It usually wasn’t a big deal, but we tried to answer as soon as we could; generally they understood if we were too busy recording, but we didn’t want to risk sleeping on the couch.

“Looks like Zac’s the culprit this time,” Taylor said as he walked back into the room.

He tossed my phone gently into my lap and I could see that he was right. The screen was lit up with missed call after missed call, all of them from Kate.

“Someone’s in trouble,” Isaac remarked, but his tone felt too casual for the situation.

“I don’t know, but she’s called like five times in the last ten minutes,” I said, looking down at my phone. I had a bad feeling, one I couldn’t explain to my brothers at all. “Just let me take this and I’ll be right back.”

Before either of my brothers could object to that, I rushed out of the studio, dialed Kate back and put my phone to my ear.

“Zac?” She answered, and my stomach sank. I could practically hear the tears in her voice.

“What’s wrong, babe?” I dreaded the answer.

“I think… I think I miscarried.”

“What?” I gasped out, grabbing onto a column to support myself. “Are you sure? I mean, why do you think…?”

“Zac, there was… so much blood. I hadn’t felt good all day, but I thought it was just normal morning stuff starting, you know? But then, the cramps and… and that. I called the doctor and he says he can get me in this afternoon to make sure. As long as I’m not still in pain or anything, I probably don’t need to go to the hospital–they can take care of things in his office. I could drive myself, but I just really needed to hear your voice, and maybe you could come with me.”

“Of course I’ll come with you,” I said quickly. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. And you, don’t move an inch until I get there.”

“I won’t,” she replied weakly.

I stumbled back into the studio, and I honestly don’t remember what I said to my brothers. All I remember is the mixture of fear and pity in their eyes as they told me it was fine if I took the rest of the day off. As if there was a question. I would have quit the band on the spot if they hadn’t let me be with my wife when our baby had just died.

The drive home was a blur, too. If Kate thought she was in no condition to drive, I was sure I wasn’t either. I was a dangerous driver at the best of times. That day, I barely even noticed the other cars on the road at all. Then, on an empty bridge just on the outskirts of Tulsa, it happened.

Just one small swerve. End it all. Splash.

When I was a teenager, I considered it a sort of game. I’d imagine veering into oncoming traffic or taking a curve just a little too fast. All the ways I could so easily end it all in a fiery crash. I could see it so clearly, almost feel it, but I could never do it, and I convinced myself it was just an idle game to pass the time while I drove.

Right then, it didn’t feel like a game.

It would take only the slightest turn of the wheel to put my car into a spin; the road was still wet from a summer storm that morning. At the speed I was going, that would be enough. I wouldn’t recover from it and I’d fly off the bridge at such a speed that I would never stand a chance of getting free before the car filled with water.

But as always, I couldn’t do it. Normally I would call it cowardice, but right then I knew it was because my wife needed me. No matter how much it hurt to think that we had lost our baby, I knew I couldn’t cause her more pain. Some days I was sure she was the only thing that kept me from falling completely apart. And this time, I had to hold myself together for her.

That thought gave me the determination I needed to drive the rest of the way home. I made my way into the apartment in a haze, not even aware that I had stepped out of my car or pulled the key from the ignition. Nothing registered at all until the apartment door swung open and revealed Kate in her pajamas, looking smaller and weaker than I had ever seen her look before.

“Oh, baby,” I said, holding my arms out to her.

She collapsed into my arms and I swore I could feel every bone in her body. She hadn’t begun to show yet; she wasn’t even three months along. I knew it wasn’t possible at all, but I could have sworn she had lost twenty pounds she didn’t have to spare just in that one day.

“Let’s get you to the car,” I said softly, running my fingers through her hair. “Is there anything else you need before we go? Anything I can get you?”

Kate just shook her head. I wondered if she could say a word at all. Maybe she would just never speak again. I didn’t know.

She leaned against me as we walked through the parking garage. How either one of us had the strength to keep going, I don’t know. Once we were in the car, Kate was still as a statue and silent as one, too. I jumped when she reached for the radio and turned the volume all the way down.

“Katie?” I said, not sure what I was even asking.

“I just want the silence right now,” she croaked out. “If that’s okay. Just… silence.”

I nodded. Anything she wanted, I would give it to her, but especially right then. I navigated onto the highway in silence, barely daring to glance across the car at Kate. Without even looking at her, I could tell that she was crying. When I realized that, my own tears began to fall, threatening to obscure my vision. I brushed them away the best that I could, not even trying to hide them. I didn’t remember the last time I’d actually cried. Emotions, for me, tended to manifest in different ways, usually self-destructive ones.

I wasn’t naïve enough to think this meant things would be different this time, though. In fact, I had a feeling I had just turned a horrible corner. What pain had I really known before this? I couldn’t remember. It all paled in comparison. This was a deep, dark hopeless pit unlike any I’d ever fallen into before, and I wasn’t sure if I could find my way out again. All I could do was cling to Kate, figuratively and literally, and hope that together we would, somehow, be okay.

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