You Either Get Peace or You Die Trying.

Nineteen-eighty was the year and the eighth of December was the date. Despite the chanting of crowds, the New York air was rather sad. The birds weren’t tweeting and the dogs were no longer barking. The faces in the crowd were drenched in tears and their shaking mouths were blurting out all kinds of “How?”’s and “Why?”’s. Throughout the sea of people which stretched out for miles, there were banners which read song lyric after song lyric and quote after quote. I suppose you could say the crowd was like an angry mob... if you swapped ‘angry’ for ‘distraught’.

Among the constantly growing crowd, a man with eyes like two light, hazel pools was glumly making his way up to what was his best friend’s hotel room at the Dakota. He trailed his feet up the stairs and hung his head in his hands, which were constantly filling with endless pools of tears. If it had been any other day before, the chubby cheeked male would have been more than thrilled to be walking up these steps which lead up to the doorway of his best friend for just under twenty-two years. But, this time, it was a completely different situation.

The day before, had had a peaceful evening with his wife and three young children. He went to bed in the arms of the woman he loved the most and sealed the night with a kiss. Everything in his life was going brilliant. That, however, was until the phone rang at roughly around midnight. The news that the young man received over the phone was not only heartbreaking, but it was the worst news he could possibly have heard since the death of his mother. He kissed his wife and children goodbye and thanked God that they were still here before getting straight onto his private jet from Scotland to New York City, repeatedly running the information he had just been told over and over again in his head. He shook his head in disbelief and leant his head against the window, letting tears run free from his eyes, down his cheeks and dripping off his chin and eventually soaking into his grey shirt collar.

Once he had reached the top of the stairs at the hotel, he wiped his eyes with the corners of his sleeves as he was greeted by a small, weeping Japanese woman who was standing just outside the door with her little five year old boy. The young man wrapped his arms around the Japanese woman’s thin body and held her tightly, breathing in the scent of his best friend off her and closing his eyes, shielding his tears. They both stood in silence in the empty corridor for a few moments, comforting each other with expressions which were beyond sad. Once the man had pulled away, he crouched down in front of the little boy before him and softly ruffled his hair, swallowing the lump in his throat, trying to be strong for the boy as he painfully stuttered out his words.

“You look just like your daddy, you know. J-Just like him...” His voice was unbelievably soft and soothing. He stood back up and continued to gaze into the little boy’s eye’s, suckling gently on his bottom lip as he tried his hardest not to breakdown again as the boy was clearly showing no signs of knowing what was going on. The man turned his head ruffling one hand through his browny-grey hair as he placed his free hand on the doorknob which lead to the hotel room, taking a deep breath. Suddenly, he felt a hand against his shoulder from behind. He turned and raised his eyebrows as he studied the police officer.

“Would you like anyone to accompany you in there, Sir?” The officer questioned, resulting in the young man just simply shaking his head. He shakily turned the doorknob and took a few small steps inside, just enough for him to close the door behind him. As he closed the door he heard faint voices from the little boy on the other side;

“Mummy, when will daddy be back? Mummy, where is daddy? Will he be long? Mummy, I want to cuddle with daddy.”

He leant back against the door and let out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes and staying still for a few minutes, trying to stable his mind and at least pause all of the thoughts and questions going through his head. He felt himself breakdown into tears once more and slid his back down the door, landing on the floor with his legs brought up to his chest. He sobbed to himself quietly, burying his face into his knees and hugging his arms around his legs. He shook his head against his knees and squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath before slowly lifting his head up. He lightly wiped his cheeks with the backs of his hand and gripped onto a nearby shelf for support as he stood up. He shakily walked over to his best friend’s desk and pushed a few pieces of papers aside, glancing through a few written lyrics that he hadn’t seemed to have been able to transfer into songs yet. ‘The sad thing now is that he never will...’ the young man thought to himself with a sad sigh. He took some sad steps over to the bedroom and immediately lifted up the white, silk bed sheets and lifted them up to his face, trying to take in as much of his best friend’s scent as possible. He didn’t care how weird or peculiar he’d of looked if someone had walked in. He missed his friend dearly. His scent, humour, laugh, voice, sarcasm and love. Especially after not seeing him for around four years. The pair of them had stayed in contact from time to time, passing odd letters here and there. The young man felt himself fade back into tears as he collapsed onto the bed, covering his face with his hands. The soft speaking male had never been like this, he’d never felt like this. Not even when his mother died when he was only fourteen years of age. He clenched his hands into two fists and stretched his arms behind him, scowling a little when he felt something a little strange under the pillow. It felt like some sort of photograph. He blinked slowly and reached his hand a little further under the pillow, grasping the thin, card like object between his finger and thumb and took it out. He was right. He squinted his eyes and studied it carefully, taking in each and every detail of the black and white print. It was him and his best friend when they were just about to go on stage at one of their many, many shows. One in America at a famous baseball ground. It may have been a concert just like the others as they were unable to even here themselves talk, let alone play. However, they were playing through the baseball system at the time. Anyway, the point is, that one concert made history. The young man lifted the photo and lightly pressed it against his lips, repeatedly pressing soft kisses to it before carefully placing it just over his heart through his shirt and covering his face with his hands once again. Within minutes his wrists and hands were trickling with tears as he sobbed into the palms of his hands. He squeezed his eyes shut once more an imagined his best friend. He thought about the day they met; slightly awkward and a little showing off, but he never expected it to lead to where it did. The day he taught his best friend the guitar chords to Blue Moon, when they did their first gig together, their first record deal after being turned down by Decca, their first single, album, tour and everything that went with it. The music they made was more than amazing and the different things they created changed music beyond belief forever. Their music was like two guitars caught up in a philosophical discussion. But, then, he started to think about the breakup of the band, just over ten years ago, and how hard it hit all of them. How weird it was... Going from spending every single day and sometimes night together to not seeing each other for months or years on end. From topping and tailing in the same bed to being on two different sides of the planet. He wished he had been closer to his best friend since the breakup. It was him, after all, who was to thank for what a wonderful life they both had lead. But, of course, with both men still being young, the words never came to mind to say. He never thought he’d live the day to see this, especially not this young, anyway. Of course, there were two other band members and best, dearly loved friends that the young man and his best friend had, but they were the last things on his mind right now. After a few long moments and a few heavy breaths, the young man stabled himself again and slowly stood up, placing the photograph back under the pillow. He walked over to the window and stared out of it, gazing down constantly at where his best friend had just been murdered around a few hours before.

His best friend hadn’t had the best upbringing like the young man and that resulted in him being quite an edgy, paranoid person. His best friend often worried about what people, especially the press, thought of him. He often got judged word by word for things he’d say, anything he’d do and was constantly asked questions about his ‘strange’ wife.

Nothing could take the young man’s mind off what had just happened and nothing could distract him from the “What if?”’s of the situation. He’d of done anything for his best friend. Despite all they’d been through, all the arguments, all the nasty words, he’d of taken the bullet for him. He shakily raised his hand and pressed hand against the window as a few lyrical words fell out of his mouth:

“You spent all your time waiting for that second chance. For a break that would make it okay. There’s always some reason to feel not good enough and it’s hard and the end of the day. I need some distraction, oh, beautiful release. Memories seep from my veins and they may be empty, oh, weightless and maybe you’ll find some peace tonight. In the arms of the angels, fly away from here. From this dark, cold hotel room and the endlessness that you fear. You were pulled from the wreckage of your silent revelry. You’re in the arms of the angels. May you find some comfort here.”

His voice was soft, yet brittle. He placed both hands on the window and continued to stare down at the arch way where his best friend had just been shot. Those lyrics were the only thing he could even muster to say at this precise moment in time and read everything he wanted to say, too. 

Two years later..

The same young man, although now middle aged, his wife and children were all gathered in the front room having some well overdue family time. He had been very busy at work and in the studio, putting a few new songs together for an album. The television was muttering to itself in the background and the fire was roaring. The family had been talking about their fathers early days in his band and his wife often put in the odd statement about the young man’s best friend. His best friend’s death was still fresh, like an open wound, and he was reminded of it every day. He never stopped thinking about his best friend and often found himself wondering what he would’ve done when he got himself stuck in a song. The now forty year old man’s children were very interested in their fathers close friendship, or as he would put it, ‘brotherly love’.

“Daddy,” The youngest child spoke. “Did you two ever fight?”

The middle aged man let out a half-hearted chuckle and shrugged.

“Over songs? Sure. Over girls? Sure.” He nodded, sitting the little child on his knee.

“Did he say nasty things to each you?” Another child spoke, looking up at her father. The middle aged man nodded and his blond haired wife frowned.

“But, I will tell you this...” He cleared his throat and looked each person in the room in the eye.”Whatever bad things John said about me, he would also slip his glasses down to the end of his nose and say; ‘I love you’.” He took a deep breath and paused for a moment, longing for the noise of his friend’s voice. His wife of thirteen years placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and lightly rubbed it, noticing her husband’s distress. She was the one who had helped him through all this and she had been great.

“C’mon, love. Why don’t you play us all the song you’ve been writing for him?” The woman suggested with a smile, gesturing toward the guitar. The man nodded and discreetly wiped his eyes before lifting up the guitar and carefully placing it in his lap, throwing the strap over his shoulder.

“T-This is..” He cleared his throat and swallowed the lump in it before continuing. “This is a song which I wrote in a form of conversation I might have had with him, knowing of what could’ve happened to him...”

“Go on, darling. It’s beautiful.” The blond woman smiled. The man cleared his throat and closed his eyes as he let the lyrics run off his lips:

“And if I said I really knew you well, what would your answer be?

If you were here today, oh, here today.

Well, knowing you, you’d probably say that we were worlds apart.

If you were here today, oh, here today.

But, as for me, I still remember how it was before,

And I am holding back the tears no more.

No, no, no.

What about the time we met?

Well, I suppose that you could say that we were playing hard to get.

Didn’t understand a thing, but we could always sing.

What about the night we cried?

Because there wasn’t any reason left to keep it all inside.

Never understood a word, but you were always there with a smile.”

His voice cracked a little from the tears welling up in his eyes and the ever growing lump in his throat. He had no choice but to finish the song.

“And if I say I really loved you and was glad you came along..

Then you were here today, oh, oh, oh,

For you were in my song.

Oh, here today.”

He played one final strum to the acoustic guitar and let both of his hands flop to the sides, lifting his head up to look at the bright, smiling faces before him. They were his life. They were the reasons he got up in the morning. Whenever he needed someone, they were there for him. Always. Through the loss of his best friend, everything. He would do anything possible in order to bring his friend back. Anything at all. To just sing and think about him wasn’t enough, he needed to be near him, but the few beautiful lyrics he had just sang to his wife and children read everything he wanted to say. After all, music had brought them together and music was the only way he could say goodbye.

The end.