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Leaf stopped in surprise. The trash was gone. The dirty dishes were washed and put away. He grabbed a glass and filled it with water, then followed José onto the balcony.

It was going to be a hot day, but at least there was a bit of wind. The leaves rustled, and the sun sparkled through the treetops.

Exhausted, Leaf sank into an empty chair and set the glass down. He took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled the smoke.

“Do you remember the fifth or sixth rehearsal? When I went after Andrej?”

José frowned and nodded. “Yeah, I had just come through the door. Tristan wasn’t even there yet. It wasn’t pretty.”

“He came and tried to give me the number of a shrink.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I love you, man, really, but never do that again.”

“I’m worried. I’m sorry.” José paused for a moment, shaking his head. “No, I was scared. Damn it, Leaf! You almost died from that stuff yesterday! And now you’re standing here like nothing happened. Like you didn’t just need a fix to talk to me. Do you even realize how close you were to death?”

Leaf stared at the cigarette between his fingers and exhaled the smoke. He had no idea what to say. He knew how bad the situation was. “I want to go on tour. Sort things out with Tristan.” The realization hit him suddenly. “Damn, man, I …”

“Tristan was here this morning,” José said. “He left about two hours ago and told the others we’ll be there for soundcheck.”

Leaf just grunted, which José accepted. Knowing Tristan had been here gave him a pang of nostalgia. Why couldn’t things just be like they were before? Ultimately, his feelings for him hadn’t changed—if only that monster wasn’t in the room.

But now Leaf was aware that the monster had taken on a new form. Whereas it used to look like Diego, it had now become white powder. The needle marks on his arm showed it wasn’t easy to defeat.

They sat in silence for a while. Leaf enjoyed the soothing tingling in his body. When he had drifted off last night, a leaden weight had settled over him. In that moment, it was okay, but in hindsight, he preferred the tingling. From the neighboring cabin, the sound of a saxophone played, which always gave Leaf a sense of peace.

“Do you remember how my mom let us set up our practice space in the garage?” José asked, smiling. “She thought it would last maybe three or four weeks, tops. And then she put up with us for six years.”

“We were terrible,” Leaf recalled, looking up at the treetops. He didn’t know if it was melancholy or nostalgia that was brushing over him.

“At the beginning, maybe. But we got better.”

“Yeah … That was …”

“Good times,” José said, fully aware that his memories were mixed.

Leaf found it hard to separate the great time as a garage band from the horror at home. He was all the more grateful that José reminded him of it from time to time.

“Did you know that Iggy secretly practiced on your guitar? Every time you weren’t around, he snuck into the garage and played.”

“I remember the arepas your mom made for us.” Leaf took a final drag from his cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray. “They were always so good.”

“Oh yeah.” José laughed. “And the cookies on weekends were the best.”

“I don’t think I ever … Can you thank her for me?”

“Sure,” José replied, looking puzzled and worried.

Leaf massaged his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. “She probably thinks I’m a freeloader.”

“What? Why would you say that?”

Leaf remained silent and barely shook his head.

“No,” José objected, sitting up straight. “My dad would often come home from work and ask if you had been over. Mom just nodded. ‘Maria, we already have two kids and you’re feeding him three times a week,’ he’d say. She’d just respond, ‘And if that’s the last thing we can do for this poor boy.’”

“Why are you telling me this?” Leaf asked, his voice choked.