The Moon and the Gun

2

I'm not even thinking when I dip my head back and take a shot. The alcohol burns in my head as I bite my lip and open my eyes wide. It feels like liquid gold running through my veins, and I feel burning.

It's why I go out and get stupid wasted. Because you can't beat that feeling.

And when I say stupid wasted, I don't literally mean I get trashed. I'm an Ohio boy. One or two shots will do it. Michael on the other hand...

"C'mon, Josh! One more! These will get you wrecked!" he insists, slamming his shot glass on the bar again and again, the pounding identical to the one in my head.

"Ah, I don't know man," I say, "it's just not- you know- with the fans, I mean, you know."

He grins and takes another shot anyways. It's been that way since I've known Michael. And it's not necessarily a bad thing.

The bar that we are in is loud, and I can barely hear what they are playing on the radio. But then I hear the drumbeat. I can feel the drumbeat in my bones, I can make it out anywhere. It's part of who I am.

It's a Blink-182 song. What's My Age Again. I hum along as I look around, taking everyone in, enjoying the feeling of being slightly drunk.

And then Michael pulls me under again, until we are both hammered, and singing as loud as we can, trying not to knock over our drinks.

__________________________

Five shots later, I find myself hobbling like an old man into the grimy bathroom. I'm the only one there, and even inside the small space I can hear the crowd thumping outside the door.

I put my hands on the tiny sink and peer into the mirror, breathing hard. It's hard to see, but I can just make out a kid with too-long pink hair and a crooked nose.

But then I look closer, and I can see the bruise-like shadows under his eyes, and the hollow cheeks and the anxious biting of a torn-up lip. I can see the terror and the unfamiliarity in his eyes, and suddenly, I look away.

That's not me. I'm not scared.

A shadow behind me curls up into a question mark, and into a gun. Then a moon, and then a speeding car.

I shake my head, hands trembling as I yank the sink on and splash water onto the mirror.

The water droplets on the mirror look like clear blood, spilled from the veins of a kid who wasn't meant to be famous.

I turn and leave. I need to be with Tyler.