The clock struck eleven and I grew nervous. The wait was painful, every second building up to an inevitable crescendo. I always know when they're coming, but the knowledge is fickle. Sometimes it would come days before, sometimes my mind would storm only hours before. I was informed two hours before on this occasion, but I'm not sure that this visit will be entirely friendly. Tonight is the anniversary, and they always come on midnight before their anniversary. I should have seen it coming long ago, indeed, I should have remembered. I wait patiently, comfort and grief mixed thoroughly. The final hour passes quickly.
Midnight chimes on my ancient grandfather clock. They arrive together, all five of them, dressed appropriately for the occasion. They bring drinks, caffeine and liquor, and a healthy dosage of cigars. I know their names well, having grown up with them through my childhood years. They are my friends, my oldest friends, the only friends I'll ever truly call family. Our celebration begins, the drinks are mixed and passes around with gleeful abandon. My anxiety passes with every sip, the alcohol swirling into my blood and body. We speak of old memories, past memories and aspirations. Some of these aspirations are so fantastical as to never occur. but we plan them anyway. Life is tricky, but we have become its master.
As the night edges towards morning, I realize that the time is coming for goodbyes. I have work in the morning, though I doubt I'll sleep. These nights, like many others, rarely leave me in the affectionate arms of sleep. I bear my cross like everyone else does. Our moods grow sombre as the sun infiltrates forward to back stab our happiness. Tears are shed, handshakes and hugs extended, and they make their way to the door. I watch from my window as they enter the car. Danny is driving, as he always does, as he always will. Names are sparing, so you'll forgive me if I rarely use them. The engine starts with a low rumble after a few good rotations. This car is old and beaten, as it always was and always will be. They pass over the horizon and disappear... until next time.
I unbutton my shirt and probe the scars splayed across my chest. Some are deep, others are superficial. These are the trophies of that night, when glass embedded itself in my chest and neck like an experienced lover, but I survived. My body crashed through the windshield despite the seat belt's best efforts to keep me. I watched, dazed, through the glistening blood in my eyes as the car flipped end over end several times. A fire caught, probably from the gutted gas tank, but I was unable to stay conscious. It was my fault, the outcome is entirely my fault. They tell me every time that I should guilt myself, but it means nothing to my bruised conscience.
My friends died that night and I lived. The memory is painful, a warning should I ever forget. As I dress for work, a smile appears on my face. They'll come back, as always, I'll never truly lose them.