Seven Years Gone

Prompted Flash Fiction

Max thought I was never coming back. Everybody else did, too, but Max is the only one who told me to my face. The rest of ‘em, I read it in their eyes.

Max and I were smoking cigarettes on his front step after band practice when he told me. Our band wasn’t going anywhere but his living room and a couple open mikes at lousy bars between Lauderdale and Ho…