As I look across the jam space, my eyes lock with Tommy behind the kit.

Years ago before the accident, I would just wait to hear the four strikes of his drumsticks to count us in.

My back turned, and putting all of my trust into the two instruments located on either side of my head.

It’s still a strange thing to get used to. Even after all the struggle and doubt of returning to music.

But this was my identity before, and I refuse to allow this inability to hear rob me of my passion.

So now I will turn around and face the percussion. In a way, this creates a shared moment between myself and Tommy. We lock eyes, smiles begin to creep in, and I visually watch as he still strikes his spikes. One, Two, Three, Four. And like it has always been, we slide into one of our upbeat songs that we have played hundred of times before.

Although these days, I don’t need to worry about wearing ear protection to damper the tone and protect my hearing. It has officially been destroyed. I’m fortunate to have put the time and effort into my music when I was younger because it allowed me the chance to practice and find a guitar tone I was happy with… something I could NEVER do now… I even had my amps labeled to the correct settings, in order to make for a quick setup. Maybe my past self knew that this NEW version of myself would grow to NEED those little cheats to allow the music to continue. Who knows. That’s what I like to tell myself anyways.