So Bury Me (In Memory)
Title: So Bury Me (In Memory)
Author: longerthanwedo
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Rydon
Warning: Character death.
Summary: I was here, and you were here, and I was home. Now I’m here, and you’re gone and I have no home.
Disclaimer: Title belongs to Fall Out Boy, cut to The Academy Is… I don’t own the boys, but do own the plot, as well as the words.
Author’s Notes: My hands were shaking when I wrote the last part, no joke. Comments are love.
Midnight.
I’m quiet in a corner trying my best to shrink away from the screams and yells and kids exploiting their freedom.
1st grade recess.
I’m perfectly content without the trucks and trains and throwing of sharp objects.
Maybe with a crayon or two, quietly humming some nursery rhyme over the din.
“Hi!” Big smile, red glasses, shining eyes. Loud voice. “Can I play?”
No, I think.
“Yes,” I say.
You beam at me for a second, and I just stand there, looking blank. I think then you realize that I have no toys, so you run graciously over to tug a truck and some planes out of another boy’s hands.
He lets you. I don’t know why.
You shove a plane into my hand and start happily driving your truck around the gray carpet.
I stand there.
Its a few seconds before you see that I’m not joining in.
“Come on,” you say, a bit confused, eyebrows rising in the middle.
I shrug and drop to my knees.
You’re happy and you start babbling, making us characters in some elaborate story.
You’re so engrossed in this make believe world.
I play along.
I don’t know why.
12:14
In 3rd grade, recess is outside. You and I run out, alongside the others.
Carried by the mob of pure energy and I’m swept up for a minute.
I try to keep up with you as you run headfirst towards the swings.
You quickly claim one for yourself, and twist around to grab the chains of a second, waiting patiently for me to catch up.
“Here, Ryan,” you say, offering the swing. “This one’s for you.”
We start to sway, and soon you’re soaring high above my head.
Much, much too high.
I watch with a sort of awe, as I start to rise up, up, up. You’re still above.
Your face is radiant, and I half watch you, half pump my legs through ten short minutes.
Ring, ring, ring and I’m startled and my head whips around and I try to slow my motions.
There’s a whoop, and then you’re flying, arms raised, a high arch into the air.
For a second I’m frightened, I want to scream for help, want to scream for you to be careful. Slow down, don’t fly so fast, I scream in my head.
You hit the ground, and before I can make a sound, you’re bounding up again.
“Ryan, Ryan!” Your smile is even bigger, if possible. “Try it, Ryan! It feels like you’re flying!”
I shake my head, a continuous motion, as I gradually slow my swing.
I plant my feet firmly on the ground.
I feel sad.
12:28
We’re too mature for swings now, as we sit in the grass against the side of the school.
It’s us and a couple of other 5th graders and we talk about 5th grade things.
There’s the video games, the TV shows, the girls.
There’s laughter and teasing and rarely a serious thought.
You’ve got your head thrown back and you’re laughing at some stupid joke, like there isn’t a care in the world.
I wonder why I can’t do that.
I wish I was more like you; able to let go and just not think for a while.
You turn your head and look at me.
“Ryan, you’re too serious,” you say with a small smirk.
I think you can read my mind.
I think I feel sorry for you.
12:34
7th grade and my parents fight.
I shut myself in my room and cringe in to my pillow at ever smash.
My dad yells, something shatters.
Something slams, my mom cries.
A few more shouts and my dad leaves.
Five more minutes, and she follows suit.
I call you and cry through the line. I stutter and choke and nothing I say is understandable.
You spout reassurances into the receiver. I can tell you want to be strong, for me.
You sound scared.
“Bren,” I manage. “Bren, come get me.”
Your voice shakes and you say you’re coming.
“Don’t leave me.” Choked out words.
You take the phone with you and half run to my house.
You hold me when I cry, and you stay all night. I don’t sleep, you don’t either. The moon comes out and some stars are visible.
I’m never alone after that.
12:40
14 and we both have girlfriends.
Yours will be gone within a week or two; you’ll scare her off.
Mine will last longer, but eventually I’ll get bored.
My attention span is only an inch long and growing shorter when it comes to other people.
You’re the one exception to that rule, it seems.
My anti-social skills don’t rub off on you in the slightest.
You smile and wave to anyone who makes eye contact. You talk to anyone who is willing to listen. You introduce me to all your friends.
I nod my head and they ignore me from then on.
They whisper quiet, I can’t hear. But I can guess. They talk to you, about me.
“Why do you hang out with him?” I can read in their silent lips from afar.
The word freak is unspoken in every syllable.
They don’t want you, if having you means having me.
My lack of social life is destroying yours piece by piece.
But it’s me you choose.
I don’t know why.
I won’t ask.
12:44
15 and my parents split up.
Fight, crash. They both leave, as usual.
I call you, as usual.
There’s nothing usual at all about this time.
I don’t even know until the morning.
The morning when my father comes home and he smells of alcohol and smoke and despair.
The morning and I ask where my mother is.
The morning and he tells me she’s gone. She’s gone, she’s not coming back. She left me. She left him, she left us.
He acts like he doesn’t care. He covers it up with flannel jackets, and drowns it down with alcohol; he retreats into a shell and won’t come out.
Half my belongings are now strewn about your floor.
I’m starting to think this place I’ve known 15 years isn’t my home, after all.
I bury my face in my pillow and it smells like you.
12:50
Dark night and no clouds and wet grass under our backs; sprawled out in your back yard.
I watch the stars and the wind and the wisps of dark that flit across the moon. Wispy smoking birds, out of reach. They slip through every net.
I can see myself up there. Drifting about, carried with the breeze. Floating, never settled.
I think like an old country song, but I can’t help it.
I mean the words.
Your breathing is soft and you sift your fingers through the drying grass blanket.
I glance sideways, and your eyes are closed.
Dark hair stirs and brushes your cheek as the air moves.
Your lips are slightly parted and I can almost see the color even in the purple shadow light.
I shake my head, and turn my attention back to the sky.
I know my breath is shaky, but I can’t control it. I wonder if there is anything I can control.
Somehow, I don’t think there is. Maybe that will change.
Maybe it can.
I let my eyes flutter shut, but your voice cuts softly through the silence.
“Ry, a shooting star.”
I roll my eyes and almost snort its so cliché.
But I don’t. There’s still a big enough part of me that believes in these things.
Make a wish.
I’m not sure if I whisper the words or if they stay locked in my mind.
I’m not sure I care.
I close my eyes and wish.
I realize I don’t know what to wish for.
1:01
Winter and I think maybe you saved my life.
Seventeen years and your voice is the most familiar sound in my memory.
All your words, conversations. Countless words, each as meaningful as the next. All meant for my ears.
Spoken words.
Seventeen years, and I first hear you sing.
I’m aimlessly writing at my desk and you turn on the radio. It’s a song I know by a band that I can’t remember the name of. It’s background noise.
Until you join in.
You join and your voice is quiet at first, but it picks up strength and it’s loud and it’s clear. And it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.
It’s unafraid, and you hit the high notes. The low notes. No hesitation whatsoever.
Your mouth opens wide, and you smile as your lips shape the words.
I set down my pencil. I turn around, and my mouth is open, but I don’t care.
I don’t want to breathe. The sound of air passing through my lungs is much too loud.
I don’t want to blink. Don’t want to move. Don’t want you to ever move.
The song is over far too quickly and I want to cry when you close your mouth and choke off the last word.
You lick your lips as the radio plays a commercial. I hate commercials.
I realize I have been holding my breath and I inhale, and it shakes. And it catches your attention and you meet my eyes and you look puzzled and amused.
You raise an eyebrow and I’m staring and you quirk your mouth up at one side.
You’re sitting on my bed and I get out of the chair. I’m walking over to you and your bemused smile stretches.
I’m sitting close to you and still holding your gaze. Your eyes are a mile deep.
I can tell you’re about to speak, and I lean forward. And I don’t think. And I press my lips to yours.
You freeze for a second and I’m scared but I don’t move. I feel your hand touch my neck and I press closer. My hands are in your hair and my mouth is slightly open against yours. And maybe then I just wanted to capture the magic of your voice on my own tongue.
But this is a whole different kind of magic.
I don’t want to but I have to breathe.
I break away and we’re breathing together. We’re breathing the same air.
Your eyes are right there again, and I know I’m falling into them.
I’m not scared.
I trust them to catch me when I do.
1:13
You’re a light, and the shadows of the past are all but forgotten.
You shine so brightly that half the time, I don’t believe you’re real.
But when you’re here, hand in mine, eyes locked with mine. I can feel some of that light seeping into me. When your lips find mine, I can let go.
Maybe I’ve never consciously imagined this could happen.
But maybe I knew it all along.
I don’t believe in that kind of thing, but I believe that this was meant to happen.
Months go by and I’m happy.
I’m happy and I love you.
I’ve loved you since I was little but I know it now.
I love you.
And somehow, I believe you when you say you love me too.
I don’t know why.
I don’t care.
1:20
I’m in my room. I’m trying to write. My father is nowhere to be seen. I’m glad of that.
I’m in my room and the door opens.
You stand there and you’re waving. You have a stupid grin plastered on your face. There’s something off about it.
Maybe it’s the wide eyes and the messy hair.
Maybe, I can’t quite place a finger on it.
You pull me close and my name leaves your lips. Distorted and slurred.
Your face is near and your pupils are huge.
You press your lips clumsily to my own and I can taste the alcohol on your tongue and it’s too strong and it burns my senses.
I push you away and my eyes are stinging.
You look befuddled and, “Ryan?” It sounds like a question from between your heavy lips.
My voice whispers and cracks and I ask you why you did that. I know why he did it. Not you.
Your face contorts and I can see you searching, for the answer in your muddled mind.
You don’t find it. You don’t know what my question means. You probably don’t know much of anything then.
Yu reach for me again, but I shrink away and then I’m huddled on my bed. Face pressed into the pillow, I’m just short of sobbing.
That’s all it takes and your face crumples.
The sight of me. Broken. That’s all it takes to sober you right up.
And then you’re crying too, and we’re pressed together on the bed and I’m holding close. I hold onto the boy I know.
I don’t know my father. Not anymore.
I don’t want you to ever be a stranger.
1:32
Your cousin is getting married on the weekend.
She lives in a town not so far away. You’re close, so you drive with your sister to stay for two days.
You leave and I almost tug you back. Almost. Force you to stay. I don’t.
You’ve already put up with a million goodbyes, kisses, “I love yous”.
I make myself let you go,
It’s only two days, it’s only two days.
I repeat those words over in my head for all of one.
It’s unreasonable, I think, but I can’t help it.
I need you.
I always have.
Those two days are the longest in my life.
They never end.
1:35
You’re coming back around five in the afternoon.
I set my bedside clock on the table at four.
I tap my fingers, four-thirty.
Four-fifty, I jiggle my leg and hum a nameless tune. I stop quickly, it makes me miss your voice.
Five. I’m pacing and the clock is in my hands. I remember that cliché about the watched pot, and I set the clock back down. I don’t look at it for a minute and thirty two seconds.
Five-fifteen and I call your cell. It goes straight to voicemail; doesn’t ring once.
My message is only slightly frantic. Or so I like to think.
Five-twenty. I call again.
I will my voice to keep steady. It never listens.
I will you to walk right through that door. I want you to come home. Home is wherever you are, this is just a house without you. Not home. Come back, and make it home.
Five-forty and my legs get tired of pacing.
I sit back on the couch and turn on the TV.
I switch to a news station, and then my phone rings.
I pick up halfway through the first chord of the tone.
“Hello?”
It’s a female voice. Unfamiliar, and I can’t tell if it’s a recording, or not.
As she talks I’m number by the second.
I don’t say one word.
She says she’s sorry for my loss. She doesn’t sound sorry. I hang up the phone. Fumble for the button, and end up dropping it on the carpet.
I stumble backward. Knees hit the edge of something and I sit heavily. TV is still playing, a report. A car crash. A car crash, five minutes from your cousin’s house. No survivors.
No. No, no, not possible.
I turn sharply, glare at the door.
In my head you walk through again and again. You smile again and again. You kiss me again and again.
In reality you never do.
Never will.
1:54
Now I’m here. I’m on that couch. I haven’t moved, not for forty-eight hours. Haven’t slept, haven’t eaten. Haven’t stopped thinking.
Haven’t stopped crying.
This is not my home, not any more.
It was my home when you were here. I was here, and you were here, and I was home.
Now I’m here, and you’re gone and I have no home.
My home and my heart have gone wherever you have.
Wherever that is, it’s not here.
It’s not here, but I’m here.
You’re not here, and I am.
You’re not here.
And I’m lost.