A Friend Of Mine [ryden pg standalone]
Title: A Friend of Mine
Author: silver_etoile
Rating: PG
POV: Third
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
Disclaimer: Not real. Lyrics and inspiration belong to Something Corporate.
Summary: Ryan just needs someone to come hang out with him but everyone's busy. Story of his life. Jon sends his friend Brendon to help.
A/N: AU Ryden fic was voted overwhelmingly, and after reading that article on FOB, this seems vaguely appropriate for the mood of the day.
*
His mother told him once, when he was young, something he’d never forgotten. His father had left them alone. He was eight and he didn’t understand when his mother told him his father wouldn’t be coming back. She’d sat him down at the dining room table, surrounded by the shelves of collectable figurines, the plush blue carpet under his toes as he sat on the chair that seemed much too big for him.
“Ryan,” she said, squatting to his level and staring him deep in the eyes. “One day you’ll be a man, and men can do terrible things.”
She hadn’t said anything more and had left him in the chair, his feet dangling over the carpet.
He hadn’t understood, and still, a month later when his dad wasn’t home, he couldn’t understand why. His mother never told him again, but he would never forget her words to him that sunny Saturday morning.
When she died from cancer years later, he was only twenty, and he came to her funeral dressed in black. As he sat in the church pew, staring at the minister, whose speech was merely a mumble in his ears, he remembered her words.
He’d always listened to her growing up, even if her morals weren’t always right or maybe she wasn’t as smart as she pretended to be. He tried to be strong for her since he was really all she had after his father left. He tolerated her drinking spells and picked her up when she collapsed on the floor from the alcohol.
He told her about high school but left out the details of getting beat up for being a fag. He didn’t tell her about the teasing about his clothes or the makeup he wore. He didn’t tell her about the band he wanted to start, how he was learning the guitar. He told her he was getting good grades and she seemed happy.
On her good days, she would talk to him about his life and reminisce about hers. She would laugh to herself about the time he’d fallen off his bike and she’d made him chocolate milkshakes to make it better. She would smile sadly when she remembered the last time he’d asked where his father had gone and when he was coming back.
Ryan sat in the church pew staring at the minister. There weren’t many other people in the church. His mother hadn’t known many people in the last years of her sickness. She’d become a recluse, drinking more, swearing more, talking less. Ryan cleaned up after her and sat next to her bed for hours when she was too weak to get up.
The little program in his hands trembled and he kept his eyes unblinkingly ahead. A woman with a large black hat sat in front of him and he felt his eyes closing. The voice of the minister filtered through his head and was gone.
Men can do terrible things.
He opened his eyes and glanced down at the program in his hands. It was a small piece of paper outlined in white lace. It had been provided by the church since he had no money to pay for it. His job at the record store wasn’t enough to pay for a funeral and his mother hadn’t had very much.
He stared at the program, crumpling the cheap paper in his fist.
When the minister stepped down and Ryan walked up to the coffin, he felt his hands trembling. His mother looked so pale, even against the white satin interior of the coffin. She was wearing her favorite purple sweater and Ryan just stared down at her.
He watched them close the coffin and watched with unseeing eyes as they carried it out and to the burial plot. Ryan didn’t follow. The church doors clanged behind the last person and Ryan sank to his knees.
He was utterly alone now. He’d never started a band. His old guitar sat gathering dust in a corner of his mother’s old house. He would have to sell the house and get an apartment. He couldn’t afford to pay for a house that was falling apart. It wasn’t worth it, but a part of him hated the thought of selling the house he’d grown up in, with the same old blue carpet, now faded and worn under the dining room table that had never once moved from its spot.
Ryan wasn’t sure how long he stayed in the church, but by the time he climbed to his feet and walked out the front doors, night had fallen. His rusty, blue Chevy Cavalier was the only car left in the parking lot. He climbed inside and stared at the dashboard for several minutes before he realized where he was.
Stars were bursting into the deep navy sky above him. Beyond the parking lot, Ryan could only see the vast spreading desert. The thing about Las Vegas was that when people thought of it, they only thought of flashing lights, names in neon, the ching of the slot machines. There was more to it than that. Beyond the Strip and the miles of identical houses, there was a desert. It had coyotes and quail, cactus and Palo Verde trees. There were no people, no, “Oh, I’m sorry about your mother,” no lies.
There was a lump in Ryan’s throat and he battled the shudder in his limbs as he dug for his cell phone in the glove box. He found it behind a CD case and pulled it out, his fingers trembling as he searched for a number.
He pressed the phone to his ear, listening to the familiar ring. It rang four times.
“Hello?”
“Jon?”
There was a pause. “Ryan? Hey, how are you?”
There it was. That tone, sympathetic and caring, that he’d heard all afternoon. It sickened him. He couldn’t take it anymore.
“Jon, can you come meet me?”
“Well, I-I’m kind of busy.”
Ryan let out a quiet sigh and gazed over the desert. “I just need someone…”
“I’ll send Brendon.”
Ryan hesitated. He’d just met Brendon the other day and wasn’t sure if that was such a good idea. He didn’t know the boy very well and he really wanted someone he knew well.
“What about Spencer?” he asked.
“He’s at work,” Jon said, sounding apologetic. “Really, I would Ryan, but my…” Ryan could hear the hesitation in Jon’s voice. “My mom wants me to help her move some stuff into her house.”
Ryan could feel his heart sinking with every word Jon said, and when he said mom, it dropped to the bottom of his stomach and sat there, barely beating.
“Oh, okay,” he said quietly, his voice sinking to barely a whisper. The pause that followed seemed to stretch on forever until Jon spoke again, quietly, as though afraid speaking loudly might break Ryan.
“I’ll call Brendon. He can come hang out with you,” Jon said quickly, like it might convince Ryan that Brendon was as good as any of his friends.
Ryan sighed, hearing the shudder in his breath. He closed his eyes for a second, listening to his own breath. He felt tired.
“Brendon’s a good friend,” Jon said when Ryan didn’t respond. “I’ve known him for a while, Ry. I think he can help.”
Ryan shook his head and knew Jon couldn’t see him. No one could help. He knew Jon wouldn’t be happy until he agreed, so he opened his eyes, wincing at the orange glare from the overhead parking light.
“Yeah, fine,” he agreed finally and he could hear Jon’s sigh of relief.
“Cool,” Jon said. “Where do you want to meet him?”
Ryan stared ahead of him. “On Carey, past the park. Where the road ends.”
“Okay,” Jon said seriously. He sounded like he was about to hang up but paused. “Ryan?”
“Yeah?”
“I-I’m sorry, you know?”
“Yeah.”
There was another pause like Jon wanted to say more but then the phone clicked off, leaving only silence behind.
Ryan tossed his phone on the passenger seat and sniffed away a tear, shoving the key in the ignition and starting the car. He pulled out of the parking lot and took off under the orange streetlights towards a familiar park. Houses lined the street he was on, cute, little, identical stucco houses. Their front windows all winked as he passed and he caught glimpses of families sitting down to dinner, watching television in the living room.
He made it to the park quickly but kept driving down the two-lane road until it came to a dead end. He pulled his car off the road and got out. It was warm outside even though it was dark. It was like this in the desert. From far away, he heard the lonely cry of a coyote but it was joined seconds later by another and another.
Ryan took a step away from the car, then paused and stuck his head back in, fishing his phone out of the seat and the pack of cigarettes from the glove compartment. He walked a few steps in the desert and stared. There were no lights out here except for the stars and the moon. The orange lights stopped a ways back but Ryan didn’t look back at them. He was staring out at the star-strewn sky and infinite desert.
The ground was hard and brown, cast blue in the night. Little shrubs poked up along with a few cacti. His car was the bulkiest object around and it sat in silence behind him. Ryan blinked and turned, opening the cigarette carton and pulling one out.
He looked up as he heard a low rumble and saw the pin-point of two car lights shining his direction. He didn’t raise a hand to shield his eyes and just watched it approach. The car was loud and obviously old as it rumbled to a stuttering stop next to Ryan’s car. Ryan didn’t move as the door was thrown open and a tall boy climbed out. He was smiling.
“Hey, Ryan,” Brendon said cheerfully. “Jon said you wanted to hang out.” He went over to his passenger side and opened it, digging in the car. He came back out with a twelve pack of beer. “He said you might want this. I don’t know why, but he was acting kind of weird when he told me.”
Brendon walked over to Ryan, still smiling, and set the beer on the ground. He straightened up and looked around him. “It’s pretty out here.”
Ryan didn’t say anything and raised the cigarette to his lips, pulling a lighter from his front pocket and flicking it on. He took a long drag and closed his eyes, comforted by the familiar taste and smell.
When he opened them, Brendon was staring at him. He frowned and held up the pack as an offering.
“Oh, no, I don’t smoke,” Brendon declined quickly. Ryan just let his hand fall to his side and stuffed the pack in his back pocket. He turned to stare over the desert again.
Brendon stood next to him awkwardly, looking around him curiously. He turned back to Ryan, who hadn’t moved. “So whatcha you doing out here?”
Ryan shrugged, taking a step forward and Brendon followed eagerly. He walked about fifty feet away from the cars before he sort of collapsed onto the ground. He lay on his back, staring at the twinkling darkness above him, dark smoke streaming from his mouth as he took another long drag of his cigarette.
Brendon approached him and set down the beer he’d brought carefully, then settled himself on the ground. He was still looking all around him like a puppy with too many new things to play with.
Ryan took deep breaths, feeling something clawing at his stomach that wanted desperately to escape. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he didn’t want it to get out.
One day you’ll be a man.
“I never told her.”
Brendon looked over as Ryan spoke for the first time. “What? Who?”
Ryan ignored him. “I never told her I was gay. I should have. She never asked if I had a girlfriend or who I went out with on Saturday nights. She should have asked.”
Brendon was frowning but Ryan wasn’t looking at him. He stared at the cigarette between his fingers, watching the end fizzle and burn. He could smell the sweet smoke and licked his lips slowly.
“I never told her they beat me up for it. She wouldn’t have understood. She would have told me to fight back.”
“Who?” Brendon asked again, staring at Ryan.
“I never told her drinking was bad for her health and that I didn’t like it. I didn’t like when she collapsed in the kitchen and I had to carry her upstairs. I didn’t like telling my friends they couldn’t come over because she was too sick to even get dressed. I think I blamed her.” Ryan took a breath and felt the shudder pass over his body.
“For what?”
“For letting him leave, for getting sick, for not being there for me when I needed it. It was always the other way around.” Ryan took a drag of his cigarette and watched the smoke disappear in the warm autumn night.
He heard Brendon shifting in place but he stared up at the stars. He didn’t know why he was saying this. Brendon didn’t even know. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t remember why he’d agreed to Jon’s suggestion, but he caught sight of the case of beer and forgot. Reaching out, he tore it open carelessly and tugged a can from the bunch.
He offered the first one to Brendon, but he shook his head. “I don’t drink either.”
“What are you, a fucking saint?” Ryan asked dully as he took the beer for himself and cracked open the top.
“No, a Mormon,” Brendon replied simply.
“Same thing,” Ryan replied, taking a swig of the beer. It tasted awful but he didn’t care.
He finished the can in less than five minutes then let it drop from his hand. He could hear the clatter as it rolled away across the desert. Brendon was watching it like he had an urge to reprimand Ryan for littering. He didn’t say anything, though, and turned back to Ryan.
“You know, once, I thought she wasn’t really sick and she was just pretending to make me behave better. I only thought that for, like, a week until she couldn’t even get out of bed to make my lunch.” Ryan stuffed his cigarette into the ground and paused a second before pulling out another.
The lighter flame glowed orange and yellow in the darkness and lit up Ryan’s face as he held it to the cigarette end. His eyes looked tired and the eyeliner he wore was smudged more than usual, more than was stylish. His hair was clean but messy from the thousands of times he’d run his hand through it that day.
The tie he was wearing was still on tight but his black jacket already had dirt from the desert smeared across it. His black slacks were dirty as well but he didn’t seem to care as he lay on the ground. He raised a hand to his tie and tugged, feeling as though it was responsible for the lump in his throat that wouldn’t go away. It loosened a little and lay messily across his chest as he raised his cigarette to his mouth.
“What did she have?” Brendon asked quietly when Ryan paused.
Ryan stared at the sky, finding the big dipper just above him. “Cancer,” he replied quietly.
He fingered the cigarette lovingly. “Her birthday was June 30th so she was a Cancer too. It’s kind of ironic, but not in a good way.” He looked up and traced a star formation with his finger. “That’s the crab. She didn’t know anything about astrology.”
His hand dropped with a flop onto his chest and he exhaled, a stream of smoke vanishing into the air. Brendon had looked up when Ryan pointed and his eyes lingered there.
“Was she nice?”
Ryan realized Brendon didn’t know who he was talking about but disregarded that fact. The more words he spoke, the harder it got to stop the clawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. The lump grew larger and he blinked to stop the hot tears gathering in the corner of his eyes.
“Sometimes. I’m pretty sure she loved me and I guess I should have said it more. She tried to do the right things, but I’m not sure if she knew what that was sometimes. When I turned eighteen, she gave me a present. It wasn’t very much but she didn’t have a lot. It was a picture frame. Maybe that seems like a stupid gift and I probably thought that at the time too. It was simple, made of wood but she’d hand-painted a gold border around it with little pink flowers. There wasn’t a picture in it, and I’m not sure if she just forgot or if she wanted me to put something in it.” Ryan paused, tugging at his tie again. It still felt like it was choking him.
“Did you?”
“I was going to,” Ryan said slowly. “But the only picture I wanted to put there didn’t seem right for her, so I didn’t. It’s still in a drawer somewhere. I guess I’ll find it when I move out.”
He wiped at his eye and reached back for another beer. He couldn’t feel any buzz yet and he didn’t want to feel anything.
“Where are you moving?” Brendon asked softly, scooting towards him.
“Somewhere in town.” Ryan shrugged. “I can’t afford the house now. Maybe I’ll move in with Spencer or something.”
“You could move in with me,” Brendon said promptly. “My parents kicked me out and I need a roommate.”
Ryan frowned at his cigarette. “They kicked you out?”
“Yeah, but I got a job in a smoothie place and a small apartment, so I’m doing okay.”
Ryan paused, chewing his lip. “Why’d they kick you out?” He realized he was being invasive but he didn’t really care. The second beer was starting to take effect and he felt a little better. The lump was still there but it felt a little lessened.
“’Cause being gay and being Mormon don’t really go together,” Brendon said, shrugging.
Ryan just nodded, looking at the stars. He found the edge of the big dipper and followed it across to the North Star. He wondered if he just started walking north where exactly he might get to and how long before he collapsed from dehydration.
“She wasn’t really religious,” Ryan said suddenly. “We never went to church at all except a few times on Easter. She said religion was just a way to brainwash people and we should always think for ourselves.”
He felt a tear fall, hot and wet as it rolled down his cheek. He didn’t wipe it away but just stared straight ahead.
“My parents always said that being Mormon was like being best friends with God or something. Like we’re His favorites or something.” Brendon shrugged. “I always thought most religions were the same. I mean, really, they are, the Christian ones anyway. They all believe in God and that’s the most important, right?”
Ryan shrugged, biting his lip again as another tear rolled down his cheek and hit the ground with a tiny cloud of dust.
“She said religion was just for people who wanted something to believe in. We don’t all need to believe in something.”
“Yeah, you do,” Brendon said suddenly. “If you don’t believe in anything, what’s the point of being here?”
“What is the point of being here?”
Brendon frowned. “What do you believe in?”
Ryan sniffed and downed the last bit of his beer before taking a long drag on his cigarette. “I don’t know.”
“Well, do you believe in education or politics or something?”
Ryan took a breath and watched his trembling fingers handle his cigarette. “She always told me my education was what would get me somewhere, wherever she couldn’t get me. So I finished high school for her and went to community college.”
“That’s good,” Brendon said reassuringly.
“I finished last spring,” Ryan said slowly, feeling the tears well up again and the lump become unbearable. “She couldn’t come to the ceremony. When I got home, she was passed out on the living room floor. The Golden Girls was still on TV.”
He stopped, unable to go on. Every breath he took was a labor and his fingers were shaking worse than ever. He dropped his cigarette as he gasped for breath and hot tears rolled down his face. His vision was blurry as he stared at the stars above him. He heard Brendon moving closer, lying down on the hard ground and gave a small gasp as warm arms enveloped him.
He couldn’t hold back what he’d been trying to keep in all day and let out a small sob into Brendon’s shoulder. His whole body was shaking as he clung to Brendon’s warm body. Gasping for breath, his fingers curled around Brendon’s tee shirt and held on tightly.
And men can do terrible things.
“I didn’t tell her a lot of things,” Ryan gasped into Brendon’s shirt. His legs were tangled with Brendon’s but he just scooted closer to the warm body holding him close. “Not about my first boyfriend, or the time I-broke her favorite figurine and glued it back together. I didn’t tell her-that kids at school made fun of my clothes, or that-her casserole tasted like cardboard.” Ryan sobbed harder, feeling like the tears would never stop. Brendon just held onto him tightly and didn’t say a word.
“She was right,” Ryan whispered, still hiccupping for breath. Brendon’s shirt was wet from where he was pressed against him and Ryan could taste the salt on his lips.
“About what?” Brendon asked, stroking down Ryan’s hair softly.
“We do terrible things.”
“Who?”
“Men.” Ryan took a long, shuddering breath and tried to draw back from Brendon, but Brendon’s arms didn’t allow him to, so he stayed pressed against him. “We do horrible things like keeping secrets from people we love. We don’t tell them how we feel. We’re just bad people.”
“That’s not true,” Brendon said softly. “People are good at heart.”
“You have to say that,” Ryan mumbled. “You’re Mormon.”
He felt Brendon’s quiet laugh against his shoulder and sighed, his eyes sliding shut. He didn’t want to think anymore.
“I don’t have to say anything,” Brendon replied. “Like you said, people should think whatever they want and I think that.”
“I didn’t say that, she did,” Ryan corrected him quietly.
“Well, what do you think?”
“I think?” Ryan asked, as though it were a revolutionary concept to ask what he thought. It had always been him asking his mother what she wanted, what she needed, what she thought. “I don’t know what I think. I haven’t thought for a long time.”
“What do you mean?” Brendon’s voice was soft in his ear and he could feel his breath on his neck. His hands still clutched at the back of Brendon’s shirt and his leg was slid between Brendon’s.
Ryan didn’t know how to explain it. His body had finally stopped shivering and his breathing was slowing down. The lump in his throat was smaller and he felt able to breathe again.
“Ryan, you believe in something, I know it.”
Ryan hesitated. What did he believe in? Death? Everyone died in the end, or left. People did terrible things. He had without even realizing it.
“I believe…” he said slowly, opening his eyes against Brendon’s shoulder and smelling the clean, soapy detergent. “I believe that life doesn’t stop for you. It doesn’t matter what’s happening, even if it’s the most horrible thing in the world, the earth won’t stop turning. People won’t halt their lives to help you through it. In the end, we’re all alone.”
He felt Brendon’s arms squeeze him closer and he sniffed again.
“I would stop my life for you.”
Ryan couldn’t help the sob that escaped his lips at Brendon’s words. He didn’t know if it was true, but it sounded so right. He shook his head against Brendon’s chest and closed his eyes again for a second. “I barely know you.”
Brendon was silent for a moment. “I know,” he said finally. “But I think I know you.”
“No, you don’t,” Ryan mumbled. “You don’t know how horrible I was. I kept my life a secret from her and I knew everything about hers. Her favorite color was purple, her favorite flower was Chrysanthemum. She loved the Bee Gees and she used to know how to play the piano. She had two boyfriends ever before she got married. She was born in Denver but moved to Las Vegas when she was eighteen. She loved cats but we could never have one because she was allergic.”
Ryan shook his head again. “I should have told her something other than my grade in English. I should have told her my favorite color was green and I liked Orchids. I should have told her I was learning the guitar and had secretly bought one and hid it in the garage. I just should have told her.”
He sighed against Brendon’s chest.
He felt Brendon’s hand in his hair again, stroking the messy locks. He felt Brendon press a kiss to his hair. “I’m sure she knew.”
“But she didn’t!” Ryan said loudly, feeling the lump rise again. “I never told her anything. I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Losing her.” Ryan’s lip trembled and another tear fell into Brendon’s shirt. “And I did anyway.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know,” Ryan whispered. “But I just thought that if I hadn’t kept so many things, maybe she would know, maybe she-she would see that I tried. I really did. I wanted to be better than him, s-so she’d know I’d listened.”
He couldn’t stop the tears this time as they ran down his cheek and fell. He wiped some away with a careless hand and gasped for breath around the stuffed-up nose and the thing in his stomach clawing its way out his throat.
“Listened to what?”
“’Men can do terrible things,’ she said, and I vowed not to be one of those. My dad left and I said I’d never do that. I’d never hurt her like that. But… after all this time, I did anyway. She knew. She knew. Maybe it’s one of those inevitable things. Like, I was going to do it all along and telling me was her way of trying to warn me.”
His mouth quivered and he let out a soft sob. He clutched at Brendon’s shirt. He barely knew Brendon, had only met him a few days ago, but he felt like Brendon sort of understood. He’d disappointed his parents too, but they were at least alive so he might fix the damage. Ryan’s mother was gone and his father had been gone for years.
You’ll be a man.
Ryan pulled away from Brendon, wiping away the last of his tears and staring into his eyes. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, wiping his shaking hands on his slacks. Brendon sat up too, pulling his legs under him to criss-cross on the hard desert ground. Ryan took a long breath and let it out slowly.
“Brendon,” he said slowly, glancing up at the dark-haired boy. “Why’d you come out tonight?”
“Because Jon asked,” he replied simply. “And I wanted to spend time with you.”
Ryan paused, his hands fumbling for the cigarette case in his back pocket. It was partially crushed from being sat on but he pulled it out anyway. He didn’t open it, though, and sat with it in his lap, turning it over in his hands.
“Are you this nice to everyone?”
“Hey, I’m a Mormon!” Brendon smiled cheerfully, then smiled softly at Ryan. “Not this nice.”
“Why?”
Brendon paused a second, staring at Ryan. “Because you’re cool,” he said finally. “And I know you believe in something less morbid, you just have to realize it.”
Ryan gave a single laugh and stared down at the case in his hands. “You think so?”
“I know so,” Brendon replied. “You just need someone to bring it out.”
Ryan gave him a skeptical look under his eyelashes and wiped at the eyeliner under his eye. It was completely smeared now with no hope of repair. He sighed as he looked at the black smudge on his fingertips. “Yeah?”
“Mhm,” Brendon murmured softly, nodding. He leaned forward slightly and took Ryan’s face in his hand, lifting his chin upward.
Ryan felt his face pulled forward and let his eyes close as Brendon’s lips pressed against his, soft and subtle. It didn’t last very long before Brendon was moving back, a smile playing on his lips.
“Just need the right person,” Brendon said simply.
Ryan stared at him for another few seconds before finally removing a cigarette from his box and bringing it to his lips. He lit it with a flick of the lighter and watched the smoke puff out.
“She said I’d be a man one day.”
Brendon glanced over.
“I didn’t believe her then. I was eight, why would I? I still skinned my knees on pavement and thought girls had cooties. ‘Course, I didn’t figure out until later that they always would for me.” He took a drag of the cigarette. “I guess she was right. She was right a lot, actually, when she knew what she was saying. I should have thanked her.”
He heard Brendon sigh and felt his arms around him again, pulling him against his chest. Ryan let himself go and sat there, staring out at the empty desert, the cigarette dangling from his fingers. He could hear Brendon’s heartbeat, slow and steady.
“Do you believe in Heaven?” Brendon asked quietly against Ryan’s hair.
“I don’t know, I guess…” Ryan said, thinking that if nothing else, he’d like to believe in a place somewhere above him masked by the stars where his mother was healthy and happy.
“Then she knows.”
Ryan stuffed out his cigarette and put his arms around Brendon, hugging him close and staring up at the stars, watching as the North Star twinkled above them.
**
FIN
Author: silver_etoile
Rating: PG
POV: Third
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
Disclaimer: Not real. Lyrics and inspiration belong to Something Corporate.
Summary: Ryan just needs someone to come hang out with him but everyone's busy. Story of his life. Jon sends his friend Brendon to help.
A/N: AU Ryden fic was voted overwhelmingly, and after reading that article on FOB, this seems vaguely appropriate for the mood of the day.
*
His mother told him once, when he was young, something he’d never forgotten. His father had left them alone. He was eight and he didn’t understand when his mother told him his father wouldn’t be coming back. She’d sat him down at the dining room table, surrounded by the shelves of collectable figurines, the plush blue carpet under his toes as he sat on the chair that seemed much too big for him.
“Ryan,” she said, squatting to his level and staring him deep in the eyes. “One day you’ll be a man, and men can do terrible things.”
She hadn’t said anything more and had left him in the chair, his feet dangling over the carpet.
He hadn’t understood, and still, a month later when his dad wasn’t home, he couldn’t understand why. His mother never told him again, but he would never forget her words to him that sunny Saturday morning.
When she died from cancer years later, he was only twenty, and he came to her funeral dressed in black. As he sat in the church pew, staring at the minister, whose speech was merely a mumble in his ears, he remembered her words.
He’d always listened to her growing up, even if her morals weren’t always right or maybe she wasn’t as smart as she pretended to be. He tried to be strong for her since he was really all she had after his father left. He tolerated her drinking spells and picked her up when she collapsed on the floor from the alcohol.
He told her about high school but left out the details of getting beat up for being a fag. He didn’t tell her about the teasing about his clothes or the makeup he wore. He didn’t tell her about the band he wanted to start, how he was learning the guitar. He told her he was getting good grades and she seemed happy.
On her good days, she would talk to him about his life and reminisce about hers. She would laugh to herself about the time he’d fallen off his bike and she’d made him chocolate milkshakes to make it better. She would smile sadly when she remembered the last time he’d asked where his father had gone and when he was coming back.
Ryan sat in the church pew staring at the minister. There weren’t many other people in the church. His mother hadn’t known many people in the last years of her sickness. She’d become a recluse, drinking more, swearing more, talking less. Ryan cleaned up after her and sat next to her bed for hours when she was too weak to get up.
The little program in his hands trembled and he kept his eyes unblinkingly ahead. A woman with a large black hat sat in front of him and he felt his eyes closing. The voice of the minister filtered through his head and was gone.
Men can do terrible things.
He opened his eyes and glanced down at the program in his hands. It was a small piece of paper outlined in white lace. It had been provided by the church since he had no money to pay for it. His job at the record store wasn’t enough to pay for a funeral and his mother hadn’t had very much.
He stared at the program, crumpling the cheap paper in his fist.
When the minister stepped down and Ryan walked up to the coffin, he felt his hands trembling. His mother looked so pale, even against the white satin interior of the coffin. She was wearing her favorite purple sweater and Ryan just stared down at her.
He watched them close the coffin and watched with unseeing eyes as they carried it out and to the burial plot. Ryan didn’t follow. The church doors clanged behind the last person and Ryan sank to his knees.
He was utterly alone now. He’d never started a band. His old guitar sat gathering dust in a corner of his mother’s old house. He would have to sell the house and get an apartment. He couldn’t afford to pay for a house that was falling apart. It wasn’t worth it, but a part of him hated the thought of selling the house he’d grown up in, with the same old blue carpet, now faded and worn under the dining room table that had never once moved from its spot.
Ryan wasn’t sure how long he stayed in the church, but by the time he climbed to his feet and walked out the front doors, night had fallen. His rusty, blue Chevy Cavalier was the only car left in the parking lot. He climbed inside and stared at the dashboard for several minutes before he realized where he was.
Stars were bursting into the deep navy sky above him. Beyond the parking lot, Ryan could only see the vast spreading desert. The thing about Las Vegas was that when people thought of it, they only thought of flashing lights, names in neon, the ching of the slot machines. There was more to it than that. Beyond the Strip and the miles of identical houses, there was a desert. It had coyotes and quail, cactus and Palo Verde trees. There were no people, no, “Oh, I’m sorry about your mother,” no lies.
There was a lump in Ryan’s throat and he battled the shudder in his limbs as he dug for his cell phone in the glove box. He found it behind a CD case and pulled it out, his fingers trembling as he searched for a number.
He pressed the phone to his ear, listening to the familiar ring. It rang four times.
“Hello?”
“Jon?”
There was a pause. “Ryan? Hey, how are you?”
There it was. That tone, sympathetic and caring, that he’d heard all afternoon. It sickened him. He couldn’t take it anymore.
“Jon, can you come meet me?”
“Well, I-I’m kind of busy.”
Ryan let out a quiet sigh and gazed over the desert. “I just need someone…”
“I’ll send Brendon.”
Ryan hesitated. He’d just met Brendon the other day and wasn’t sure if that was such a good idea. He didn’t know the boy very well and he really wanted someone he knew well.
“What about Spencer?” he asked.
“He’s at work,” Jon said, sounding apologetic. “Really, I would Ryan, but my…” Ryan could hear the hesitation in Jon’s voice. “My mom wants me to help her move some stuff into her house.”
Ryan could feel his heart sinking with every word Jon said, and when he said mom, it dropped to the bottom of his stomach and sat there, barely beating.
“Oh, okay,” he said quietly, his voice sinking to barely a whisper. The pause that followed seemed to stretch on forever until Jon spoke again, quietly, as though afraid speaking loudly might break Ryan.
“I’ll call Brendon. He can come hang out with you,” Jon said quickly, like it might convince Ryan that Brendon was as good as any of his friends.
Ryan sighed, hearing the shudder in his breath. He closed his eyes for a second, listening to his own breath. He felt tired.
“Brendon’s a good friend,” Jon said when Ryan didn’t respond. “I’ve known him for a while, Ry. I think he can help.”
Ryan shook his head and knew Jon couldn’t see him. No one could help. He knew Jon wouldn’t be happy until he agreed, so he opened his eyes, wincing at the orange glare from the overhead parking light.
“Yeah, fine,” he agreed finally and he could hear Jon’s sigh of relief.
“Cool,” Jon said. “Where do you want to meet him?”
Ryan stared ahead of him. “On Carey, past the park. Where the road ends.”
“Okay,” Jon said seriously. He sounded like he was about to hang up but paused. “Ryan?”
“Yeah?”
“I-I’m sorry, you know?”
“Yeah.”
There was another pause like Jon wanted to say more but then the phone clicked off, leaving only silence behind.
Ryan tossed his phone on the passenger seat and sniffed away a tear, shoving the key in the ignition and starting the car. He pulled out of the parking lot and took off under the orange streetlights towards a familiar park. Houses lined the street he was on, cute, little, identical stucco houses. Their front windows all winked as he passed and he caught glimpses of families sitting down to dinner, watching television in the living room.
He made it to the park quickly but kept driving down the two-lane road until it came to a dead end. He pulled his car off the road and got out. It was warm outside even though it was dark. It was like this in the desert. From far away, he heard the lonely cry of a coyote but it was joined seconds later by another and another.
Ryan took a step away from the car, then paused and stuck his head back in, fishing his phone out of the seat and the pack of cigarettes from the glove compartment. He walked a few steps in the desert and stared. There were no lights out here except for the stars and the moon. The orange lights stopped a ways back but Ryan didn’t look back at them. He was staring out at the star-strewn sky and infinite desert.
The ground was hard and brown, cast blue in the night. Little shrubs poked up along with a few cacti. His car was the bulkiest object around and it sat in silence behind him. Ryan blinked and turned, opening the cigarette carton and pulling one out.
He looked up as he heard a low rumble and saw the pin-point of two car lights shining his direction. He didn’t raise a hand to shield his eyes and just watched it approach. The car was loud and obviously old as it rumbled to a stuttering stop next to Ryan’s car. Ryan didn’t move as the door was thrown open and a tall boy climbed out. He was smiling.
“Hey, Ryan,” Brendon said cheerfully. “Jon said you wanted to hang out.” He went over to his passenger side and opened it, digging in the car. He came back out with a twelve pack of beer. “He said you might want this. I don’t know why, but he was acting kind of weird when he told me.”
Brendon walked over to Ryan, still smiling, and set the beer on the ground. He straightened up and looked around him. “It’s pretty out here.”
Ryan didn’t say anything and raised the cigarette to his lips, pulling a lighter from his front pocket and flicking it on. He took a long drag and closed his eyes, comforted by the familiar taste and smell.
When he opened them, Brendon was staring at him. He frowned and held up the pack as an offering.
“Oh, no, I don’t smoke,” Brendon declined quickly. Ryan just let his hand fall to his side and stuffed the pack in his back pocket. He turned to stare over the desert again.
Brendon stood next to him awkwardly, looking around him curiously. He turned back to Ryan, who hadn’t moved. “So whatcha you doing out here?”
Ryan shrugged, taking a step forward and Brendon followed eagerly. He walked about fifty feet away from the cars before he sort of collapsed onto the ground. He lay on his back, staring at the twinkling darkness above him, dark smoke streaming from his mouth as he took another long drag of his cigarette.
Brendon approached him and set down the beer he’d brought carefully, then settled himself on the ground. He was still looking all around him like a puppy with too many new things to play with.
Ryan took deep breaths, feeling something clawing at his stomach that wanted desperately to escape. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he didn’t want it to get out.
One day you’ll be a man.
“I never told her.”
Brendon looked over as Ryan spoke for the first time. “What? Who?”
Ryan ignored him. “I never told her I was gay. I should have. She never asked if I had a girlfriend or who I went out with on Saturday nights. She should have asked.”
Brendon was frowning but Ryan wasn’t looking at him. He stared at the cigarette between his fingers, watching the end fizzle and burn. He could smell the sweet smoke and licked his lips slowly.
“I never told her they beat me up for it. She wouldn’t have understood. She would have told me to fight back.”
“Who?” Brendon asked again, staring at Ryan.
“I never told her drinking was bad for her health and that I didn’t like it. I didn’t like when she collapsed in the kitchen and I had to carry her upstairs. I didn’t like telling my friends they couldn’t come over because she was too sick to even get dressed. I think I blamed her.” Ryan took a breath and felt the shudder pass over his body.
“For what?”
“For letting him leave, for getting sick, for not being there for me when I needed it. It was always the other way around.” Ryan took a drag of his cigarette and watched the smoke disappear in the warm autumn night.
He heard Brendon shifting in place but he stared up at the stars. He didn’t know why he was saying this. Brendon didn’t even know. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t remember why he’d agreed to Jon’s suggestion, but he caught sight of the case of beer and forgot. Reaching out, he tore it open carelessly and tugged a can from the bunch.
He offered the first one to Brendon, but he shook his head. “I don’t drink either.”
“What are you, a fucking saint?” Ryan asked dully as he took the beer for himself and cracked open the top.
“No, a Mormon,” Brendon replied simply.
“Same thing,” Ryan replied, taking a swig of the beer. It tasted awful but he didn’t care.
He finished the can in less than five minutes then let it drop from his hand. He could hear the clatter as it rolled away across the desert. Brendon was watching it like he had an urge to reprimand Ryan for littering. He didn’t say anything, though, and turned back to Ryan.
“You know, once, I thought she wasn’t really sick and she was just pretending to make me behave better. I only thought that for, like, a week until she couldn’t even get out of bed to make my lunch.” Ryan stuffed his cigarette into the ground and paused a second before pulling out another.
The lighter flame glowed orange and yellow in the darkness and lit up Ryan’s face as he held it to the cigarette end. His eyes looked tired and the eyeliner he wore was smudged more than usual, more than was stylish. His hair was clean but messy from the thousands of times he’d run his hand through it that day.
The tie he was wearing was still on tight but his black jacket already had dirt from the desert smeared across it. His black slacks were dirty as well but he didn’t seem to care as he lay on the ground. He raised a hand to his tie and tugged, feeling as though it was responsible for the lump in his throat that wouldn’t go away. It loosened a little and lay messily across his chest as he raised his cigarette to his mouth.
“What did she have?” Brendon asked quietly when Ryan paused.
Ryan stared at the sky, finding the big dipper just above him. “Cancer,” he replied quietly.
He fingered the cigarette lovingly. “Her birthday was June 30th so she was a Cancer too. It’s kind of ironic, but not in a good way.” He looked up and traced a star formation with his finger. “That’s the crab. She didn’t know anything about astrology.”
His hand dropped with a flop onto his chest and he exhaled, a stream of smoke vanishing into the air. Brendon had looked up when Ryan pointed and his eyes lingered there.
“Was she nice?”
Ryan realized Brendon didn’t know who he was talking about but disregarded that fact. The more words he spoke, the harder it got to stop the clawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. The lump grew larger and he blinked to stop the hot tears gathering in the corner of his eyes.
“Sometimes. I’m pretty sure she loved me and I guess I should have said it more. She tried to do the right things, but I’m not sure if she knew what that was sometimes. When I turned eighteen, she gave me a present. It wasn’t very much but she didn’t have a lot. It was a picture frame. Maybe that seems like a stupid gift and I probably thought that at the time too. It was simple, made of wood but she’d hand-painted a gold border around it with little pink flowers. There wasn’t a picture in it, and I’m not sure if she just forgot or if she wanted me to put something in it.” Ryan paused, tugging at his tie again. It still felt like it was choking him.
“Did you?”
“I was going to,” Ryan said slowly. “But the only picture I wanted to put there didn’t seem right for her, so I didn’t. It’s still in a drawer somewhere. I guess I’ll find it when I move out.”
He wiped at his eye and reached back for another beer. He couldn’t feel any buzz yet and he didn’t want to feel anything.
“Where are you moving?” Brendon asked softly, scooting towards him.
“Somewhere in town.” Ryan shrugged. “I can’t afford the house now. Maybe I’ll move in with Spencer or something.”
“You could move in with me,” Brendon said promptly. “My parents kicked me out and I need a roommate.”
Ryan frowned at his cigarette. “They kicked you out?”
“Yeah, but I got a job in a smoothie place and a small apartment, so I’m doing okay.”
Ryan paused, chewing his lip. “Why’d they kick you out?” He realized he was being invasive but he didn’t really care. The second beer was starting to take effect and he felt a little better. The lump was still there but it felt a little lessened.
“’Cause being gay and being Mormon don’t really go together,” Brendon said, shrugging.
Ryan just nodded, looking at the stars. He found the edge of the big dipper and followed it across to the North Star. He wondered if he just started walking north where exactly he might get to and how long before he collapsed from dehydration.
“She wasn’t really religious,” Ryan said suddenly. “We never went to church at all except a few times on Easter. She said religion was just a way to brainwash people and we should always think for ourselves.”
He felt a tear fall, hot and wet as it rolled down his cheek. He didn’t wipe it away but just stared straight ahead.
“My parents always said that being Mormon was like being best friends with God or something. Like we’re His favorites or something.” Brendon shrugged. “I always thought most religions were the same. I mean, really, they are, the Christian ones anyway. They all believe in God and that’s the most important, right?”
Ryan shrugged, biting his lip again as another tear rolled down his cheek and hit the ground with a tiny cloud of dust.
“She said religion was just for people who wanted something to believe in. We don’t all need to believe in something.”
“Yeah, you do,” Brendon said suddenly. “If you don’t believe in anything, what’s the point of being here?”
“What is the point of being here?”
Brendon frowned. “What do you believe in?”
Ryan sniffed and downed the last bit of his beer before taking a long drag on his cigarette. “I don’t know.”
“Well, do you believe in education or politics or something?”
Ryan took a breath and watched his trembling fingers handle his cigarette. “She always told me my education was what would get me somewhere, wherever she couldn’t get me. So I finished high school for her and went to community college.”
“That’s good,” Brendon said reassuringly.
“I finished last spring,” Ryan said slowly, feeling the tears well up again and the lump become unbearable. “She couldn’t come to the ceremony. When I got home, she was passed out on the living room floor. The Golden Girls was still on TV.”
He stopped, unable to go on. Every breath he took was a labor and his fingers were shaking worse than ever. He dropped his cigarette as he gasped for breath and hot tears rolled down his face. His vision was blurry as he stared at the stars above him. He heard Brendon moving closer, lying down on the hard ground and gave a small gasp as warm arms enveloped him.
He couldn’t hold back what he’d been trying to keep in all day and let out a small sob into Brendon’s shoulder. His whole body was shaking as he clung to Brendon’s warm body. Gasping for breath, his fingers curled around Brendon’s tee shirt and held on tightly.
And men can do terrible things.
“I didn’t tell her a lot of things,” Ryan gasped into Brendon’s shirt. His legs were tangled with Brendon’s but he just scooted closer to the warm body holding him close. “Not about my first boyfriend, or the time I-broke her favorite figurine and glued it back together. I didn’t tell her-that kids at school made fun of my clothes, or that-her casserole tasted like cardboard.” Ryan sobbed harder, feeling like the tears would never stop. Brendon just held onto him tightly and didn’t say a word.
“She was right,” Ryan whispered, still hiccupping for breath. Brendon’s shirt was wet from where he was pressed against him and Ryan could taste the salt on his lips.
“About what?” Brendon asked, stroking down Ryan’s hair softly.
“We do terrible things.”
“Who?”
“Men.” Ryan took a long, shuddering breath and tried to draw back from Brendon, but Brendon’s arms didn’t allow him to, so he stayed pressed against him. “We do horrible things like keeping secrets from people we love. We don’t tell them how we feel. We’re just bad people.”
“That’s not true,” Brendon said softly. “People are good at heart.”
“You have to say that,” Ryan mumbled. “You’re Mormon.”
He felt Brendon’s quiet laugh against his shoulder and sighed, his eyes sliding shut. He didn’t want to think anymore.
“I don’t have to say anything,” Brendon replied. “Like you said, people should think whatever they want and I think that.”
“I didn’t say that, she did,” Ryan corrected him quietly.
“Well, what do you think?”
“I think?” Ryan asked, as though it were a revolutionary concept to ask what he thought. It had always been him asking his mother what she wanted, what she needed, what she thought. “I don’t know what I think. I haven’t thought for a long time.”
“What do you mean?” Brendon’s voice was soft in his ear and he could feel his breath on his neck. His hands still clutched at the back of Brendon’s shirt and his leg was slid between Brendon’s.
Ryan didn’t know how to explain it. His body had finally stopped shivering and his breathing was slowing down. The lump in his throat was smaller and he felt able to breathe again.
“Ryan, you believe in something, I know it.”
Ryan hesitated. What did he believe in? Death? Everyone died in the end, or left. People did terrible things. He had without even realizing it.
“I believe…” he said slowly, opening his eyes against Brendon’s shoulder and smelling the clean, soapy detergent. “I believe that life doesn’t stop for you. It doesn’t matter what’s happening, even if it’s the most horrible thing in the world, the earth won’t stop turning. People won’t halt their lives to help you through it. In the end, we’re all alone.”
He felt Brendon’s arms squeeze him closer and he sniffed again.
“I would stop my life for you.”
Ryan couldn’t help the sob that escaped his lips at Brendon’s words. He didn’t know if it was true, but it sounded so right. He shook his head against Brendon’s chest and closed his eyes again for a second. “I barely know you.”
Brendon was silent for a moment. “I know,” he said finally. “But I think I know you.”
“No, you don’t,” Ryan mumbled. “You don’t know how horrible I was. I kept my life a secret from her and I knew everything about hers. Her favorite color was purple, her favorite flower was Chrysanthemum. She loved the Bee Gees and she used to know how to play the piano. She had two boyfriends ever before she got married. She was born in Denver but moved to Las Vegas when she was eighteen. She loved cats but we could never have one because she was allergic.”
Ryan shook his head again. “I should have told her something other than my grade in English. I should have told her my favorite color was green and I liked Orchids. I should have told her I was learning the guitar and had secretly bought one and hid it in the garage. I just should have told her.”
He sighed against Brendon’s chest.
He felt Brendon’s hand in his hair again, stroking the messy locks. He felt Brendon press a kiss to his hair. “I’m sure she knew.”
“But she didn’t!” Ryan said loudly, feeling the lump rise again. “I never told her anything. I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Losing her.” Ryan’s lip trembled and another tear fell into Brendon’s shirt. “And I did anyway.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know,” Ryan whispered. “But I just thought that if I hadn’t kept so many things, maybe she would know, maybe she-she would see that I tried. I really did. I wanted to be better than him, s-so she’d know I’d listened.”
He couldn’t stop the tears this time as they ran down his cheek and fell. He wiped some away with a careless hand and gasped for breath around the stuffed-up nose and the thing in his stomach clawing its way out his throat.
“Listened to what?”
“’Men can do terrible things,’ she said, and I vowed not to be one of those. My dad left and I said I’d never do that. I’d never hurt her like that. But… after all this time, I did anyway. She knew. She knew. Maybe it’s one of those inevitable things. Like, I was going to do it all along and telling me was her way of trying to warn me.”
His mouth quivered and he let out a soft sob. He clutched at Brendon’s shirt. He barely knew Brendon, had only met him a few days ago, but he felt like Brendon sort of understood. He’d disappointed his parents too, but they were at least alive so he might fix the damage. Ryan’s mother was gone and his father had been gone for years.
You’ll be a man.
Ryan pulled away from Brendon, wiping away the last of his tears and staring into his eyes. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, wiping his shaking hands on his slacks. Brendon sat up too, pulling his legs under him to criss-cross on the hard desert ground. Ryan took a long breath and let it out slowly.
“Brendon,” he said slowly, glancing up at the dark-haired boy. “Why’d you come out tonight?”
“Because Jon asked,” he replied simply. “And I wanted to spend time with you.”
Ryan paused, his hands fumbling for the cigarette case in his back pocket. It was partially crushed from being sat on but he pulled it out anyway. He didn’t open it, though, and sat with it in his lap, turning it over in his hands.
“Are you this nice to everyone?”
“Hey, I’m a Mormon!” Brendon smiled cheerfully, then smiled softly at Ryan. “Not this nice.”
“Why?”
Brendon paused a second, staring at Ryan. “Because you’re cool,” he said finally. “And I know you believe in something less morbid, you just have to realize it.”
Ryan gave a single laugh and stared down at the case in his hands. “You think so?”
“I know so,” Brendon replied. “You just need someone to bring it out.”
Ryan gave him a skeptical look under his eyelashes and wiped at the eyeliner under his eye. It was completely smeared now with no hope of repair. He sighed as he looked at the black smudge on his fingertips. “Yeah?”
“Mhm,” Brendon murmured softly, nodding. He leaned forward slightly and took Ryan’s face in his hand, lifting his chin upward.
Ryan felt his face pulled forward and let his eyes close as Brendon’s lips pressed against his, soft and subtle. It didn’t last very long before Brendon was moving back, a smile playing on his lips.
“Just need the right person,” Brendon said simply.
Ryan stared at him for another few seconds before finally removing a cigarette from his box and bringing it to his lips. He lit it with a flick of the lighter and watched the smoke puff out.
“She said I’d be a man one day.”
Brendon glanced over.
“I didn’t believe her then. I was eight, why would I? I still skinned my knees on pavement and thought girls had cooties. ‘Course, I didn’t figure out until later that they always would for me.” He took a drag of the cigarette. “I guess she was right. She was right a lot, actually, when she knew what she was saying. I should have thanked her.”
He heard Brendon sigh and felt his arms around him again, pulling him against his chest. Ryan let himself go and sat there, staring out at the empty desert, the cigarette dangling from his fingers. He could hear Brendon’s heartbeat, slow and steady.
“Do you believe in Heaven?” Brendon asked quietly against Ryan’s hair.
“I don’t know, I guess…” Ryan said, thinking that if nothing else, he’d like to believe in a place somewhere above him masked by the stars where his mother was healthy and happy.
“Then she knows.”
Ryan stuffed out his cigarette and put his arms around Brendon, hugging him close and staring up at the stars, watching as the North Star twinkled above them.
**
FIN