Transition: Brendon's Goodbye -> Solo Album Coda
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The letter burns in his pocket, taunting him as he walks around the house, packing the last things for the honeymoon, putting the last few details to order. He takes it out more times than he can count, stroking the white envelope with his fingers, pulling it open, closing it again.
In the end, he takes it into the kitchen, holds it between his thumb and forefinger over the sink, reaches for the lighter in his pocket. The paper darkens and curls as it burns, and Ryan holds on for as long as he can, until the flames lick too high, climb too close to his fingers. There’s a corner left after the fire dies out, a paper triangle roughly the size of a stamp. He takes it up, brushes off the ashes, separates the envelope from the three scraps of notebook paper inside. One is blank, the second partially covered with a curling doodle. The third has something written on it, the end of a two-line phrase, scribbled with thick, blue marker.
OWS
F A SPEECH
He squints at the letters, trying to make out the first word where it bleeds into the singed edge. ‘Rows’ maybe. ‘Rows of a speech.’ Or maybe it was something different altogether.
Whatever it said, it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s too late. Brendon is gone and he needs to hurry if he’s to make it to the dry-cleaners before they close. He turns on the tap, letting cold water wash the cinders away, takes his keys and leaves the house.
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