Ordinary, chapter 10
summary: Ian is diagnosed with cancer. In this chapter, Ian gets nostalgic, then discusses death with Kris.
warnings: sadness, mild language, mentions of religion that are not meant to offend anyone at all.
rating: pg-13
Ordinary, chapter ten
The crew had almost completely left now. Ian was tidying up as the men packed and exited. They had already finished filming, so Ian had time to take it easy, maybe jog or do some yoga. But Ian was nervous, so he started to clean.
He went first to the computer, opening desk drawers and seeing them filled with old papers. He sighed, and left the mess, only to return a minute later with his recycling box, which they would fill with paper and take down to the supermarket whenever it filled up. Or he would do that, now. Anthony no longer lived there, so he no longer contributed, but Ian did, and would soon be stuffing the box with old paper.
He had a crooked smile on his face as he emptied the desk. Old papers to Adrian's bike, keep (he would be giving it to a friend after he passed), old, unfinished scripts, garbage. So many odd memories. He soon found himself slowing, reading old papers before laughing softly to himself.
Here's the instructions that came with the Snorlax, he observed as he threw them into the bin. We almost broke one of the feet the first day.
Here's half the script of Charlie, the Drunk Guinea Pig, he smiled, and read through the ridiculous thing. He remembered already owning Charlie, and one day Anthony just decided he should have his own video, and the popularity of it and the resulting channel still blew his mind.
He found old maps, charts, floor plans of the house, unfinished scripts, bills and notes. However happy it made him, though, most of it was going in the bin. He no longer had need to hang onto those old memories, not on paper anyway, just as softness in his mind. When he was done, the paper box was half full, and the desk was nearly empty, with only some official documents he assumed people would need after he was gone remaining in the drawers.
From here, he moved to the desk in his bedroom, where he found the papers were even older. He was throwing away a high school diploma and some old math homework when he thought of going to his mother's house and emptying out his old bedroom, but decided his mother might want to do it, and it could cause suspicion. But soon his amusing treasure hunt continued.
And here's that note Anthony slipped me, he thought, reading the dirty joke on it.
Here's that Valentine's Day card, from that girl Tiffany. He didn't really care about the holiday, it was just commercial to him, but that was high school romance.
While pulling out papers, he found a loose leaf, old, folded and crinkled, but recognized it right away, and nearly cried out with joy. Straightening it as best as he could, he read his and his best friends' old handwriting. It was sloppy and quick, and he remembered sitting in the library with Anthony as they wrote down the names. Names of things they could call themselves. And in the middle of the paper, from Anthony's pen, is the word Smosh, which old Ian had taken the liberty of circling with his pencil. He put the paper in his keep pile.
He also found the receipt to his first camera, an old game for a gameboy, and his yearbook. He threw the first away and moved the second to the side, taking a moment holding the book before throwing it away as well. Sometimes it was hard to let go, but when Ian knew he was letting go of life, he found it easy to let it go of possessions. The memories, though, those were what he clung to.
***
Saturday was spent with a ten hour editing marathon. Anthony spent the first hour happy, the next normal, the next grumbling, and the other seven either groaning in annoyance or silent. Ian spent much of them hiding cramps and fatigue, but for him it was a very serious time in his life. Not just this moment, but every time he edited. He liked knowing he could actually work hard at something, especially when it was this boring, and actually finish it, actually have something in front of him that was a result of hours of labor, something to be proud of.
Not that the ADHD helped, of course. That made him more proud of his work, in fact, because it meant that he worked twice as hard as people without it. He remembered being so distracted when he was a kid, and now he could actually sit at a desk and work, not even as a boring office job, just as a part of something he loved.
And those silent moments with Anthony were nice, too. It had always been just the two of them editing the videos, and while some of it was bonding, and other parts testing their relationship, most of it was just work. But with such little time left, he held every second precious and close to his heart. He found himself cherishing the smallest things, like the big monitor on the computer and Anthony's rosy cheeks. Everything was vivid, everything was important, because he was alive, and he had so much. If only he realized earlier.
***
He had a bottle of water with him today, he always kept it with him in the car, but he took it into therapy after feeling nauseous. He didn't want to get sick in Kris' office. He now sat in his large chair, with Kris looking serious in front of him.
"I assume, we'll be talking about something big today, huh." Ian rubbed his forehead and stretched, getting ready to undergo a session he assumed to be horrific.
"Yes, Ian, but as big as it is, we must all face it." Kris was somber.
"Death." Ian guessed.
"Yeah." Kris looked at the stressed young man, frowning at the situation, and continued. "What do you think happens?"
"When we die?" Ian shook his head, resting his hands on his thighs. "I always thought of it like sleeping, but I don't really know, it could be anything."
"Anything?" Kris mused.
"Yeah, like Heaven or Hell, reincarnation, maybe like a weird alternate universe or something."
Kris nodded. "That's very wise, Ian. Most people assume what society or religion tells them about death is a fact, and think of it as the only possible correct answer."
"Well," he responded, "society and religion aren't the best at sending clear messages." Kris nodded in agreement, and for a moment the two were lost in thought.
"Are you scared?" was Kris' next question, as he lifted an eyebrow and examined the young man.
"A little." Ian answered truthfully. "Because it's- it's the next big-" he paused, searching for the word. "It's the next big adventure. So I'm a little scared, like when I started Smosh or bought a house with Anthony. Because I don't know what's coming."
Kris nodded. "But say you were certain, that after death there existed a Heaven and a Hell, and the rules of it followed the Christian religion. Would you know what's coming, then?"
Ian thought about his answer. "I guess not. I mean, I think it'd be more likely that I'd go to heaven, I'm a good guy, but I don't really know. I haven't followed the rules perfectly, and no one agrees over how strictly the Bible should be interpreted. But whichever way I go, I don't know what's gonna be there."
Kris nodded and leaned back, getting himself comfortable. Outside, rain whipped against building and roads, the wind blowing through the branches, and the two fell silent again to experience a rare stormy day in California.
"Do you believe in God, Ian?" Kris looked at him, free of judgment.
"I believe..." Ian struggled with putting it into words. "I believe in the big bang. I believe in the universe. But I believe there might be something else out there, some sort of force, I don't know. Something like that."
Kris cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. "That's good, Ian. Not good that you believe in one specific thing, I mean, you don't have to believe in anything, but it's good for you to understand enough about yourself to say so. Most people, they don't know who they are, who they truly are, until they're old and dying. And that's fine, too. I mean to say, just observing, that you're beyond your years."
"I guess cancer's aged me." Ian mused with a light smile. But he saw some sort of truth in it. Dying made him face his life and evaluate it, earlier than everyone who was healthy, who would live for years more. And because it wasn't quick and sudden, his death, he had time like an old man to look back. Cancer, in this smallest way, was changing him, but he remained the same person, and cancer could not change his foundation.
warnings: sadness, mild language, mentions of religion that are not meant to offend anyone at all.
rating: pg-13
Ordinary, chapter ten
The crew had almost completely left now. Ian was tidying up as the men packed and exited. They had already finished filming, so Ian had time to take it easy, maybe jog or do some yoga. But Ian was nervous, so he started to clean.
He went first to the computer, opening desk drawers and seeing them filled with old papers. He sighed, and left the mess, only to return a minute later with his recycling box, which they would fill with paper and take down to the supermarket whenever it filled up. Or he would do that, now. Anthony no longer lived there, so he no longer contributed, but Ian did, and would soon be stuffing the box with old paper.
He had a crooked smile on his face as he emptied the desk. Old papers to Adrian's bike, keep (he would be giving it to a friend after he passed), old, unfinished scripts, garbage. So many odd memories. He soon found himself slowing, reading old papers before laughing softly to himself.
Here's the instructions that came with the Snorlax, he observed as he threw them into the bin. We almost broke one of the feet the first day.
Here's half the script of Charlie, the Drunk Guinea Pig, he smiled, and read through the ridiculous thing. He remembered already owning Charlie, and one day Anthony just decided he should have his own video, and the popularity of it and the resulting channel still blew his mind.
He found old maps, charts, floor plans of the house, unfinished scripts, bills and notes. However happy it made him, though, most of it was going in the bin. He no longer had need to hang onto those old memories, not on paper anyway, just as softness in his mind. When he was done, the paper box was half full, and the desk was nearly empty, with only some official documents he assumed people would need after he was gone remaining in the drawers.
From here, he moved to the desk in his bedroom, where he found the papers were even older. He was throwing away a high school diploma and some old math homework when he thought of going to his mother's house and emptying out his old bedroom, but decided his mother might want to do it, and it could cause suspicion. But soon his amusing treasure hunt continued.
And here's that note Anthony slipped me, he thought, reading the dirty joke on it.
Here's that Valentine's Day card, from that girl Tiffany. He didn't really care about the holiday, it was just commercial to him, but that was high school romance.
While pulling out papers, he found a loose leaf, old, folded and crinkled, but recognized it right away, and nearly cried out with joy. Straightening it as best as he could, he read his and his best friends' old handwriting. It was sloppy and quick, and he remembered sitting in the library with Anthony as they wrote down the names. Names of things they could call themselves. And in the middle of the paper, from Anthony's pen, is the word Smosh, which old Ian had taken the liberty of circling with his pencil. He put the paper in his keep pile.
He also found the receipt to his first camera, an old game for a gameboy, and his yearbook. He threw the first away and moved the second to the side, taking a moment holding the book before throwing it away as well. Sometimes it was hard to let go, but when Ian knew he was letting go of life, he found it easy to let it go of possessions. The memories, though, those were what he clung to.
***
Saturday was spent with a ten hour editing marathon. Anthony spent the first hour happy, the next normal, the next grumbling, and the other seven either groaning in annoyance or silent. Ian spent much of them hiding cramps and fatigue, but for him it was a very serious time in his life. Not just this moment, but every time he edited. He liked knowing he could actually work hard at something, especially when it was this boring, and actually finish it, actually have something in front of him that was a result of hours of labor, something to be proud of.
Not that the ADHD helped, of course. That made him more proud of his work, in fact, because it meant that he worked twice as hard as people without it. He remembered being so distracted when he was a kid, and now he could actually sit at a desk and work, not even as a boring office job, just as a part of something he loved.
And those silent moments with Anthony were nice, too. It had always been just the two of them editing the videos, and while some of it was bonding, and other parts testing their relationship, most of it was just work. But with such little time left, he held every second precious and close to his heart. He found himself cherishing the smallest things, like the big monitor on the computer and Anthony's rosy cheeks. Everything was vivid, everything was important, because he was alive, and he had so much. If only he realized earlier.
***
He had a bottle of water with him today, he always kept it with him in the car, but he took it into therapy after feeling nauseous. He didn't want to get sick in Kris' office. He now sat in his large chair, with Kris looking serious in front of him.
"I assume, we'll be talking about something big today, huh." Ian rubbed his forehead and stretched, getting ready to undergo a session he assumed to be horrific.
"Yes, Ian, but as big as it is, we must all face it." Kris was somber.
"Death." Ian guessed.
"Yeah." Kris looked at the stressed young man, frowning at the situation, and continued. "What do you think happens?"
"When we die?" Ian shook his head, resting his hands on his thighs. "I always thought of it like sleeping, but I don't really know, it could be anything."
"Anything?" Kris mused.
"Yeah, like Heaven or Hell, reincarnation, maybe like a weird alternate universe or something."
Kris nodded. "That's very wise, Ian. Most people assume what society or religion tells them about death is a fact, and think of it as the only possible correct answer."
"Well," he responded, "society and religion aren't the best at sending clear messages." Kris nodded in agreement, and for a moment the two were lost in thought.
"Are you scared?" was Kris' next question, as he lifted an eyebrow and examined the young man.
"A little." Ian answered truthfully. "Because it's- it's the next big-" he paused, searching for the word. "It's the next big adventure. So I'm a little scared, like when I started Smosh or bought a house with Anthony. Because I don't know what's coming."
Kris nodded. "But say you were certain, that after death there existed a Heaven and a Hell, and the rules of it followed the Christian religion. Would you know what's coming, then?"
Ian thought about his answer. "I guess not. I mean, I think it'd be more likely that I'd go to heaven, I'm a good guy, but I don't really know. I haven't followed the rules perfectly, and no one agrees over how strictly the Bible should be interpreted. But whichever way I go, I don't know what's gonna be there."
Kris nodded and leaned back, getting himself comfortable. Outside, rain whipped against building and roads, the wind blowing through the branches, and the two fell silent again to experience a rare stormy day in California.
"Do you believe in God, Ian?" Kris looked at him, free of judgment.
"I believe..." Ian struggled with putting it into words. "I believe in the big bang. I believe in the universe. But I believe there might be something else out there, some sort of force, I don't know. Something like that."
Kris cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. "That's good, Ian. Not good that you believe in one specific thing, I mean, you don't have to believe in anything, but it's good for you to understand enough about yourself to say so. Most people, they don't know who they are, who they truly are, until they're old and dying. And that's fine, too. I mean to say, just observing, that you're beyond your years."
"I guess cancer's aged me." Ian mused with a light smile. But he saw some sort of truth in it. Dying made him face his life and evaluate it, earlier than everyone who was healthy, who would live for years more. And because it wasn't quick and sudden, his death, he had time like an old man to look back. Cancer, in this smallest way, was changing him, but he remained the same person, and cancer could not change his foundation.