Case Number 182a (3/5)
Is this thing on? 10:46 PM Feb 28th from txt
There. There was his first twitter update. He had been rather hesitant on using the site, remembering back to the days of Live Journal and how now every entry had been dissected and re-dissected by every devoted member of the Panic fandom. Yes, he didn’t have the best of grammar; yes, he had cried a little inside when Blink-182 disbanded (and then when they reunited); yes, he thought he was cool typing his little cryptic journal entries that no one else would understand. Did he really want to go through this all again?
Apparently the answer was yes. Yes, he did want to have everything taken out of context by people he didn’t know nor would probably never get to know.
Ryan was back at his own home now, not being able to take the long gaps of awkward silence after Jon had left for his flight to Chicago. That whole afternoon had been rather awkward, honestly. It seemed-no, he was pretty sure Jon and Spencer were doing everything in their physical power without actually saying their intent-to get Brendon and him back to together; and if not together then at least back to talking.
The biggest, and probably the most noticeable, was when everyone had piled into Zack’s little white van to give a proper send off at the airport and Jon had changed his seat at the last minute, squeezing over the next row to Spencer and Shane and leaving Brendon and Ryan alone in the last row.
Brendon immediately stiffened in his seat, throwing a vengeful glance at the people in front of him before turning completely towards the window next to him.
Ryan could feel everyone straining to look back, to see what was happening and if everything was going to be okay. Zack was probably the most comical, if you thought this was a laughing matter that is. Every few minutes he would raise his eyebrows at the rearview mirror, giving the appearance that something was on his eyebrow but in reality moving the mirror to get a finer view.
The entry lane into the airport was crowded, as it usually was, and the van was barely moving as they sat idly on the freeway.
“This is why we get here four hours early,” Shane laughed a little, attempting to get comfortable in between Jon and Spencer.
The whole car muttered in agreement, slowly inching forward a couple feet before stopping again. Brendon and Shane started their own side conversation about some pier or another down a couple streets from Brendon’s house. Ryan decided to pull out his phone at this time, too bored to think of anything else.
ryan is a ross 5:45 PM
are you still mad at me?
Spencer sighed a couple seconds after his phone vibrated and started typing a reply: no, not really.
So then what’s with the attitude with me?
Nothing, it’s nothing. I just don’t know where I stand right now with anyone, okay?
Ryan was confused; where Spencer stood? What is that supposed to mean?
Instead of replying to this text though Spencer twisted around in his seat, fumbling with the seatbelt that threatened to strangle his neck before addressing Ryan. “Is breakfast okay for tomorrow morning?”
Ryan nodded, startled at the sudden movement of the car before playing with his phone again. Spencer would just talk to Ryan then. The airport would be reached within the next few minutes and soon it was time for the only person who treated him as if he wasn’t diseased to leave.
“Hey,” Jon half smiled as he faced Brendon and Ryan in the back, phone in hand. “See you guys when I see you guys. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Ryan was half asleep at this point, head tilted to the side. Brendon was still looking towards the window, starting to turn his head when Jon took the picture. For that split second it was almost as if things were back to normal; it was almost as if Brendon wasn’t completely ignoring Ryan and Spencer didn’t have to lie to keep his best friend happy. It was just them; four friends all making music and being crazy together.
But it wasn’t that moment. It wasn’t that scene to be played out right now.
“Jon,” Brendon sighed, folding his arms and turning back to the window. “Delete it, okay?”
Jon shook his head and laughed to himself, saving it to his phone’s internal memory card before facing back towards Brendon. “See,” he scrolled through the options menu and pressed erase. “It’s gone now; a thing of the past.”
As much as Jon didn’t want to admit it he missed seeing them together he did; he missed the togetherness. Honestly, he saved that picture not just because it was a nice picture but because it reminded him there was some hope still in whatever there was that hope was lost.
Brendon rolled his eyes and looked back to the window, pulling out his phone absent-mindedly. He almost texted Ryan-almost-about how silly Jon was, but he didn’t.
No one could stay long at Jon for long though and by the time his duffel bag was out of the car and carefully slung over his shoulder Brendon had silently forgiven him for the picture.
If only Brendon would silently forgive Ryan. If only.
+++
Spencer called Ryan the next morning after Jon left. Ryan had spent the better part of the evening surfing the internet or watching his little collection of foreign films. He was tired but he was always tired. Besides, Spencer was treating him to coffee at a little coffee shop halfway between where they were both living; he’d rather have the artificial feeling of sleep then the real thing any day.
They decided to meet a little past the morning rush and so, for this very reason, Ryan called a taxi and reached Jeremé’s Coffee and Tea in a little eclectic neighborhood a little after ten. Spencer was already seated, an iced mocha and doughnut already half finished by the time Ryan sat down with his tall steaming cup of black coffee and bagel on the side.
“Hey,” Spencer yawned, looking up from the table outside and giving a half smile.
Ryan waved and took a huge gulp of his drink, fixing the oversized sunglasses on his face in the process. They were way past formalities at this point in their friendship and although they really had no place else to go that day it was time to get to the reason why they were both here. “So,” Ryan said after a while or so of awkward silence. “You’re not mad at me but…?”
Spencer gave his typical sigh accompanied by the phrase that put all other conversation starters to shame. “Yeah, well…You know,” he rubbed the back of his neck while the other hand was still resting on his condensing drink. “I just. You two are just really pissing me off right now.”
The still morning air hung in relative silence as Ryan sifted in his seat, legs not really fitting underneath the low table. “Pissed off?”
“Yeah, it’s almost as if you think the only people that are affected by this are just you two. If anything, you’re both acting really selfish right now. I mean, it already took us almost two years to put out the last album because you two couldn’t get your shit together properly. What about this album? How long is it going to take before it’s somewhat back to normal?”
“Oh, Spence,” Ryan sighed, fixing his sunglasses once again. “I haven’t done anything-”
Spencer scoffed, shaking his head and interrupting. “Yeah, cheating on your ex-girlfriend with your singer isn’t doing anything at all.”
“But you know why-”
“No,” Spencer shook his head again. “I really don’t.”
“It was for the band,” Ryan pointed out. “This is all for the band.”
“No-”
“Yes it is. What would the press say if-?”
“No,” Spencer finally shouted a little and slammed his hand on the dirty table, causing a few pedestrians walking on the sidewalk next to the coffee shop to pause and stare for a few moments. “God damn it, Ryan. The press doesn’t give a fuck. Don’t you dare tell me this is all for the band because if you really had the band’s best interest then you wouldn’t have gone and done what you’re doing right now, okay? What’s this right here, huh? Is this good for the band? Are having half the members not even on speaking terms good for the band?”
Ryan slunk back a little, never remembering Spencer this intense and angry before. “No,” he whispered. “You’re right, it’s not.”
Instead of growing calmer though Spencer became more enraged. “Well then if you fucking know then do something. Saying sorry isn’t going to fix anything. You’ve always said sorry. He’s not going to buy it this time; you’ve fucked this up way too much.”
“But what am I supposed to do Spencer? I’m not ready to do this. I’m not ready to have everyone know.” Ryan sighed, burrowing his hands in his face. “Do we really have to talk about this here in public?”
“Where else is there, Ryan? We can’t go to Brendon’s because he’d rather shoot himself then have a conversation with you. Your house is a complete wreck and my apartment still isn’t ready yet. So where else is there?”
“I don’t know.”
It was quiet for a few minutes with both people angry at themselves for different reasons.
“Oh,” Spencer sighed, finally coming down from his stupor and looking down from where he stood to his friend. “Ryan, you’re such a wreck.”
“I know,” he muttered, still resting his head in his hands.
“But you really do have to fix this.”
“I. Know,” Ryan sighed and looked at Spencer. “I know.”
“Well then please do so,” Spencer sighed, and scratched the mild beard. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.”
Ryan quickly blew his nose while Spencer turned around and then proceeded to follow him to the car-the car that Brendon had given him; his car. “Why can’t you fix this for me?”
Spencer paused, leaning against the open car door before turning to face Ryan fully. “I can’t always fix your problems, Ryan. And you can’t always keep running away from them. Sooner or later it’s all going to end up catching up to you.”
+++
only poets and thieves can exercise free will, and most of them die young. 4:07 PM Mar 1st from web
+++
When Spencer dropped Ryan off back at his house that afternoon he immediately called Jon from his cell phone.
“Agent JJW,” Spencer said once the phone was answered. “No progress has been seen since your departure.”
Jon softly chuckled on the other line, stepping out of the hospital room where his uncle lay sleeping hooked up to beeping machines and IV feeds. “What’d you do during coffee?”
“I told him this was all bullshit and to fix it.”
“But do you think he listened this time?”
Spencer sighed for a minute, turning Brendon’s silver Audi down one street and onto the next. “I don’t think so,” he concluded. “Ryan expects everybody else to fix his problems when he doesn’t know how to solve them. And right now he still can’t really grasp how emotionally fucked up in the head Brendon and him are right now.”
“But that solves nothing. Do you know how many times the label exec’s have called me asking about when we’re bringing them demos? All we have is Ryan’s shit of a mess track that we did when we were both high. I don’t want this to end up like the last time.” Jon let out a frustrated stream of hot air and watched as it hit the cheap plastic blinds in the hospital wing windows.
The last time; now that was a funny memory if there ever was one. The cabin in the middle of nowhere with an endless cloud of herbal smoke; the late night sessions at the Abbey Road (Jon swore he had taken a hit with John Lennon there one night); warm summer nights outside in Brendon’s backyard-the time where they all found themselves. It had taken them a while to get where they were up until a couple weeks ago and up until that point they were all pretty comfortable with themselves.
The last time Brendon and Ryan had also had a fight. Now obviously this fight didn’t last as the one going on right now but was still all the more awkward and uncomfortable for everyone else around. No one can even really remember what the disagreement was about, just that nothing was accomplished in the ten weeks they had rented the cabin except for Brendon and Ryan becoming even more closer then humanly possible afterwards.
“I know, I know,” Spencer had now reached Brendon’s house and was idling in the garage, not wanting to have this conversation inside.
Both ends of the phone line were quiet for a couple odd beats before Jon began to chew on the inside of his lip, thinking. “Maybe this wasn’t meant to be.”
“What wasn’t meant to be?” the other line asked, utterly confused.
“This. This band; maybe we were never meant to be together making music. I think we ruined them, Spence,” Jon blew on the blinds again, this time more sad than angry.
Spencer opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to make sense of what he just heard. Ruined them? The idea was almost laughable. The music didn’t ruin them; they ruined themselves.
But then he began to see; began to fully see how deep Jon’s simple words were. Music is what brought them together; it was how they first met. And in their rising fame those past few years, music is what made them change-not just for the good but for the bad as well. The music is what made Ryan afraid of himself and his relationship with Brendon. The music made Brendon feel insecure about himself and what he meant to Ryan; meant to anybody, really. The music that had made all four of them inseparable was now tearing them apart, gnawing at their insides and tugging at their heartstrings. The music made them question themselves and their decisions; it made them think about what other people would say and how they would react.
The music changed them.
“But we love music,” Spencer tried to run away from what was right in front of him; run away from what he knew was true. “And we all work so well together-”
Jon shook his head, even though he knew no one would see nor care. “We worked together because there was love. Wherever there is love there is the chance for people to coexist. Without love there’s nothing of worth.”
Without love they were nothing.
+++
Water Co. shut off my water. Back to the Orphanage I guess. Responsibilty, I want you. and yes, i've seen birds in Hawaii be cannibals.4:00 PM Mar 2nd from web
Apparently throughout this whole ordeal within the past three weeks Ryan had forgotten the impending notice calls from his water company that the utility was going to be cut off. The comedy in all of this was that Ryan had been taking a shower when they cut off his water.
“What the fucking hell,” he grumbled, soap still on his body as he got out of the shower to investigate. Upon walking through the house and turning all the faucets on he realized that yes; yes the water was completely off. Making his way to his cell phone in his bedroom he flung the keypad open. “Spence, they cut off my water.”
Spencer, who had been in the middle of making a grilled cheese for himself late in the afternoon, let out a small laugh of enjoyment. “Well, did you pay the bill?”
“It’s not funny,” Ryan snapped, disgusted by the fact that the soap on his skin had now dried and would probably cause his skin to itch within the next couple of days.
“Sorry,” Spencer apologized, hastily flipping a slice of bread on the skillet before directing his attention back to the phone. “Did you pay the bill though? I mean, they usually just don’t decide: hey, we don’t like Ryan Ross-let’s cut off his water.”
“Of course I-” Ryan stopped himself, feeling like he was the most stupid person in the world at the moment. “Fuck, how could I have not paid my water bill?”
Spencer shook his head out of pity for his friend. “You’ve got a lot of stuff going on right now. It’s perfectly normal for something like this to happen.”
Ryan scoffed. “Yes, because this situation is perfectly normal.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Whatever. I was in the middle of taking a shower when the water went out and now my skin is going to break out. How am I supposed to get rid of all the soap?”
Spencer frowned, adding various slices of cheese to the perfectly brown pieces of bread. “You could always call Pete. Use his shower.”
“That’s not really an option right now…” Ryan trailed off, picking off random bits of dust from his bedroom blinds and thinking back to the last time he had a conversation with Pete.
“Why? What happened between you guys?” Spencer’s frown deepened.
“Nothing,” he replied suddenly, not wanting to go into detail. “I’ll just call him.”
Begrudgingly Ryan hung up the phone and wandered around his house, still in only a ratty robe he had slipped on upon stepping out of the shower. He could do one of four things at the moment: he could call the water company before they closed and see if they could turn it back on if he paid over the phone; he could call Pete, admit it was a dickhead and see if he could come over there; he could call Spencer back to see if he could come over there, after all-he had made up with Brendon or, as a last resort not do any of the three and suffer from a rash that stung worse then poison ivy.
He almost chose the last one, almost. But then he remembered Spencer’s words the other day; he remembered he had to make this right, had to prove that he still cared. And if he couldn’t fix whatever was going on with Brendon then he could at least fix his misunderstanding with Pete-least that go wrong too. So instead, for once in the past few couple of years that he could remember, he manned up and decided what to do. He’d call the water department before they closed at six but he’d also call Pete, just to make things right on that end.
Just as he suspected Pete got a laugh of his predicament (or rather, his faux predicament now; he had just finished paying the water bill over the phone when he called Pete).
“Are you serious, Ross? You’re so retarded,” Pete laughed and audibly drummed on his knees in excitement. “Yeah, you can come over and save your precious, flawless, skin. But I’m out right now with Ashlee so can you hold tight for about an hour or so and just meet us at the house then?”
+++
Ryan returned home after taking his shower at the Simpson-Wentz residence. He would have stayed longer but he really didn’t want to repeat the Virgin Launch Party all over again with the paparazzi. He was still full from the meal at Fat burger he had eaten before washing himself but it wouldn’t hurt to nibble on something, right? After all, the fans always picked on him for his weight and if there was one thing in the world that he hated it was people commenting about his weight. He didn’t care if they meant it in a nice way or not; he just didn’t like it all.
Before Jon had left he had warned about finding mouse droppings and had placed a few mouse traps here and there but until this moment when he entered his house and heard scurrying in the pantry did he actually believe Jon’s words.
“The fuck is that?” Ryan set down his house keys on the kitchen counter as he walked to the pantry. He regretted opening the door though when he saw the long, pink tail of a mouse run through a hole in the wall. “Jesus fucking Christ!”
Ryan could deal with a houses fair share of creepy crawlers; that was fine. But mice? And not only that but in his pantry and- in his fucking cinnamon rolls that he had just bought from his new favorite bakery down the street? Oh. No. No, this was one relationship where he couldn’t afford for it to be parasitic. It would have to be commensalism or nothing all. Better the latter then commensalism now that he thought about it.
Rummaging around the pantry shelves he soon found that there were random holes and bite marks through his most prized and delicious food. This wasn’t even funny now. It just wasn’t. An exterminator was being called first thing in the morning. He wasn’t even going to write or eat; no, he’d be pulling the phone book out looking for a guy that showed no mercy to unwanted critters.
He just had to move to a house by a field, out of all the places in Los Angeles.
Thinking that his bedroom was safe Ryan decided to tiptoe towards the front of the house, cautious of every move he made. As soon as he reached the stairs he ran up them, two at a time, before falling flat on his face-mistaking the last step for the second to last step and therefore attempting to walk on air. This was why he didn’t like running; not out of cars and defiantly down abandoned streets for music videos because he always ended up looking like a fool.
Sighing he picked himself back up and then continued the journey to the comfort of his room, finally reaching the cold knob and locking it behind him, thinking it would keep out the creatures of the night.
Apparently locking your door isn’t good enough to keep spiders out of your room. Ryan soon found this out shortly after checking his bed for potential insects and settling down in his seemingly large bed. He literally hadn’t been watching television for more than five minutes when some sort of thing with twelve legs crawled merrily across his screen from behind the television. It nearly gave him a heart attack.
There was only so much he could take of bugs and mice before he began to feel paranoid. Right now, Ryan was beyond paranoid; he was irrational. He had to leave; he had to get out. He had to stop remembering things that were too unpleasant to remember.
He could’ve gone to Pete’s; that would have been logical. He could’ve gone to one of the guys from Phantom Planet (but he really didn’t want to drive all that far so, honestly, he couldn’t). He could’ve called Travis or Jack or Andy or Patrick or Zack. Hell, he could’ve just stayed at some hotel in downtown. But he didn’t because he wasn’t thinking; he wasn’t processing his thoughts like he normally would.
Although, if he thought about it, really thought about: he already knew where he was going, he just didn’t want to admit it to himself.
+++
If Brendon wanted to admit to himself, really admit it, then he did miss Ryan deep down inside. Even still though, he wasn’t a fool; just because you missed something didn’t mean you took it back. Still, their relationship aside, Ryan was just a nice person to talk to once you got him started on a topic. And he understood him in ways that neither Jon or Spencer, nor Shane and Sara, could ever hope to comprehend. There would always be that deep line of connection that no matter how many times Brendon or Ryan messed over it would still be there; it would still exist.
Sometimes he just wanted to say it aloud to someone, anyone. If it wasn’t love then there was at least this connection. There was at least something there. There was something there that made fans gasp and sigh every time Brendon made a move both on and off stage. There was always something in their eyes when they looked at each other during interviews or pictures. There was always something that one could place but never put a name on. That something was their connection and the connection was their something; both were interchangeable but couldn’t exist without the other.
The night that Ryan had come back Brendon had already known; he had already known he’d be back that night. Brendon couldn’t exactly say why except for their connection, that plane of understanding where they both knew it was time for Ryan to come back. It was time to be somewhat civil to each other.
So Brendon waited that night. After Spencer, Jon and Shane had gone upstairs Brendon sat in his family room, at first watching television but then getting bored of that as the early morning hours passed seemingly away to dusk. That’s when Brendon started getting nervous, started jiggling his leg and craving something to keep his mind occupied. He lit up a joint somewhere around three in the morning and sat there, puffing streams of sweet smelling smoke out into the area in front of him. He smoked to escape from things, to run away from his problems. That was the whole basis of him picking up the habit in the first place; he had wanted to forget that he would never live up to his parents expectations.
And then Brendon heard the sound of a car door slam and feet advancing towards the house and keys jangling in the lock until finally…Until finally Brendon would have to face his problems, at least for the moment. So he snuffed out the ratty thin joint and stood perfectly still, not knowing what to say or how to say it.
Oh, and then he saw his stupid little face illuminated from the refrigerator light like he was some saint or something. And he still didn’t know what to say; all he knew was complete anger and hurt. And then Ryan just had to go say those three words (five if you counted the words following the long pause); I missed you (I’m sorry). If there was one phrase of strung together words Brendon didn’t want to hear at that moment it was those few right there.
But Brendon missed him; he missed him and the band all together. He had to be the bigger person at that moment; he had to at least make sure Ryan understood where they stood and with whom they stood.
And Brendon missed him now as he was sitting upstairs, looking out of the window and watching as the sleek black cab pulled out into the night. He knew it was him walking to the door right now. And as much as he wanted to go run downstairs and open the door, he couldn’t. No.
Spencer would carefully open the door a quarter of an inch, weary of who it was before opening the door to its full extent upon seeing it was Ryan. The two would speak in hurried, hushed voices; trying not to let Brendon, who would now be quietly walking down the stairs, to hear. And then Brendon would make a noise at the stair landing, letting everyone know he was there, he was listening and this was awkward.
Brendon played this entire scene out in his head, walking out of his room (still their room in his mind) and down the hallway before reaching the stairs where, sure enough, Spencer and Ryan were whispering and flailing arms. The pitch rose and fell with each step, fragmented sentences that made Brendon guess worse than an obsessive fan would over what Jon had said about Spencer’s eyes or something.
What did this all mean?
He finally reached the end of the stairs and stared at Ryan’s back before coughing, making his presence known as he normally would. When he coughed Ryan had already started turning around, looking as if he would try and play it off. As if he didn’t notice the two deep brown eyes drilling into him.
“Hey,” Ryan was the first to speak, making eye contact at Brendon before realizing that yes-yes he was looking back-and darting his eyes to the ground, blushing feverishly. Brendon loved it when Ryan blushed and oh, if things weren’t the way now; what he would do to make the color spread all over his face and never leave.
“Hey,” Brendon replied nonchalantly. He was allowed to act like he didn’t care now; now he had a girlfriend.
Spencer’s ever noticing eyes flittered back and forth, observing Ryan’s disappearing shade of red and Brendon’s tone. “Ryan’s going to spend the night here. There’s a whole bunch of critters at his house-”
“Were spiders there?” Brendon completely ignored Spencer and directed his question specifically to Ryan. He was concerned; he was worried. But more specifically, he wanted to mess around Ryan’s head a little and make him confused; make him confused like how he was confused all those fights ago when Ryan would pretend like things were back to normal when they really weren’t.
Ryan’s perfectly little mouth formed an ‘o’ shape as he looked up from the ground, confused as Brendon had hoped for him to be. “Yes, there was actually.”
“You don’t like spiders,” Brendon stated, still trying to keep the mood as light as possible.
“No…No, I don’t.”
It was one of the first practices they had shortly after he had joined. He was still new; he was still a stranger in their world. Everything was still new. Brendon still confused Spencer for Brent (even though they looked nothing like the other) and Ryan was a gender confused girl. It was a Tuesday. He remembers it’s a Tuesday because it was the day before the life changing practice, the day where he was unanimously voted the new singer of the band over Ryan; the day where fate had decided.
Brendon was lugging his guitar amp through the front door of Spencer’s grandmother’s house when Ryan pulled up in his beat up Volkswagen. The windows were rolled down to their full entirety, allowing some song with a soft-sung singer accompanied by a blaring line of guitars and drums to flood out onto the otherwise quiet street. Brendon liked it.
“Who was that playing?” he asked, giving up on the amp for a moment and looking up at where Ryan swiftly got out of his car and walked over to the door in one fluid motion. If there was one thing he had learned so far is that Ryan was fluid; he was never awkward, he never looked as if he was in a hurry or confused. He was perfect.
Ryan stared Brendon down for a couple of seconds, hip slightly cocked out and right hand carefully placed on his bone mass. The light breeze blew through his straightened brown hair and caused his tight lips to dry before he finally addressed the question. “Are you serious?” Brendon shook his head and he rolled his eyes as if the answer was obvious. “It’s Fall Out Boy.”
“Oh,” Brendon knitted his eyebrows together, feeling incompetent for not obviously knowing the answer to the first question. “Are they local? They sound too good to be a local band and I’ve never heard of them…”
Ryan again stared at Brendon, this time as if he had contracted some type of social disease. “Er, no, they’re from Chicago.”
“Oh,” Brendon nodded his head, sighing at his music stupidity. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s whatever,” Ryan regained his full, upright posture and gave a soft smile, waving his hand to dismiss the confusion and replacing his soft eyes with a lost, faraway look that was usually on his face the few times Brendon had talked to him. “Do you need help with that?”
He didn’t need help, he really didn’t. But something inside Brendon told him to say yes; to take a chance and see what happened. A few minutes later, after much huffing and puffing, all of the equipment was assembled in the family room. Brent and Spencer were already there, tuned and ready to go as they munched on cookies on the couch.
Brendon never really understood why the band used Spencer’s grandmother’s house versus everyone else’s. He was pretty sure it had to do something along the lines of Spencer’s own house being too crowded, fear of annoying Brent’s communist apartment neighbor that had threatened to do something unpleasant to whoever disturbed his evening naps and Ryan’s house just not being an option. Brendon’s own house wasn’t a real option either; his parents hated the idea of him wasting valuable study time to play music that wasn’t involved with some type of extracurricular activity to put on his college applications. Right now they thought he was practicing for a jazz band performance for the end of the year concert.
As if.
“There you guys are,” Spencer finished the rest of his cookie and brushed the crumbs off of his mouth, picking up a bag of smooth drum sticks. “Brent was about to leave.”
“I’m sorry you guys don’t have any life and got here early,” Ryan responded nonchalantly, adjusting the microphone stand in the middle of the room after the guitar amp was successfully hooked up correctly. “But we’re all here now so you can stop bitching about it. Can you be a dear and go bang your drums for me?”
To any other person it would have been rude; it would have been bitchy. And it might have been a little suggestive. But Brendon had soon found out that Ryan and Spencer had been best friends since the sandbox. Brent had also told them that Ryan was typically like this with his sarcastic remarks and overlooked jokes.
Spencer rolled his warm blue eyes, trying to find two sticks of the same thickness before walking over to his drum kit by the brick fireplace.
“So I wrote a new song last night,” Ryan said after everyone was set up. “It’s probably not any good but-”
“All your other stuff is amazing. Why is this any different?” Brendon questioned, looking first at his precarious D string that wouldn’t tune and then up at the singer next to him.
For the first time Brendon could remember since meeting the boy two weeks ago Ryan looked a little less calm, a little less like the confident self he was just a few minutes ago. “I don’t know. I just don’t think it is.”
Brent sighed. “It’s good, Ross. It’s all good. Let’s hear it.”
Brendon glanced at Brent, feeling a little uneasy. Sure, he was a nice person and all but he always seemed rushed. Brent always looked as if he never really wanted to be here, like there was something more important to do after their sessions. Everyone else, himself included, wanted to be here; wanted to make this work.
Ryan looked a moment at Brent for shaking his head a little and sighing. Reaching in his back pocket he pulled out a well-worn piece of paper folded several times over and passed it Spencer first. Everyone watched as Spencer rested his knuckles on his chin as he silently scanned through the hastily scribbled words, nodding and biting his lips at certain parts. When Spencer was finally done he folded it back up and gave a soft smile to Ryan, a smile of some type of understanding that Brendon wasn’t allowed to get just yet. Brendon thought the paper, the song, was to be passed next to Brent but Ryan surprised everyone in the family room by pressing the paper into Brendon’s hands.
The moment he read it he knew it was something personal, something that just wasn’t made up or fabricated.
That’s when you st st stutter something profound to the support on the line.. and with the way you’ve been talking every word gets you a step closer to hell. A pessimist? No I just cant help it. to say what everyone else is thinking..(let me state the obvious again) caught Brendon’s eye more than anything. It was beautiful. It was more than beautiful; it meant something. It meant something to Ryan. That’s why he sung because they were his words; his experience. Brendon wanted to know what happened to him to make him write this, to make him write so beautifully yet dark all the same.
Brendon’s thoughts were interrupted by a low moan of pure hate.
“Fuck,” Ryan started backing away from the microphone stand, bumping into the end table before falling on the yellowed plastic covered couch that had been in the Smith family for ever sixty years. “There’s…There’s a spider there.”
Spencer stopped twirling his sticks and started looking on the ground, ready to locate the source of the disruption. He knew what this was about and obviously Brent did as well for he all but threw his bass down on the ground, excusing himself to go to the bathroom.
“What’s…What’s wrong?” Brendon asked, genuinely confused and sweeping his eyes back and forth to Spencer’s searching eyes and Ryan’s blank expression.
“Ryan doesn’t like spiders.” Spencer answered, frowning slightly at Ryan’s stone expression.
“Oh,” Brendon felt like he had been having a lot of things explained to him today and he felt really stupid at the moment. Of course Ryan was afraid of spiders. “Why though?”
Spencer looked up from the ground where he had taken off his shoe and was ready to smack at any movement. “Something…Something someone did to him when he was little, that’s all.”
Brendon nodded his head again, wondering if he should join Spencer on the floor or sit next to Ryan on the couch. He opted for the latter in the end, not wanting to have it on his conscious that he had killed something. He was trying to become vegetarian at the moment as a big ‘fuck you’ to his parents. He sat on the couch next to Ryan for a good five minutes before Ryan started to move.
“My mom,” Ryan licked his dry lips and faced Brendon. He looked so…so helpless. If anything it was like his ego had deflated within a few short seconds after pulling out the song to show to everyone. This wasn’t the same Ryan who was looking down on him for not knowing Chicagoan music less than an hour ago. “Before she left, she, uh…She took me to a little petting zoo.”
Spencer stood up from the floor, concerned that his friend was sharing this with someone that was still a relative stranger. “Ryan, you don’t have to tell him if you don’t want-”
“No, no. I want to tell him,” Ryan took a big breath and looked back at Brendon. “My mom, on the day that she left, took me to a petting zoo when I was four. And. And at the petting zoo they were selling pet tarantulas, for whatever reason. I know. It’s stupid but, anyway. My mom she bought me a tarantula. And then she just. Just left me. She left me with the stupid tarantula in the stupid plastic box and just drove off…” Ryan looked down at the ground and sighed. “It’s stupid, I know. But ever since then I just. I can’t bring myself to really get over spiders. I hate spiders because of her, because of something stupid.”
“That’s not stupid,” Brendon frowned, realizing that Ryan wasn’t as big as he seemed. He was human after all. He was a human with a fucked up childhood full of sad memories Brendon would never remember nor comprehend but Brendon wanted to understand. He wanted to get Ryan.
That day Ryan had trusted Brendon. That day they both fell a little in love. That day they became connected.
Part Four.