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Description
June 4th, 2005

He was late, again, but I didn’t mind. He was always off in his own world, and it was something I understood. I didn’t care that I was standing in a growing puddle that the hem of my jeans was soaking up. I didn’t mind that my hair was matted to my face and my clothes were clinging to my skin, heavy with rain water. It had been cold at first, but the longer I stood in the torrential downpour, the more used to it I became. It didn’t take all that long for my shivering to cease.

He’s always been late to things his whole life, unless there was someone to manage time for him. Sometimes I wondered if time even meant anything to him, if he ever noticed it passing by, or if it was just a minor inconvenience that he’d rather pay no mind to. That’s just how he was, focused on his goals and little else. Eating, sleeping, even bathing were things that if I wasn’t there, he would avoid them because they hindered his processes and interrupted his work. He was always late to work and the only reason he ever went was because of me and because it was a music store. If it was anything else, he wouldn’t go.

But all that is why I love him. He wants to be something; he wants to live a dream. Some people think it’s ridiculous and naïve, I think it’s admirable, even when I’m left in the school parking lot forty-five minutes after they closed for the night, soaking up a rainstorm in my ratty old sneakers.

As thunder rolled in the distance, I saw his headlights as the blue-green 1995 Dodge Intrepid turned into the parking lot and drove straight over the empty parking spaces to get to me. The windshield wipers were swishing furiously; the tires were splattering water behind them in solid looking streams as they splashed through puddles.

The car halted in front of me, casting water off onto the bottom of my jeans and my checkered shoes, and he opened his door, turning in the driver’s seat to look at me while simultaneously dropping the smoking butt of a cigarette onto the flooded pavement. His cocoa eyes looked up at me, his chestnut hair falling in waves and loose curls around his face.

“Why are you outside?” he asked, partly from concern and partly from plain curiosity.

“The school closed about forty-five minutes ago, I had to leave so they could lock up.”

He pursed his lips, pressing a button on the car’s CD player, switching it to the digital clock. A look of shock passed over his face when he looked back to me. “Sorry! I didn’t realize it was almost seven! I’m so, so sorry!” He reached up, taking my hands in his. They were so, so warm.

I was about to tell him it was fine when he interrupted me, continuing on. “Christ, you’re hands are freezing! And you’re soaked to the bone, your lips are turning blue!”

I gave him a small smile, squeezing his hands in mine. “It’s just a little fresh air, it’s good for me. Some air’d be good for you, too.”

“Get in, you need to warm up before you die of hypothermia,” he said, ignoring my comment. With a sigh, I trudged around to the other side of the car and climbed in. My clothes were heavy on me, sticking to my skin awkwardly, starting to chafe and sting in places. I hadn’t noticed it when I was standing outside, but once I was in the dry and warm car, I instantly was aware of it.

“Why are you always here so late?” he asked, leaning over and turning the heat up, a new cigarette already dangling precariously between his lips.

“You know why I’m here… It’s the only time I can paint outside of school. The art room’s empty, I get it to myself… I mean our place isn’t big enough…”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he sighed as I felt his hand rest on my shoulder and the heat of his skin against my cheek when his lips pressed against it.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. I love our place,” I assured him, turning my face so our lips could meet. He tasted like sweet strawberry Starbursts and cigarettes. He always tasted like something interesting, it just depended on whatever he had snacked on that day. Usually it was candy flavored because that’s what I tended to buy.

“You’re so cold…” he said softly, putting the palm of his hand against my cheek, knocking my glasses askew. “I’m going to warm you up.”

I watched as he moved, reaching over me to pull the lever to tilt my seat back. He grinned at me, lifting himself over the gear shift to straddle my lap. His toasty hands slid under my soaked shirt, pushing it up, his lips meeting mine again.

“Mmm, what are you doing?” I asked with a small knowing smile, moving my mouth away from his in just the slightest. “We’re fogging up the windows.”

“I’m trying to warm you up,” he said, sounding disappointed. “Let me warm you up, ok?”

I shook my head, kissing him softly. “Not in the school parking lot, that’s just weird for me. I still go here.”

He chuckled. “It’s the end of the school year, seven at night in the middle of thunderstorm, no one’s going to see anything.”

I took his hand, holding it in my own. “Let’s just go home, please? I just want to change and I heard to weather’s supposed to get worse. Please, please, please…”

He smiled, rolling back into his seat and putting the car into drive. “Fine, fine,” he said with amusement in his voice as I sat my seat back up. “You win this round.”

The normally arid desert was awash with the rain, a strange but welcomed phenomenon. It was still technically spring, only five more weeks to summer, and two more weeks until I graduated, but the heat was already immense. When the rain had started, the parking lot steamed, turning the world into a humid sauna. The temperature dropped drastically, from the mid-nineties down to sixty-three degrees Fog radiated from the ground as the rain continued to cool the dirt off. The roads were hardly visible, and merely running from the car to the apartment building soaked us both.

“You go change,” he demanded of me as soon as we were both into our flat, “I’ll make you some tea to help you warm up before I put on dry clothes myself…”

I watched him smile at me before he disappeared into the kitchenette. His hair and clothes were damp, but I was dripping onto the carpet. There in the doorway I stripped to my skivvies and then carried the soaking garments to the bathroom to hang up in the shower. Thunder boomed in the sky outside our windows, shaking the building. We were only up five stories, but when the building moved, it felt higher.

“Tea’s ready!” he called out to me, and I came. The small kitchen was clean; no plates were in the sink, no crumbs on the counter. Only two mugs were set out, and a bag of Starbursts.

“Did you eat today?” I asked, and at the shake of his head, his brown waves tumbled everywhere. He used to straighten them but has since stopped caring. I actually liked the natural waves and curls better, they gave him this wild boyish charm, and it was brilliant, especially when he would smile.

“Macaroni and cheese sound good?” I asked as he poured the tea and I got out the blue box and a sauce pan. He nodded, adding sugar to both cups. I was able to smell it now; he made Earl Grey. He picked up one of the mugs and sipped, leaving the other for me. I filled the pan with water, knowing if I didn’t make food, he wouldn’t eat at all.

“I’m going to change,” he said, lightly patting my ass as he left. Our relationship was far from perfect, but we had a good thing going.

When he reappeared, he was wearing an oversize t-shirt and boxers, his notebook in hand. He collapsed into a kitchen chair, putting a pen between his lips, chewing on it.

“What did you do today?” I asked, sipping my hot tea while I waited for the water to boil.

“I got a few pages done, but I’m stuck again,” he mumbled, not looking up at me.

“That’s it? Did you work on any poetry, lyrics, music?”

He looked up at me with a frown, his eyes unhappy. I just pursed me lips, then asked, “What?” though I know what I said wrong.

“You know ‘what’,” he pointed out testily. “I could ask you why you don’t sing, or practice anymore either.”

“Ryan…” I sighed out, exasperated.

“Brendon,” he replied warningly.

I went back to the mac and cheese with a sigh. It was strange how in just a year things could change so quickly, transforming your life forever…

--

At the end of last summer, he had moved into his dorm room, just happy to be out from under his father’s wing. I had two weeks before the start of my senior year. Things were good then, we were happy.

“God, this is so cool,” I gushed as I looked around the cramped space, at the two beds, computers and books.

“Yeah, it is,” he admitted, lounging on his bed. “But I think I’m going to drop out and get my money back so I can get my own place… I mean, I don’t even know what I’m doing here, we’re going to be famous.”

I looked at him, shocked from his confession, though I shouldn’t have been surprised at all. He talked like this all the time.

“You’re dad will be pissed,” I said, sitting on the edge of his bed. He reached out, stroking my arm, sending shivers down my spine.

“Yeah, so what? Let him be pissed. We’re good at what we do, we’ve written a few more songs, and we all want it. I should focus on the band, not school. I mean, I am the only one out of high school, I should start finding us gigs, not writing essays and studying for stupid tests and shit.”

I lay next to him, staring at the ceiling. “If that’s what you want, I won’t stop you. But we’re not famous or anything yet, Ry… It wouldn’t hurt to have a backup.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you,” he sighed, nuzzling his face into my shoulder. “You’re the crazy one, encourage me to be crazy, too. We need to take risks if we want to make it big…”

“We are taking risks…”

I looked over at him, and he was looking at me with his chocolaty eyes questioningly. I leaned in and kissed his nose and smiled. “You and me, dummy. My parents are barely accepting that I want to be a musician with my life, they will never, ever accept me being gay.”

He smiled. “My dad would officially murder me.”

“See, we take risks.”

He kissed me, and I kissed back, our lips fitting perfectly together. He was the missing puzzle piece of my life, and he completed it.

He secretly dropped out of school after the first week, got his own place away from the city and worked two jobs to help pay for our practice space and the rent for his apartment. Things seemed so right and perfect. We were writing more songs, and we were liking what we wrote; we were happy.

We got our first gig at an all-ages club in the back of a music store. We practiced, practice, practiced for this major event. We thought we were ready, we were excited, but as soon as we were up there in front of the crowd, he choked.

We all choked after that.

Spencer and Brent left with their parents after we cleaned up, too embarrassed to hang around any longer, promising to call the next day. My parents were waiting for me, and I was just about ready to leave, about to say goodbye to Ryan…

And then it happened.

“Face it, kid, you guys just don’t have it,” the man said, a music journalist for a local magazine.

“We have it,” Ryan argued back defiantly, his hat crooked and his hair slicked to his cheek and neck with sweat. He looked ready to cry, but I stood there like a fool, staring, my parents only feet away, talking hushed amongst themselves.

“The rest of the band weren’t that bad, fine, I’ll give them credit for that,” the man said blandly, “but you were stumbling over yourself the whole time,. You wrote the music, right? It wasn’t that good, the lyrics were only so-so, no one could make any sense of them.”

“They’re supposed to be like that!” he exclaimed, his cheeks turning red and his eyes shimmering. “They’re supposed to make you think! Don’t you listen to any real music?”

The man shook his head, frowning. “Maybe if you were older, maybe if you knew a little more about this, but it could have been better, and I just don’t think you’re chasing the right dream.”

Ryan looked broken as the man walked away, and in that moment I forgot my surroundings and went over to him, wrapping my arms around him tightly.

“Don’t listen to him, it was just our first show, things were expected to go badly, right?”

He pulled back to look at me, tears leaking from his eyes. “Come home with me tonight, please? I’ll give you a ride to school tomorrow, please?”

I looked at my parents, they looked impatient, but Ryan needed me. I turned and kissed him.

“I want to live with you.”

After that, I was kicked out, so that worked out pretty well, but Ryan never quite recovered. He started cancelling practices, he didn’t touch his guitar, he didn’t look at music sheets. Spencer and Brent started focusing more on school since we were now S eniors, I started getting into other things I used to like before music took over my life. Ryan decided to write a novel, and that that was his new calling. I thought he’d get bored and then want to pick things back up with the band again. Seven months have passed, and the closest he’s come to writing another song has been him singing along to a CD, or music on the radio. I guess I was just glad he hadn’t sworn off music completely.

“Ryan…” I said softly, timidly, pouring the macaroni into the boiling water. “You can’t let one idiot’s opinion discourage you from doing something you really love…”

He didn’t reply to me, silent, the only noise from the stove and his pen vigorously scratching at the paper.

“Don’t freeze me out over something this stupid,” I sighed.

“I just don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbled, his arms crossed over his paper and his head bent low to the table while he wrote. He looked like a fourth grader determined not to let anyone cheat off his test.

I let it go, and looked into the fridge.

“Shit, we’re out of milk, watch the macaroni, ok? I’m just going to run across the street to get some more,” I said, turning the stove off (because I knew he wouldn’t pay any attention to it) and went to pull on some sweats and my still soaked sneakers.

The weather outside hadn’t changed in the few minutes since we got home. It was still raining, the streets were flooded with inches of water, and thunder still shook the earth. Water splashed up around my ankles, soaking my calves to my knees as I ran across the wet pavement to the corner store. Inside I shook from the air conditioner that was still on, and my shoes made that strange squishy-squeaky noise on the tiles as I walked back to get the milk and snag a bag of Strawberry Crème Savers for Ryan. The five bucks in my wallet covered that, and I carried my purchases back to our building. I was soaked all over again.

He was still at the table, still writing his epic novel, and I just simply put the milk away. I had to wonder what it would be like for him if I wasn’t around. Would he even be alive anymore, or would he have starved himself on accident? I couldn’t ever abandon him because that seemed like a likely possibility that it could actually happen.

I turned the stove back on, unsure of how the noodles would even taste anymore after sitting in hot water without boiling for ten minutes. I never did that before, and I had a feeling they might be mushy in the end. I was just about to get a box of macaroni noodles out to start dinner all over again, when a particularly loud boom of thunder shook us. The lights flickered, and then went out.

“Shit!” Ryan cried out.

I merely smiled, setting the box down and making sure the stove was off before going over to him and taking his hands, pulling him out of the chair. “Oh, don’t be a baby. You can write any time; it’s not often that the power goes out.”

I could almost feel his un-amused frown in the darkness. I kept a hold of his hand and felt my way through the darkness to the living room then to our bedroom, sitting on the bed and pulling him down next to me. Lightning illuminated our small apartment, casting ghoulish shadows on the wall, followed by another crash of thunder.

“Do we at least have flashlights?” he asked as I got cozy next to him.

“No. But we have candles, but I like it like this. It’s sort of… nice,” I said, snuggling up close to him, wrapping my arms around his skinny body.

He was quiet and warm, very comfortable compared to the damp clothes I was wearing. The rain was audible on the top of the building, pattering loudly against our windows and walls. The thunder continuously boomed outside, and lightning flashed across the walls. My hand rose and fell with his chest as he breathed, my fingers gently gripped into the cotton fabric.

“You’re wet again,” he suddenly said. “If you leave those on, you’re going to get sick.” He was already moving, sitting up and forcing me to sit up with him. His hands went to the hem of my sweatshirt and pulled it off over my head. Just getting my shirt off didn’t immediately warm me up; my skin was still wet and cold. His hands rested on my shoulder, burning hot against my icy skin. He pushed me back down, grabbing the waist band of my sweatpants and slowly pulled them off, dropping them and my wet sweatshirt on the floor.

“You know, I should hang those up or they’re going to get gross,” I said with a small smile as he put his hands on my hips, holding them firmly.

“Ah, let them get gross,” he replied softly, leaning in and catching my lips with his. I don’t know if anyone’s ever experienced a perfect kiss before, that kiss that makes you just want to fill your lungs with air and scream; the kiss that triggers that knee trembling action and you just melt into a puddle on the floor… but all of our kisses did that to me, and this one was no exception.

“Mmm, you’re not so grumpy anymore,” I noted as he nestled in next to me in bed, draping an arm across my stomach. “Is there something you want?”

He chuckled, nuzzling his face into my neck, his body heat seeping into my skin. “What makes you think that I want something? Maybe I’m just happy…”

I just smiled, turning so our lips locked. His hand slid down my side, pushing my boxers away. It was in a fury of hands that his clothes followed mine and lay crumpled on the floor the rest of the night. Our bodies were in sync with each other, crashing together with the thunder. Us and the weather were harmonious, like a great concerto. It was one of the many nights we’ve shared, but this one felt special. It set itself apart with heat and electricity, and our voices were drowning in the night’s explosions.

The storm faded with the night, but only the barest hint of sunlight peeked into our room in the morning. He was still asleep. When he does drift off, he’s the hardest person to wake up. He could sleep through anything; screaming, sirens, you name it. I always have to wake him up, and today would be no different; just not now. This day, he would get to sleep in. It was Saturday, so I didn’t have school and it also meant it was his day off. So, while he was sleeping, I had time to wash my face, brush my teeth and make scrambled eggs and toast before I roused him.

It takes him about a half hour and one to three cups of coffee for him to become coherent. He stared out the door to our balcony at the overcast sky throughout breakfast, seeming somewhere else. Outside was still drenched, nothing dried, but the outside temperature read on the thermometer 98 degrees Fahrenheit.

He sat there while I washed the dishes. I did stuff now that I never used to do, such as making the bed, vacuuming, doing dishes. Now I knew I needed to do them because if I didn’t, no one would. I didn’t mind doing any of this, but there were days I just wanted to scream at Ryan that it wouldn’t hurt for him to help out at least a little. I was not his maid; I was not his mother.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he suddenly said while I sat the last plate in the rack to dry.

I looked back out the window. The skies were threatening to overflow again, but Ryan was actually suggesting we do something that wasn’t sitting at home and making out, or him sitting in a corner brooding.

“Sure, ok, we can go for a walk,” I said, rinsing my hands off. “We just need to dress…” But by the time I turned around, he wasn’t sitting at the table anymore. I walked through our apartment back to the bedroom, finding him already pulling on jeans and a very brave patterned button-up T-shirt.

“Come on and get dressed,” he commanded, throwing a red polo shirt at me. With an easy smile, I pulled it on, following with a pair of black jeans. My sneakers from the night before were still soaked, so I slipped on my extra, but still faded converse. They` didn’t have laces, so I was ready first, and I sat on the bed next to Ryan as he tied his shoes.

We held hands as we got outside even though within seconds our palms were clammy. The humidity was overwhelming and our foreheads were beading with just as much sweat that our hands were producing.

“Why did you want to go on a walk?” I asked, using my free hand to pull at the collar of my shirt. “It’s disgusting out here.” But he just sent me a smile, and looked up at the sky. I followed suit, stopping on the sidewalk with him and looking up at the heavy grey sky.

Splat. A raindrop hit me right between the eyes. I blinked the water away, using my arm to wipe my face clean, then look back over at Ryan. He was still smiling, and heavy drops were staining the sidewalk dark around us. His face glistened from rainwater, and his smile was brilliant and boyish. It was just as refreshing as the rain.

“The weather never gave a damn about me, but the weather doesn’t give a damn about anyone, does it?” he asked with a happy laugh. He looked over at me, his eyes shining.

“No, I suppose not,” I said, clearly not following his train of thought. He didn’t notice and he just threw his arms around me, hugging me tight, his lips meeting the skin under my ear as he laughed.

“Bren, I want to get the band back together,” he said in a whisper.

I wish I could have looked at his face, but I was stuck with my nose buried in his neck. “What?” I asked incredulously. This was what I was pushing him towards for months now.

“I have an idea for a song, Bren! I want to get the band back together! I think we can do it this time!”

I don’t know if I ever felt so happy or relieved. Saline leaked from my eyes to mix with the cool rain and I wrapped my own arms around him, holding him close. “Oh, Ry… I love you.”

Description
June 4th, 2005

He was late, again, but I didn’t mind. He was always off in his own world, and it was something I understood. I didn’t care that I was standing in a growing puddle that the hem of my jeans was soaking up. I didn’t mind that my hair was matted to my face and my clothes were clinging to my skin, heavy with rain water. It had been cold at first, but the longer I stood in the torrential downpour, the more used to it I became. It didn’t take all that long for my shivering to cease.

He’s always been late to things his whole life, unless there was someone to manage time for him. Sometimes I wondered if time even meant anything to him, if he ever noticed it passing by, or if it was just a minor inconvenience that he’d rather pay no mind to. That’s just how he was, focused on his goals and little else. Eating, sleeping, even bathing were things that if I wasn’t there, he would avoid them because they hindered his processes and interrupted his work. He was always late to work and the only reason he ever went was because of me and because it was a music store. If it was anything else, he wouldn’t go.

But all that is why I love him. He wants to be something; he wants to live a dream. Some people think it’s ridiculous and naïve, I think it’s admirable, even when I’m left in the school parking lot forty-five minutes after they closed for the night, soaking up a rainstorm in my ratty old sneakers.

As thunder rolled in the distance, I saw his headlights as the blue-green 1995 Dodge Intrepid turned into the parking lot and drove straight over the empty parking spaces to get to me. The windshield wipers were swishing furiously; the tires were splattering water behind them in solid looking streams as they splashed through puddles.

The car halted in front of me, casting water off onto the bottom of my jeans and my checkered shoes, and he opened his door, turning in the driver’s seat to look at me while simultaneously dropping the smoking butt of a cigarette onto the flooded pavement. His cocoa eyes looked up at me, his chestnut hair falling in waves and loose curls around his face.

“Why are you outside?” he asked, partly from concern and partly from plain curiosity.

“The school closed about forty-five minutes ago, I had to leave so they could lock up.”

He pursed his lips, pressing a button on the car’s CD player, switching it to the digital clock. A look of shock passed over his face when he looked back to me. “Sorry! I didn’t realize it was almost seven! I’m so, so sorry!” He reached up, taking my hands in his. They were so, so warm.

I was about to tell him it was fine when he interrupted me, continuing on. “Christ, you’re hands are freezing! And you’re soaked to the bone, your lips are turning blue!”

I gave him a small smile, squeezing his hands in mine. “It’s just a little fresh air, it’s good for me. Some air’d be good for you, too.”

“Get in, you need to warm up before you die of hypothermia,” he said, ignoring my comment. With a sigh, I trudged around to the other side of the car and climbed in. My clothes were heavy on me, sticking to my skin awkwardly, starting to chafe and sting in places. I hadn’t noticed it when I was standing outside, but once I was in the dry and warm car, I instantly was aware of it.

“Why are you always here so late?” he asked, leaning over and turning the heat up, a new cigarette already dangling precariously between his lips.

“You know why I’m here… It’s the only time I can paint outside of school. The art room’s empty, I get it to myself… I mean our place isn’t big enough…”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he sighed as I felt his hand rest on my shoulder and the heat of his skin against my cheek when his lips pressed against it.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. I love our place,” I assured him, turning my face so our lips could meet. He tasted like sweet strawberry Starbursts and cigarettes. He always tasted like something interesting, it just depended on whatever he had snacked on that day. Usually it was candy flavored because that’s what I tended to buy.

“You’re so cold…” he said softly, putting the palm of his hand against my cheek, knocking my glasses askew. “I’m going to warm you up.”

I watched as he moved, reaching over me to pull the lever to tilt my seat back. He grinned at me, lifting himself over the gear shift to straddle my lap. His toasty hands slid under my soaked shirt, pushing it up, his lips meeting mine again.

“Mmm, what are you doing?” I asked with a small knowing smile, moving my mouth away from his in just the slightest. “We’re fogging up the windows.”

“I’m trying to warm you up,” he said, sounding disappointed. “Let me warm you up, ok?”

I shook my head, kissing him softly. “Not in the school parking lot, that’s just weird for me. I still go here.”

He chuckled. “It’s the end of the school year, seven at night in the middle of thunderstorm, no one’s going to see anything.”

I took his hand, holding it in my own. “Let’s just go home, please? I just want to change and I heard to weather’s supposed to get worse. Please, please, please…”

He smiled, rolling back into his seat and putting the car into drive. “Fine, fine,” he said with amusement in his voice as I sat my seat back up. “You win this round.”

The normally arid desert was awash with the rain, a strange but welcomed phenomenon. It was still technically spring, only five more weeks to summer, and two more weeks until I graduated, but the heat was already immense. When the rain had started, the parking lot steamed, turning the world into a humid sauna. The temperature dropped drastically, from the mid-nineties down to sixty-three degrees Fog radiated from the ground as the rain continued to cool the dirt off. The roads were hardly visible, and merely running from the car to the apartment building soaked us both.

“You go change,” he demanded of me as soon as we were both into our flat, “I’ll make you some tea to help you warm up before I put on dry clothes myself…”

I watched him smile at me before he disappeared into the kitchenette. His hair and clothes were damp, but I was dripping onto the carpet. There in the doorway I stripped to my skivvies and then carried the soaking garments to the bathroom to hang up in the shower. Thunder boomed in the sky outside our windows, shaking the building. We were only up five stories, but when the building moved, it felt higher.

“Tea’s ready!” he called out to me, and I came. The small kitchen was clean; no plates were in the sink, no crumbs on the counter. Only two mugs were set out, and a bag of Starbursts.

“Did you eat today?” I asked, and at the shake of his head, his brown waves tumbled everywhere. He used to straighten them but has since stopped caring. I actually liked the natural waves and curls better, they gave him this wild boyish charm, and it was brilliant, especially when he would smile.

“Macaroni and cheese sound good?” I asked as he poured the tea and I got out the blue box and a sauce pan. He nodded, adding sugar to both cups. I was able to smell it now; he made Earl Grey. He picked up one of the mugs and sipped, leaving the other for me. I filled the pan with water, knowing if I didn’t make food, he wouldn’t eat at all.

“I’m going to change,” he said, lightly patting my ass as he left. Our relationship was far from perfect, but we had a good thing going.

When he reappeared, he was wearing an oversize t-shirt and boxers, his notebook in hand. He collapsed into a kitchen chair, putting a pen between his lips, chewing on it.

“What did you do today?” I asked, sipping my hot tea while I waited for the water to boil.

“I got a few pages done, but I’m stuck again,” he mumbled, not looking up at me.

“That’s it? Did you work on any poetry, lyrics, music?”

He looked up at me with a frown, his eyes unhappy. I just pursed me lips, then asked, “What?” though I know what I said wrong.

“You know ‘what’,” he pointed out testily. “I could ask you why you don’t sing, or practice anymore either.”

“Ryan…” I sighed out, exasperated.

“Brendon,” he replied warningly.

I went back to the mac and cheese with a sigh. It was strange how in just a year things could change so quickly, transforming your life forever…

--

At the end of last summer, he had moved into his dorm room, just happy to be out from under his father’s wing. I had two weeks before the start of my senior year. Things were good then, we were happy.

“God, this is so cool,” I gushed as I looked around the cramped space, at the two beds, computers and books.

“Yeah, it is,” he admitted, lounging on his bed. “But I think I’m going to drop out and get my money back so I can get my own place… I mean, I don’t even know what I’m doing here, we’re going to be famous.”

I looked at him, shocked from his confession, though I shouldn’t have been surprised at all. He talked like this all the time.

“You’re dad will be pissed,” I said, sitting on the edge of his bed. He reached out, stroking my arm, sending shivers down my spine.

“Yeah, so what? Let him be pissed. We’re good at what we do, we’ve written a few more songs, and we all want it. I should focus on the band, not school. I mean, I am the only one out of high school, I should start finding us gigs, not writing essays and studying for stupid tests and shit.”

I lay next to him, staring at the ceiling. “If that’s what you want, I won’t stop you. But we’re not famous or anything yet, Ry… It wouldn’t hurt to have a backup.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you,” he sighed, nuzzling his face into my shoulder. “You’re the crazy one, encourage me to be crazy, too. We need to take risks if we want to make it big…”

“We are taking risks…”

I looked over at him, and he was looking at me with his chocolaty eyes questioningly. I leaned in and kissed his nose and smiled. “You and me, dummy. My parents are barely accepting that I want to be a musician with my life, they will never, ever accept me being gay.”

He smiled. “My dad would officially murder me.”

“See, we take risks.”

He kissed me, and I kissed back, our lips fitting perfectly together. He was the missing puzzle piece of my life, and he completed it.

He secretly dropped out of school after the first week, got his own place away from the city and worked two jobs to help pay for our practice space and the rent for his apartment. Things seemed so right and perfect. We were writing more songs, and we were liking what we wrote; we were happy.

We got our first gig at an all-ages club in the back of a music store. We practiced, practice, practiced for this major event. We thought we were ready, we were excited, but as soon as we were up there in front of the crowd, he choked.

We all choked after that.

Spencer and Brent left with their parents after we cleaned up, too embarrassed to hang around any longer, promising to call the next day. My parents were waiting for me, and I was just about ready to leave, about to say goodbye to Ryan…

And then it happened.

“Face it, kid, you guys just don’t have it,” the man said, a music journalist for a local magazine.

“We have it,” Ryan argued back defiantly, his hat crooked and his hair slicked to his cheek and neck with sweat. He looked ready to cry, but I stood there like a fool, staring, my parents only feet away, talking hushed amongst themselves.

“The rest of the band weren’t that bad, fine, I’ll give them credit for that,” the man said blandly, “but you were stumbling over yourself the whole time,. You wrote the music, right? It wasn’t that good, the lyrics were only so-so, no one could make any sense of them.”

“They’re supposed to be like that!” he exclaimed, his cheeks turning red and his eyes shimmering. “They’re supposed to make you think! Don’t you listen to any real music?”

The man shook his head, frowning. “Maybe if you were older, maybe if you knew a little more about this, but it could have been better, and I just don’t think you’re chasing the right dream.”

Ryan looked broken as the man walked away, and in that moment I forgot my surroundings and went over to him, wrapping my arms around him tightly.

“Don’t listen to him, it was just our first show, things were expected to go badly, right?”

He pulled back to look at me, tears leaking from his eyes. “Come home with me tonight, please? I’ll give you a ride to school tomorrow, please?”

I looked at my parents, they looked impatient, but Ryan needed me. I turned and kissed him.

“I want to live with you.”

After that, I was kicked out, so that worked out pretty well, but Ryan never quite recovered. He started cancelling practices, he didn’t touch his guitar, he didn’t look at music sheets. Spencer and Brent started focusing more on school since we were now S eniors, I started getting into other things I used to like before music took over my life. Ryan decided to write a novel, and that that was his new calling. I thought he’d get bored and then want to pick things back up with the band again. Seven months have passed, and the closest he’s come to writing another song has been him singing along to a CD, or music on the radio. I guess I was just glad he hadn’t sworn off music completely.

“Ryan…” I said softly, timidly, pouring the macaroni into the boiling water. “You can’t let one idiot’s opinion discourage you from doing something you really love…”

He didn’t reply to me, silent, the only noise from the stove and his pen vigorously scratching at the paper.

“Don’t freeze me out over something this stupid,” I sighed.

“I just don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbled, his arms crossed over his paper and his head bent low to the table while he wrote. He looked like a fourth grader determined not to let anyone cheat off his test.

I let it go, and looked into the fridge.

“Shit, we’re out of milk, watch the macaroni, ok? I’m just going to run across the street to get some more,” I said, turning the stove off (because I knew he wouldn’t pay any attention to it) and went to pull on some sweats and my still soaked sneakers.

The weather outside hadn’t changed in the few minutes since we got home. It was still raining, the streets were flooded with inches of water, and thunder still shook the earth. Water splashed up around my ankles, soaking my calves to my knees as I ran across the wet pavement to the corner store. Inside I shook from the air conditioner that was still on, and my shoes made that strange squishy-squeaky noise on the tiles as I walked back to get the milk and snag a bag of Strawberry Crème Savers for Ryan. The five bucks in my wallet covered that, and I carried my purchases back to our building. I was soaked all over again.

He was still at the table, still writing his epic novel, and I just simply put the milk away. I had to wonder what it would be like for him if I wasn’t around. Would he even be alive anymore, or would he have starved himself on accident? I couldn’t ever abandon him because that seemed like a likely possibility that it could actually happen.

I turned the stove back on, unsure of how the noodles would even taste anymore after sitting in hot water without boiling for ten minutes. I never did that before, and I had a feeling they might be mushy in the end. I was just about to get a box of macaroni noodles out to start dinner all over again, when a particularly loud boom of thunder shook us. The lights flickered, and then went out.

“Shit!” Ryan cried out.

I merely smiled, setting the box down and making sure the stove was off before going over to him and taking his hands, pulling him out of the chair. “Oh, don’t be a baby. You can write any time; it’s not often that the power goes out.”

I could almost feel his un-amused frown in the darkness. I kept a hold of his hand and felt my way through the darkness to the living room then to our bedroom, sitting on the bed and pulling him down next to me. Lightning illuminated our small apartment, casting ghoulish shadows on the wall, followed by another crash of thunder.

“Do we at least have flashlights?” he asked as I got cozy next to him.

“No. But we have candles, but I like it like this. It’s sort of… nice,” I said, snuggling up close to him, wrapping my arms around his skinny body.

He was quiet and warm, very comfortable compared to the damp clothes I was wearing. The rain was audible on the top of the building, pattering loudly against our windows and walls. The thunder continuously boomed outside, and lightning flashed across the walls. My hand rose and fell with his chest as he breathed, my fingers gently gripped into the cotton fabric.

“You’re wet again,” he suddenly said. “If you leave those on, you’re going to get sick.” He was already moving, sitting up and forcing me to sit up with him. His hands went to the hem of my sweatshirt and pulled it off over my head. Just getting my shirt off didn’t immediately warm me up; my skin was still wet and cold. His hands rested on my shoulder, burning hot against my icy skin. He pushed me back down, grabbing the waist band of my sweatpants and slowly pulled them off, dropping them and my wet sweatshirt on the floor.

“You know, I should hang those up or they’re going to get gross,” I said with a small smile as he put his hands on my hips, holding them firmly.

“Ah, let them get gross,” he replied softly, leaning in and catching my lips with his. I don’t know if anyone’s ever experienced a perfect kiss before, that kiss that makes you just want to fill your lungs with air and scream; the kiss that triggers that knee trembling action and you just melt into a puddle on the floor… but all of our kisses did that to me, and this one was no exception.

“Mmm, you’re not so grumpy anymore,” I noted as he nestled in next to me in bed, draping an arm across my stomach. “Is there something you want?”

He chuckled, nuzzling his face into my neck, his body heat seeping into my skin. “What makes you think that I want something? Maybe I’m just happy…”

I just smiled, turning so our lips locked. His hand slid down my side, pushing my boxers away. It was in a fury of hands that his clothes followed mine and lay crumpled on the floor the rest of the night. Our bodies were in sync with each other, crashing together with the thunder. Us and the weather were harmonious, like a great concerto. It was one of the many nights we’ve shared, but this one felt special. It set itself apart with heat and electricity, and our voices were drowning in the night’s explosions.

The storm faded with the night, but only the barest hint of sunlight peeked into our room in the morning. He was still asleep. When he does drift off, he’s the hardest person to wake up. He could sleep through anything; screaming, sirens, you name it. I always have to wake him up, and today would be no different; just not now. This day, he would get to sleep in. It was Saturday, so I didn’t have school and it also meant it was his day off. So, while he was sleeping, I had time to wash my face, brush my teeth and make scrambled eggs and toast before I roused him.

It takes him about a half hour and one to three cups of coffee for him to become coherent. He stared out the door to our balcony at the overcast sky throughout breakfast, seeming somewhere else. Outside was still drenched, nothing dried, but the outside temperature read on the thermometer 98 degrees Fahrenheit.

He sat there while I washed the dishes. I did stuff now that I never used to do, such as making the bed, vacuuming, doing dishes. Now I knew I needed to do them because if I didn’t, no one would. I didn’t mind doing any of this, but there were days I just wanted to scream at Ryan that it wouldn’t hurt for him to help out at least a little. I was not his maid; I was not his mother.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he suddenly said while I sat the last plate in the rack to dry.

I looked back out the window. The skies were threatening to overflow again, but Ryan was actually suggesting we do something that wasn’t sitting at home and making out, or him sitting in a corner brooding.

“Sure, ok, we can go for a walk,” I said, rinsing my hands off. “We just need to dress…” But by the time I turned around, he wasn’t sitting at the table anymore. I walked through our apartment back to the bedroom, finding him already pulling on jeans and a very brave patterned button-up T-shirt.

“Come on and get dressed,” he commanded, throwing a red polo shirt at me. With an easy smile, I pulled it on, following with a pair of black jeans. My sneakers from the night before were still soaked, so I slipped on my extra, but still faded converse. They` didn’t have laces, so I was ready first, and I sat on the bed next to Ryan as he tied his shoes.

We held hands as we got outside even though within seconds our palms were clammy. The humidity was overwhelming and our foreheads were beading with just as much sweat that our hands were producing.

“Why did you want to go on a walk?” I asked, using my free hand to pull at the collar of my shirt. “It’s disgusting out here.” But he just sent me a smile, and looked up at the sky. I followed suit, stopping on the sidewalk with him and looking up at the heavy grey sky.

Splat. A raindrop hit me right between the eyes. I blinked the water away, using my arm to wipe my face clean, then look back over at Ryan. He was still smiling, and heavy drops were staining the sidewalk dark around us. His face glistened from rainwater, and his smile was brilliant and boyish. It was just as refreshing as the rain.

“The weather never gave a damn about me, but the weather doesn’t give a damn about anyone, does it?” he asked with a happy laugh. He looked over at me, his eyes shining.

“No, I suppose not,” I said, clearly not following his train of thought. He didn’t notice and he just threw his arms around me, hugging me tight, his lips meeting the skin under my ear as he laughed.

“Bren, I want to get the band back together,” he said in a whisper.

I wish I could have looked at his face, but I was stuck with my nose buried in his neck. “What?” I asked incredulously. This was what I was pushing him towards for months now.

“I have an idea for a song, Bren! I want to get the band back together! I think we can do it this time!”

I don’t know if I ever felt so happy or relieved. Saline leaked from my eyes to mix with the cool rain and I wrapped my own arms around him, holding him close. “Oh, Ry… I love you.”