Robby and Ryan

You are twenty-five hundred words away from the end; twenty minutes. I picture all of you wanting to read and knowing it is the end you might sit on it for a day or two not wanting it to end. Everything ends my friends.

I went back to chapter one and saw that over five-thousand readers chose this that day. The numbers have dwindled down to you my unknown friends. A few hundred. I am more than ok with that though some have said it needs a bigger audience.

I thank those who commented and emailed me about how you would end this life story. There will be those that will never see it coming and those who saw it in chapter one. There is only one happy ending. RJC.

Ryan picked up the guitar and stood in front of the big mirror before the fireplace with his foot on a chair. He shifted gears. My ears popped and I suddenly felt like I was in a vacuum.

He picked at the strings. “Wake up.” He loudly whispered. “Wake up.” He said again in a different voice.

“Hello Willow my old friend, I’ve come to cry with you once again.” He was singing to someone or something. His voice was haunting; had more of a gravel-like sound; nothing like I’d heard earlier. His fingers plucked at the strings as it seemed a dark shadow surrounded him; surrounded everything.

“Not what you expected, D???” he asked sarcastically never looking at me or knowing if I was there.

“And the vision that you planted in my brain still remains Willow, within the sounds of our silence. In restless dreams, we’ve walked alone, narrow streets of cobblestone.” And his fingers continued as he hummed.

I listened and racked my brain trying to remember where I heard that voice. It was so raw. “It would be best if you went to bed now, Derion,” he warned.

There was no way I could move. Ryan’s skin was turning red before my eyes. Sweat had started trickling down his back making the waistband darker from the moisture. I could see drops dripping from his elbows falling to the floor as he held the guitar.

“And in the naked light, we saw… ten thousand people maybe more…” And it came to me like a flash as Ryan unloaded; ‘Disturbed.’

I looked around; took in my surroundings suddenly feeling trapped. The house was vibrating; had come to life as he sang. His voice came from everywhere as its pulse became louder.

“People talking without speaking, People hearing without listening, People writing songs that voices never share, and no one dared disturb the sound of their silence, but us.”

My body started to shake; I could see my breath and I could see his too. Steam rose up from him like smoke as more anger and pain came flowing out.

“Fools that we do not know; silence like a cancer grows. Hear our words that we might teach you.”I could feel the step I sat on vibrating.

“Take our arms that we might reach you. But my words like silent raindrops fall. And the people bowed and prayed to the neon god they made.”

Ryan was screaming. I could feel the hurt and pain in his voice; the hurt it caused him to make those sounds. The curtains were moving though there was no breeze. The hair on my arms stood on end from the electricity that was swirling like light. I felt strange.

“And signs lashed out it's warning, in the words that it was forming and the words of the profits are written on the subway walls and tenement halls; and whispered, in the sound of silence.”

I didn’t move; I couldn’t. And his fingers continued to pick. It seemed he was calming now; soothing himself and the structure that surrounded us calmed as well. Color came back.

It was suddenly so clear; this house fed off him; had fed on both of them. And it gave of its self for them when needed. I felt it, saw and understood. That’s why they came back. And that’s why Ryan hadn’t come back until now.

The color returned to Ryan’s skin. Warmth filled the room again and I released the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I looked down between my feet seeing the tears fall from my chin and disappear the moment they hit the hardwood.

Ryan started again. ‘Yesterday When I Was Young,’ I closed my eyes and heard, Roy Clark. Such a change in him! Ryan must have taken ten minutes as he played and sang. And when he finished I climbed the stairs and back to my room.

I had talked to Art, yesterday; told him I would need a ride or I could catch the shuttle. He wanted to pick me up. I woke a few hours later and walked to the window expecting to see Ryan sitting down next to the old willow. He wasn’t there. A good night’s sleep, maybe; I thought.

I opened the door looking down the hall. I headed to the bathroom but stopped at the door between my room and the bathroom. It was ajar. It hadn’t been open before. I pushed on it a little.

I saw the window; it was closed but the thin curtains were softly swaying. I looked around the room as light shown through the stain-glass making colorful shadows on the wall. I pushed the door open further and the bed came into sight. This was their old room just as he had described.

There lay Ryan. He was shirtless and in the black silk sleep-pants from hours ago. He had one hand over his chest and the other rested by his side like holding someone’s hand next to him. I found a dead person once. It’s something you never forget.

Ryan was gone and only the shell remained. His skin had paled and I just knew. I called out his name as I moved closer to the bed seeing a big wet spot on his front and I understood. I reached for his wrist knowing I wouldn’t find a pulse but not expecting the cold feel of his skin.

I rested the hand back on his chest and noticed the pillow next to him. A fluffed white pillow with an indent like someone was lying next to him. The necklace was around his neck but the ring rested on the table next to him along with the ring from his left hand.

I felt sad but a relief kind of washed over me. Ryan; this sad, sad man, was where he wanted to be when the end came. I’m sure he picked it. I remembered the last words of the song he was singing last night. ‘Now it’s time to pay for yesterday; when I was young.’

I walked to the hall closing the door behind me after picking up the note with my name on it. I slid down the wall and opened the folded piece of paper.

“I’m sorry Derion. I really am. Just so you know; a person really can die from a broken heart. The hell of it is; how long it takes to finally release you. I knew what the outcome would be when I came back here; maybe why I waited so long, but I came back home; back to our ‘Willows.’

I hope I filled in the missing pieces you thought were important. I never really understood how hard all of this was for me. Not just the last few days but, all of it. I’ve always felt I was racing a clock to get to the end before the end.

For the last six months, Willow has not let me rest. I had been considering just coming back here alone; letting, whatever happens, happen.

Derion? Willow lives. Understand, Derion? This place has colors like we all have. Rob could see them the first time we came. Little Robby has never said anything about them but I wonder.

Willows’ is over two hundred years old; has been part of so… much. The trees that were turned into timber to build this place were probably as old at the time. Four hundred years. Does a tree die when it’s turned into something else? Does it remember its life as a tree? Yes. It remembers a lot.

Derion, I truly enjoyed the time we shared. All of it; not just the last few days. You were more to me than I think you understand. We would have been great friends you and I; we would have all been good friends. I hope Robby and Ryan are relevant for a long time to come.

Remember Derion. It’s not what you take when you leave this world behind you; it’s what you leave behind when you go.” Rye.

Shannon came up the stairs and saw me. I was a bawling fuckin mess. “Is he?” and I nodded. “His son called and told me. The boys are on their way with his Attorney. Mr. Derion?”

Taking deep breathes I dug for composure. “How did he know? I just found him. How did he know?”

“Mr. Derion, you need to get cleaned up. I’ll fix breakfast. Mr. Chancellor wouldn’t want something like this messing up a person’s day.” And she turned and went downstairs.

Her comment made me smile. It sounded so utterly crazy. ‘But no, Ryan wouldn’t want that. He wouldn’t want to fuck up a person’s day by dying.’ I sat in my room and read his note again. And then I read the folded pieces of paper so worn I had to hold the sections together.

‘My dearest Ryan. The letter Robby left him. Probably read and folded over ten thousand times. The paper was parched and the ink dry and cracking. I wanted to call Art but it was only five in Washington. My plane left in four hours. I did my thing and was downstairs in twenty minutes.

My nose took in the smell of pig. Not the stink of pig; but it cooking; there is no better aroma. I love every part of pig. I walked into the kitchen seeing both bacon and sausage sizzling. ‘I have often wondered why we don’t have little bacon air fresheners.’

“Have a seat, Mr. Derion.” She invited without turning around.

“You’re the one; the one who took the pictures the last time they were here, aren’t you?” And she nodded never turning.

“You’ve seen them?” She questioned.

I shook my head no to her back. “When will his boys be here?” I asked.

“They land about half an hour after you take off. Tommy will drive you and then wait for them. Would you like some coffee?”

I sat looking at the most appetizing breakfast I had seen in a long time knowing it would take a year off my life. But the reality was; a person I had come to love, a man I only knew a few days, was dead upstairs. I wondered how I got drug into all of this. All I did was read a fuckin story on a gay website. Robby and Ryan: The Beginning; By Skate.

I looked at the meal. I thought about Ryan. He wasn’t really upstairs, dead. He was singing in the next room; he was behind the piano killing us softly with his songs. He was walking with Robby again hand in hand. And I began to eat.

I wanted to stay. I wanted to meet his boys and Parker. Shannon sat at the table with me. “Can you tell me about him?” I asked.

“This was only the second time I have ever met him face to face. It’s amazing what you learn about people through the lens of a camera; when I developed the pictures though.” And she looked off as if remembering.

“They were beyond beautiful together. The way they were with each other. I was so lucky to be the one. I understand now why some of the pictures never came out,” she finished taking a sip of her coffee. “I still have the check he sent me,” she reminisced.

“Do you know?” I asked.

She nodded. “Tommy likes to read stories. He showed me when he found them. That’s why he was so nervous around him. I assume you have the ending?” And I nodded.

“I do now. There is nothing to be sad about, Shannon. Ryan is where he has wanted to be for so long. In a strange way; it’s a happy ending.” I told her.

I left my bag in the foyer walking out to their sentimental tree. I pulled the bleached paper out of my pocket and held it as I reached for the lighter in my pants. I thought about them as I flicked my bic, and did what Parker couldn’t. I burned it.

I got in the back of the black SUV. I turned to take one last look. I saw shadows in the half-moon window. “STOP” I yelled at Tommy.

I got out looking back up to the window. Was my mind playing tricks on me? Did I see Ryan and Robby standing in the window? Was Willows’ their final resting place? I got back in without buckling my belt.

We talked. “You’re, Derion Albright?” He questioned, and I nodded.

“I never commented. I didn’t realize until he described everything. Did you know him well?” He questioned hoping I could shed more light on him.

“He once said I had seen his bare ass; but no, I didn’t know him, Tommy. No better than you.” And as I smiled tears came to my eyes.

I returned to Washington. Art and I went back seven days later for a small service. There was no fan-fair. His boys and Parker along with little RJ were there. Shannon and her son came with a few others, and Art and me. Well, two Rottweilers stood at attention. That was all.

Art and I walked up behind little RJ as he knelt in front of a small white marker. Years had washed the name away. He turned and looked up at us as the biggest tears rolled over his cheeks. I squeezed his shoulder.

I thought about his story as I took one last look at that hunk of polished marble.

********

A year has passed. The book was a huge success; on the best sellers list. My Son was the writer; the ghost author. And a studio was going into production. I had talked to Parker and showed him everything I had along with the emails Ryan sent me.

Parker said what I held was airtight and mine to do with what I wanted. “Do what you think is the right thing, Derion. What would Chance, want?”

A year later I sat with Art watching the screen. How had I managed to be part of this? Everyone in the theater was clapping. Robby was relevant, still. And so was Ryan.

We were able to quit our jobs, donate heavily to causes that were close to us. We travel and eat in fine restaurants now. We fly somewhere to see a concert or just a place we have never been to before. I always think about Ryan and Robby.

The End.