To the feel skin
by M. F. Luder
53. earth
There is nothing else to do.
He doesn't think about anything as he lets the water pour down on him, eyes closed shut. God. He doesn't think, or at least, he tells himself he isn't thinking.
He doesn't think how only two months ago he had to bury a girl that three years ago he used to hate with everything in his being, and then, later, suddenly, became one of three of his closest friends.
He doesn't want to think about his girlfriend, who has left for the week, to go apartment shopping in Rhode Island. He doesn't want to think how he should have gone with her, was supposed to go with her. But the drawn curtains in the pool house and the silence, now Ryan's best friends, are the reason he couldn't even consider that possibility. Leaving California, at this point, with Ryan still mourning the loss of Marissa is impossible. He can’t leave Ryan behind.
After the shower is done, he changes into jeans and a short sleeve shirt, making his way down the stairs to the kitchen. He doesn't bother looking out the French doors toward the pool house. He's been doing that since graduation -- sixty-nine days, sixty-nine days, sixty-nine days -- and all he has seen so far is the curtains drawn. There are entire days when the light stays off. There are moments in the day when Seth worries if Ryan is even there anymore, if maybe, just maybe, the guy waited until no one was looking and just took off. Seth doesn't let himself think about that for too long.
He pours himself a bowl of milk, picks up the cereal box from the cupboard and makes his way to the den. He sits in front of the TV, turns on the Playstation and realizes that the most he has to worry about today is what he's gonna order for lunch.
He doesn't realize how much time has passed until he stares at the empty bowl of milk, which should have been a glass of milk, had he been paying attention. The box of cereal is about half way eaten, and he's blinking, gaze shifting from bowl to box, when a sound he hasn't heard in weeks takes him by surprise. He turns to his right, his eyes widening as he watches a sight that used to be familiar. The French doors open, and blue eyes seek his, blond rumpled hair is brushed down by a hand.
Ryan stands there for a moment, uncertain, doubtful, almost as if cornered. Seth doesn't remember seeing that particular mix of feelings on Ryan's face in at least two years.
Seth blinks, hesitant himself as to what to do. He has barely seen Ryan since the funeral.
"Hey," Seth says, because, really, that's the one thing he could come up with.
"Hey."
Seth swallows, and he's taken back to three years ago, Ryan looking slightly more fearful but just that doubtful when they exchanged the same words. Seth has to blink the blurriness from his eyes to see Ryan's eyes darken.
He remembers what he said after those words, the question that was asked, but somehow, Seth doesn't think he should do the same today.
At the end, he doesn't need to. Ryan doesn't need to be asked. He makes his way to the den, sits down next to Seth on the floor and picks up the second controller. Ryan runs one finger over one red button, as if committing the sight to memory, as if having missed the feel of the controller in his hand. Seth has already stopped his previous game and has started one for two players.
Seth doesn't say anything, doesn't ask anything, doesn't even speak during the game. He only watches Ryan from the corner of his eyes, feeling something uncoil inside him at the sight of Ryan, sitting next to him, mind deep in the game, hand absentmindedly reaching for the box of cereal in between them and getting out a handful.
It's past lunch the next time Seth takes notice of the time. Ryan isn't hungry, or if he is, he isn't showing it. Seth sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and considers asking for take out. Asking Ryan what he wants. Asking Ryan how he's doing. Asking Ryan anything and hoping against hope there will be answers.
This can't be healthy, damn it. This whole thing, holding everything inside. Ryan didn't say a word in the hospital, where Seth and his parents found him. Nor during the funeral. Hell, Seth's pretty sure he hasn't heard more than five words from Ryan in the last two months.
He takes in a deep breath and he can feel the tightness in his chest that he has become familiar with. To his own surprise, he doesn't ache for losing his friend as much as he seems to ache for Ryan himself. He can't help but wish there was something he could do, say, a way for him to connect to Ryan the way he used to do, way back when.
There used to be this... something, between them. A something that appeared the very moment Seth, sitting down on the floor in the den, looked up from his game, gazed into deep blue eyes and found a friend. There was a connection that found its roots in two kids who needed something to hold on to. Seth needed a friend and Ryan needed to be needed by someone.
And yet as the years have passed, sparing neither of them, Seth realizes they’ve lost what they once had. Whatever it was that made Seth look at Ryan and ask a question and for Ryan to answer with nothing but a shrug of his shoulders and an offer of his friendship, is long gone.
Seth never knew he would miss that bond between them until now, when he finds himself as alone as he used to be three years ago.
If only... if only he could reach out to touch Ryan's shoulder. If only Ryan would turn around and look at Seth, really look, no need for words because Ryan's eyes speak volumes when he allows Seth to see it. If only Seth could reach out and know that the touch would be accepted.
If only...
He sighs, lifting his hand, fingers slightly curled at the knuckles, the pain in his chest his now constant companion, his throat tight, fear in his blood, and before he can touch Ryan, he lets his hand fall to his side.
"Want a coke?" Seth asks, when the silence is too much for him to bear.
Ryan doesn't say anything, shakes his head slightly in answer.
Seth presses his lips tightly together, knowing he picked that up from Ryan, and breathes in through his nose. He doesn't say anything back. The silence between them is so loud, it's all Seth can hear. And all he can feel are the waves of pain coming, it seems, from Ryan’s very soul.
He stands up with heavy limbs and an even heavier heart, making his way out of the den and to the kitchen. He opens the fridge and takes out a can of coke. He sighs, leaning forward, forehead against the cool door. He can feel the back of his head pounding in time with his heartbeat, his eyes prickling. His hand clutches the can so hard, his knuckles start to hurt.
Time is supposed to help ease the pain. Time is supposed to work in his favor, help Ryan deal with the loss of someone that meant so much to him. Time is supposed to fucking help. Instead, it seems as if such pain is feeding on time, on the ticking of the clock, on the passing of the days. It seems that every new day brings nothing more darkness to Ryan's soul.
I can't do this anymore, Seth thinks. I can't just sit here and watch Ryan die, slowly, bit by bit.
Seth's face turns into a grimace, his left hand moves to his mouth as he feels the threat of a sob in his throat. God, he can't do this. He can't sit here and watch Ryan sink deeper and deeper into his shell. He can't sit here and fucking do nothing.
He lets out his breath through his mouth and his heart aches, his very chest physically aches from the pain Ryan's feeling that Seth can't possibly understand, or lessen. He wishes, not for the first time in these two months, that there was something he could say, but he doesn't think the words have been invented yet.
He shakes his head, standing up straight. He takes in a deep breath, a tight breath, through his nose, lets it out through his mouth. He takes another, and another. He wipes his eyes with the back of his left hand, and he takes no notice of the moisture in them. He takes no notice of anything, but the knowledge that Ryan's here, here, in this house, sitting in the den, waiting for him.
Nodding to himself, he turns around and makes his way out of the kitchen and to the den. Ryan's sitting, very much like Seth left him, and Seth can't find anything inside of him to say. He takes his seat, places the coke in between them, and picks up the controller to start another game.
There is nothing for Seth to say, and there are no words from Ryan. But when they are, when Ryan finds it in himself to speak, to reach out, to uncoil from the pain he's letting drive his life, Seth will be here. In the meantime, the silence between them feels loud enough, filling the room.
Finished: September 1st, 2006. 5.50pm