Thursday
10:58 PM
driving
My baby brother is fast asleep in his carseat. I smile. The hum of my car always sings him to sleep. The unfortunate part is when we get home again.
I turn on the heater immediately, feeling my fingers and toes go numb after just the short walk back to my car from the grocery store. The snow is thick tonight, gaining volume every second. Christmas Eve is not calm and collected at my house; it's insanity. I suspect I'll be awake with my mom and my baby brother for a while when I get home. It's almost a silent tradition for my mom to send me on a run to the store on Christmas Eve to get something she forgot or ran out of.
I drive down the street, the radio singing quiet Christmas songs through my speakers. There's nearly no one on the road. The only detectable movement is the downfall of the snow. I'm tired, and all I really want right now is to go to sleep. I know this won't be happening for a few more hours.
I quickly glance over my shoulder at the backseat, to find Adam still sleeping. I'm about to turn around again to keep my eyes on the road ahead, but a sliver of a person on the sidewalk is visible through a backseat window. Their body is awfully familiar, and I can't help but swivel my head back around to look again.
I can't believe it. Ryan Ross.
I panic silently, biting my lip, my mind hastily playing tug-of-war to decide on what to do. He's only wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and he looks like a ghost, blending into the falling snow. The better side of my heart reacts first and sends signals to my hands, making them turn the wheel to pull off to the side of the road. My body really is just leading me where it wishes. I don't know what my lips will be able to say to Ryan, and I'm honestly scared of what they might, but for now, it's Christmas, and I can tell Ryan's not looking to have a good one.
I keep the heater running for Adam, and I rush out of the car and onto the sidewalk, just as Ryan approaches me. His brown eyes grow wide and scared. "Ryan, what are you doing?" I ask quickly, staring at him in shock. I didn't expect an answer anyway, so I say, "Come on," and open the passenger's door for him. Then I realize what I just did, and my cheeks turn red, and I'm grateful to be able to use the cold as an excuse.
Ryan stands his ground and he still looks like a scared sort of animal or child, being asked to go somewhere he knows he shouldn't. "Please, Ryan," I beg, because he's a heart-ripping sight to watch, like usual. "Please."
Then I wonder if Ryan just can't say anything. His lips are a pale, draining blue, a sure sign of oncoming hypothermia. So I kind of force Ryan to get in the car. If he really wanted to object, he could've.
I take my jacket off as I round the car, and when I get in, I drape it over Ryan's bony shoulders. I also give him my gloves, taking his bright red, ice cold hands in mine, and his red face turns two shades darker. When I finally fit his fingers into each glove, I look at him, and he looks at me. Ryan doesn't have to say "thank you." His big eyes say it themselves.
I smile at him before I pull into the road again, and I can finally start to hear his breathing even out, and the puff of air filtering from between his lips decreases. I don't know what to say to him. I don't know if I should ask him what he's doing walking around wearing only one layer of clothes, at this time of night, alone. I know there's gotta be an explanation, but I don't know if I actually want to hear it.
Ryan always was the biggest tragedy. He should come with a warning. "Conversations may cause heartbreak." I glance at him every couple minutes, and he's just staring ahead, his brown eyes still just as big, tired, and scared. "Are you okay, Ryan?" I finally ask.
I know this is weird for him, because it's weird for me. Being nice to him is actually coming easily, and I'm not even trying to suppress that sense of panic and worry. I keep glancing at him.
"Um..." He clears his throat. "I got kicked out."
Somehow I didn't see this coming. I knew how Ryan's dad was to him, but I never thought he would actually ever get rid of his last piece of family and company. Company is company, even if it is misery too.
I know what the polite and just plain natural thing to say is, so I say it, without even really thinking about. Without thinking what kind of trouble it could cause. "You can stay at my house."
"Brendon, it's Christmas. I can't."
It's surreal hearing him say my name. This whole thing is as if we've been thrown back in time, but two years ago, it was never this strange. We were always comfortable around each other, but not so comfortable as to that we can say whatever we want. Even if I knew what I wanted to say to Ryan now, I probably wouldn't.
But Ryan knows I'm not going to just drop him off somewhere and let him run free. He knows I'm going to take him into my house and give him a place to sleep and stay warm, a safe place for him to rest. His closely-avoided hypothermia is not all that I notice that's wrong with his appearance. His face is all black and blue, and I wonder how many times he's experienced this before. But his dad kicking him out, this is a first. I didn't see it coming. And I didn't ever see myself with him again tonight, or any night.
We pull into my driveway, and I hesitate before getting out of the car, thinking maybe, in some alternate universe, Ryan might want to say something. And to my great surprise, he looks at me and says, "You don't have to." I don't know what to say, so he continues. "I know we're not friends anymore. I know we never will be. It kills... but that's how it is."
"Ryan, I'm sor-" I stop, thinking, we've got all night. "Come on." I turn off the engine and round the car, going to open the door for Ryan again, simply because I don't think his frozen hands are able to grip anything. But he gets there first, and our bodies kind of collide. He stares at me kind of fearfully, my stomach drops, and oh, those eyes...
It's going to be a long night.
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