13. Pain, More Pain, and Then…
Maybe not even more pain?
Luke
I sat across from Ryan’s dorm room, his temporary home for the summer and stared at his door with despair. There had been a big smile on my face when I first got here. It hadn’t even dimmed when no one answered the door. I figured he’d be back soon and leaned against the wall opposite his room. Now I was sprawled in a heap.
Ryan wouldn’t be back soon. He was back home. We missed each other.
“It’s the thought that counts,” Ryan said, trying to sound optimistic. Before I could reply he said, “Don’t make a joke about our sex life.”
“Good call,” I said, even though he was giving me too much credit. I wasn’t going to make a joke to lighten the mood. He was better at that anyway and I was too tired. Both from the drive and from… everything else. It amazed me that even after all the awful stuff I said, Ryan was still giving me too much credit. It also hurt really badly.
“This is… this is good,” Ryan tried. “We both had the same idea. We both wanted to fix things.” We were talking on the phone of course. Because we couldn’t talk in person because we were in two different places.
“But instead it feels like we made it worse,” I said quietly. I had less of a filter when I was tired. Not having a filter was his job too.
“No, don’t,” Ryan asked or begged or something. We were supposed to be in the same place, but we weren’t. Was that a metaphor? I was too tired to figure it out.
“It’s true. We both meant well and yet even though we did the same thing, it feels like we’re further apart than ever.” That’s what it felt like to me. Maybe I was wrong. That happened a lot, I would love to be wrong now.
“We’re actually still the same distance apart,” Ryan argued weakly. Think he was trying to convince me, but I still didn’t feel wrong.
“Only in the world.” Emotional, mentally, spiritually, something. In that something else, we felt even farther. So much for a big grand gesture to show him how I felt. We felt the same way, and yet that didn’t help at all. Maybe even being in the same place wouldn’t fix things now. Maybe we couldn’t—
“Look, I’m sorry,” Ryan said. Couldn’t really be mad when he did the exact same thing as me, trying to surprise me. “For when we talked before.” Oh.
“No, it was, I.” I stopped. “Me too.” Guess that was the part where we freak out and make everything worse. Had to get there eventually. Or maybe it was this part now. I sighed. “We don’t have to do this now.” We probably should, but I didn’t have the energy. This should be the part where we talked and fixed things. I just kept staring at his door.
“Yeah, you’re right.” His voice sounded distant. “We should, just, let’s talk later.”
I was tired, giving in to self-defeat and dark thoughts. This just sucked. But that. Had Ryan ever told me I was right before? He always fought me on everything. He never made things easy. How could he, what?
Maybe he was tired too.
“Yeah, we’ll talk later,” I agreed without much emotion in my voice. Autopilot.
“We’ll figure things out, we just need a moment to regroup.” I really wanted to believe that. Ryan might be trying to convince me or himself. “This sucks but we can handle it.” He didn’t even sound like he believed himself.
I wanted to say it back, but I couldn’t. We said goodbye.
Pretty sure we were both discouraged but trying not to let on even though it was really obvious.
That conversation was barely even a conversation. Felt like we barely said anything at all and yet it seemed so important. Like we should have been rallying and we just… didn’t. I stayed where I was. Felt like I wouldn’t move in a long time. Like maybe I’d still be in this exact spot when Ryan got back, and hey, then maybe we’d have a chance. Oh my god.
Why was that a scary thought? Because Ryan and I were so close to doom? Or because maybe even then we wouldn’t have a chance? Maybe there were no more chances left.
I kept staring at Ryan’s door. It had their names on it at the top, Ryan and Jeremey. Jeremey’s name was in blue and Ryan’s in yellow. Yellow, like how he was my Lemon Drop. Ugh. I stared at the door and stared some more. I wanted to trace his name with my finger, all sad and longing, but then I’d have to get up. I traced his name with my eyes instead.
The dumb thing was that his name was just printed in yellow in a big font and hung on his door by his RA. It probably took two seconds and wasn’t intended to capture his personality at all, it was just meant to tell him and others who lived there.
There was other stuff on his door that he put up himself. That was the stuff I should be looking at, but it was hard. Like a picture of a grumpy cat—maybe the grumpy cat, RIP—and a rainbow and some quotes by drag queens and—oh. Okay, the picture of a grumpy cat was definitely the grumpy cat because it had a little halo over its head. That was morbid and too soon but very Ryan. He found the humor in sad things. He found the humor in everything.
Did he find anything funny about the situation we were in right now? I hoped not. I hoped this hurt him as badly as it hurt me. Then again, maybe I did want him to be able to laugh right now. I didn’t want him to be sad. Thinking about him being sad made me sad and I was already sad, so my sadness was doubled or multiplied or squared or something.
God, everything sucked, but it would suck a little less if I knew Ryan was going to be okay. Seemed like too much to hope that we would be okay but I at least wanted him to be.
I sat outside Ryan’s door, staring at his name, until someone came by.
