Title: The Way We Used to Dream
Summary: What better way to see if the person you like feels the same way than to have a pseudo relationship with someone that lives halfway across the country? Through a series of twist and turns, Ryan Ross has to answer these questions. But how does this question affect the lives of everyone around him?
Note: This story contains a series of a nine chapters that will be posted ever Monday and Friday. A diary entry follows the end of each chapter and is told in present-tense as Ryan as the writer. (Sorry this chapter took so long to post but my computer was acting up.)
( One. )
It was on one such night, as my dad helped himself to a new bottle of gin, that I climbed the drain pipe against the front porch and opened Brendon’s already unlocked window.
“I wasn’t expecting you until another hour, Mister Ross, why the sudden urgency tonight?” Brendon got up from his illuminated desk where homework lay and stood in the middle of the room, waiting for me to completely enter.
“Yeah, well, I was getting bored.” I hopped down the window sill and onto the messy ground.
Discarded guitar strings and forgotten homework assignments littered the floor. Directly across from the window, Brendon’s bed lay pressed against the wall. To the left, a desk and bookcase stood that was filled with textbooks and reams of music he had received from years of band class. Near the door a guitar, saxaphone and electric keyboard rested as the only three well kept items in the room.
“A moment spent without me is always boring for you,” Brendon dramatically flopped down on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his rather black unruly hair lying out in front of him.
“You flatter yourself way too much.” Taking off my shoes, I haphazardly flung them in a random direction- a decision I would regret earlier in the morning. Walking over to his desk, I grabbed a pencil and started working out the first problem on the sheet.
Brendon sat up, beginning to pick at a loose string on his bed comforter as he started humming a movie score. “You know that new girl? Audrey?”
“Audrey Kitching?” I was still absorbed in correcting a misplaced inequality sign. I was aware that he was talking but I didn’t fully acknowledge his question.
“Yeah,” Brendon nodded his head slowly, still consumed with the loose comforter string as he took a breath to continue humming. “Well, I kind of like her.”
It’s rather funny how humans will only hear what they want to hear while everything else just gets lost in the shuffle of your brain. I almost began to laugh, thinking he was joking. But then I saw the serious look in Brendon’s eyes and began to actually process what was being said.
Brendon liked Audrey? For some reason this bothered me; gravely.
Why though? I should be happy for him, right? So, why wasn’t I happy? It wasn’t like I was. It was like I was jealous or anything. I can’t be jealous, because best friends don’t like each other. Do they? And besides, I didn’t actually like Brendon in that way. Did I?
This was all rather confusing, now that I thought about it. But I didn’t have time to think about it right here when Brendon was waiting for a response. I needed a cushion; something to vie some time to think this over with myself.
“Oh?” I finally asked, glancing over at Brendon.
His eyes lit up, happy that I finally had taken interest in his problems. “I don’t know if I have a chance with her though…Do you like someone?”
The cushion didn’t have to necessarily be something. Maybe it could be someone. And maybe, it didn’t even have to be someone Brendon knew personally. Maybe, just maybe, it could be someone that I would never have to physically see either.
“You’ll get her, B.” I flashed a small smile as I set the homework sheet down on the desk and shut off the lamp, shutting off the source of light in the room and walking towards his closet where a change of night clothes lay clearly in the moonlight. “On the matter of me liking someone though; that’s a whole other plane of thought.”
“Why?” Brendon yawned while stretching, lifting up his pajama shirt to expose a thin creamy line of his hipbone. He began to sift underneath the covers, beckoning for me to come lay down as I pulled a pair of shorts on.
I had to choose my words carefully as the first person in my head came to mind. “You wouldn’t have a problem with me being bi-curious, would you?”
Brendon thought about the question for a moment, the bright moonlight streaming in through a small crack in the blinds as he tilted his head; thinking for an answer as if his own life depended on it. When he finally nodded his head, a sigh of relief escaped my mouth.
“So, it’s a guy you like?” he asked as I climbed into bed next to him.
I nodded, glad that Brendon understood and hadn’t judge me. Not that he had expected him to but, sometimes the fact that Brendon still followed a lot of his Mormon beliefs caused an invisible rift between us.
“What’s his name?” We were staring at each, eyes both searching for an answer that neither one of us really knew.
“William.” I whispered lightly into his face.
“Isn’t that your friend from Chicago?” Brendon’s nose crinkled as moist breath hit it. “Does he know that you like him?”
I wanted to laugh. To take a deep breath and pretend like this wasn’t happening; that it was all a dream. It was just some crazy bizarre dream that I would wake up to in the morning and laugh at as I got ready for school in the morning.
But it was not that dream.
“Yes. But we aren’t going out because of the distance.” I rolled on my side to face the ceiling, not wanting to face the look on Brendon’s face that wanted more answers. Had I really just uttered that nonsense?
It was silent for a couple minutes; the only sounds coming from the air conditioning unit clicking on and the soft snores of Brendon’s parents from across the hall. Finally, just as I was about to reach complete sleep, Brendon coughed and sat up to look down at me.
“So that’s it then?”
I slowly opened an eye and looked up at Brendon’s pale face in contrast to his dark hair. “What do you mean?”
“You tell me you like a guy and that’s the end of it?” Brendon bit his lip, looking somewhat concerned.
“Pretty much; I mean, you said it wasn’t a big deal so I didn’t think we needed to talk about it.”
“But—” he interrupted himself as he shamefully yawned and blinked sleep out of his eyes.
I laughed. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
“Promise me?” His brown eyes began to close as he moved closer to mine as he settled back down.
“Yes, I promise.” I gave a small smile and then turned to face the wall, not able to deal with Brendon’s hot breath on the bridge of my nose.
++++
Mornings were always a personal savior for me. It was a time of new beginnings where anything and everything could happen. The world greeted you with a sense of fresh, and often false, hope with its splashes of vibrant colors on the horizon.
Ruby red merges with pastel oranges as a ball begins to rise in the eastern sky. Then every blue imaginable burst through the once blackened sky and stars seem to magically disappear in the blink of an eye. Birds slowly begin to chirp their melodic songs as houses come to life–flicking on the morning news to see of any traffic delays.
Everything was peaceful.
I sat on the top of Brendon’s porch, watching the scene unfold in relative quiet, while I finished the rest of my physics homework. Everything was perfect; there was no reason to worry right now or have troubling thoughts.
Or at least, it was until Brendon appeared.
He poked his head through the window just as I finished the last of my pre-lab assignment that was due that morning. “Well there you are, George Ryan Ross; hiding from me on my own roof.”
“Here I am, Brendon Boyd Urie; hiding on your roof.”
This little banter had been going on for almost half a decade. Every morning, I would wake up first and finish homework until Brendon awoke some time sooner. He’d go downstairs and fix tea for me while pretending to look for me, claiming that I had left him in the middle of the night.
“Here’s your tea,” Brendon handed over a steaming mug. “With two tablespoons of sugar, just the way you like it; no more, no less.”
Laughing, I accepted the cup and blew on the rim, watching as steam rose from the herbal drink.
“So, about last night,” Brendon cleared his throat. “Do you want to talk about it now?”
I sighed, remembering what I had said some hours before. I really hadn’t thought about it again until now though. “Not really.”
“Why?”Brendon inched over, closing the gap in between us.
“I don’t get what there is to talk about. That’s all.”
“Is William cute?”
I cleared my throat, almost choking on the hot liquid that had decided to find its way down my windpipe. “Well, he is; in a clumsy adorable sort of way. Not as clumsy as you though, that’s for sure.”
My ears began to turn a soft shade of pink at this comment I had just made.
“So you think I’m adorable?” Brendon smiled and looked at me, trying not to laugh.
“Yes, but in a clumsy, oh look at me, I’m a cute puppy way.” I laughed at my attempt to make up for the awkward comment I had just made.
“Does this guy have a bigger ass than me?” Brendon faked a mock gasp and feigned hurt in his wide eyes after a moment of silent had passed.
I choked on my tea again. “What? No, Bren, you have a wonderful ass.”
God, it just kept coming up like word vomit. I was sure my cheeks and ears were now noticeable shade of crimson.
He breathed a sigh of relief, now standing up and smacking his backside; I tried not to watch as it jiggled. “Good, because I would die if another guy had a bigger ass than me. I pride myself in my ass; that’s the only confidence booster I have going for me.”
“No one will ever have a bigger ass than yours, Brendon,” a voice wandered up to us from the ground fifteen feet below. We both moved our heads over the storm drain in order to identify the person.
“Spencer, oh my gosh, stop scaring the shit out of us every morning.” Brendon stuck his tongue out towards the ground as Spencer flung his school backpack up to the roof of the porch.
“Four years of warning isn’t enough?” The top of his blonde head emerged, visibly shaking with laughter.
“Are we talking about the same Brendon?” I dragged the bag back to where I was originally sitting and tore open the side pocket, seeing several warm pop-tarts wrapped in aluminum foil.
Spencer also took part in my morning rituals. Every morning, before we made our way over to school, he’d stop by with freshly toasted pop-tarts (chocolate swirl for Brendon; plain brown sugar cinnamon for me). We lived about four blocks from our high school so we usually sat on Brendon’s roof until school almost started. Often times we were marked late because we became so absorbed in our conversations.
“I don’t know,” Spencer finally finished his ascent, still laughing. “Are we?”
“Whatever,” Brendon grabbed his pop-tarts from me. “I just think you guys are jealous of my ass.”
“It’s okay, Bren,” I placed my hand on the small of his back and leaned in to whisper from behind him. “We still love you, regardless of the size of your ass.”
“We don’t hate you because your ass is huge. Just, your ass is huge because we hate you.” Spencer laughed at his little joke.
“When are you going to get over your Mean Girl’s obsession?” I sighed and sat back down, picking at the frosting on the front and popping it into my mouth.
“Whenever they make a new one,” he turned to grin at Brendon and me. “But until that moment comes, if it ever comes, I will continue quoting that movie until the day that I die.”
++++
We had just walked past one of the neighborhood parks where Brendon had to go down all four slides because, and I quote: ‘School makes me want to lose the inner child in me; I have to slide, Ryan,’, when we saw her. Spencer and I were making fun of our German teacher when Brendon stopped, grabbing the sleeves of our jackets.
“Guys, there she is,” he whispered softly.
“Where who is; what are we looking at? Spencer asked, utterly confused.
But I saw her. I had seen her for a while now, actually, but had never said anything for obvious reasons.
I rolled my eyes and pointed his face directly to the left where she was walking, still unaware that we were talking about her. “It’s little ol’ Miss Audrey.”
Spencer began to laugh at my imitation of her Southern accent. “What about her?”
“Brendon wants to bang her,” I said rather bluntly, anger faintly clouding my eyes.
A warm hand grabbed the back of my neck as Brendon hissed in my ear. “I never said that.”
The small waif-like figure appeared from behind a clump of trees. Streams of brown and black highlights spilled atop her bleach-blonde hair as hazel eyes danced in mischief, watching our little group appear in front of her. A tight blue and green midriff shirt and tight rainbow colored pants clad her body.
“Well, hey there,” she smiled looking at Brendon’s hand still on my neck. “What’s going on?”
He released himself from my small, twig like neck. “Oh, nothing; Ryan just has this really bad…Really bad rash on his neck. And he can’t reach it. So,” he glanced over towards where Spencer now scrambled to me. “Spencer and I were helping him by scratching it.”
Pulling his hand out of his pocket, Spencer rubbed the supposedly bothersome rash. “Feel better yet?”
Am I really going to play along with this?
Apparently my answer was ‘yes’ because I let out a low moan in mock pain. “Fuck, no.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she pulled another big smile. “Do you want me to take a look at that? Maybe I could help.”
We all sputtered nonsense, glancing frantically at one another.
“No, no, it could be contagious.” Brendon finally managed. “Besides, we don’t want you getting infected with whatever weird disease Ryan has. It could be the bubonic plague for all we know.”
I shot Brendon a look. Supposedly I had a disease that I had died out over four hundred years ago.
She shaped her mouth into a perfect ‘o’ shape at this comment before nodding her head and (surprisingly) pulling out her vibrating phone, answering whoever was on the other line. “Hey babe, where’ve you been?”
And then she walked away; waving quickly before walking in the opposite direction of school. We all stood there for a moment, unsure of what had just happened.
“Well, if that wasn’t the most awkward five minutes of my life, I don’t know what was.” Spencer let out a long sigh as she finally disappeared down the street.
“That was awkward for you?” I scoffed. “I now have the Black Death.”
“Sorry,” Brendon apologized. “It was the only thing I remembered from world history though.”
“She’s rather, um, skanky,” Spencer looked at the two defeated figures in front of him and nudged us forward.
“Audrey isn’t skanky. She just likes showing off.”
I exchanged glances with the only other sane person walking. “Isn’t that the same thing?” I mouthed, moving out of Brendon’s view.
Spencer shrugged and glanced at his watch. “No need to dwell on the past. If we don’t get to school within the next ten minutes, we won’t have a future.”
“Who needs a future when you have two amazing best friends?” Brendon slung his arms around both our necks and continued walking, a smile setting on his face.
++++
At our high school, we have a regular teache- approved newspaper and then we have the underground, daily gossip paper: the Blood Rush.
Every other passing period one could find new editions, freshly printed, that were stuffed in lockers and scattered around the hallways. Spencer had a theory that the offices aides ran it considering the high amounts of paper used and the fact that they were always in the position to hear anything. But that was too obvious.
Regardless of who printed it though, everyone read it. Teachers became aware of the Blood Rush last year after it was published that a teacher was having an affair with one his geography students, but it still manages to circulate around the school every day. It didn’t matter who you were, everyone at least skimmed through one issue a day.
Some people, like Spencer, read every copy religiously; most though, like myself, picked up mid-day when the news was at its highest peak before tossing it in the nearest recycling bin.
As I was walking down the turbulent current, affectionately called a hallway, and saw a familiar name, I almost died from abruptly stopping as I bent down to pick up the piece of paper. Regaining my breath after dodging back into south bound traffic, Spencer caught my attention going the opposite direction.
“Read the Blood Rush!” He shouted before being pushed back into the hundreds of moving bodies.
A few minutes later, I reached my Honors English class and took my usual seat in the back. Copies of stark white paper filled kids’ hands, as they always did, but today a few of my peers glanced at me as if trying to figure me out.
No sooner had I pulled out the paper out of bag that the bell rang, signaling the start of a new class period. I settled a little in my seat as my teacher began to take roll, thank myself for once that my last name was at the end of the alphabet.
Amidst all of the regular news concerning which softball player hooked up with the varsity football player and the answers to the Spanish mid-term, it took me a while to find out what exactly Spencer was talking about.
Update:
It seems that one Brendon Urie of the sophomore class has asked the scandalous new girl, Audrey Kitching, to join him for a date at the mall this weekend during their first period Biology class. Though it hasn’t been confirmed, sources close to Audrey say that she has agreed.
I didn’t even read the rest. Blood began pounding on the sides of my temple, causing my head to feel like it was going to explode. I raised my hand as I stood up, interrupting roll.
“Miss Woodale, I need to go to the nurse. I don’t feel well.”
Since I wasn’t one to cut class, she quickly wrote me a pass, asking if I needed anyone to help. Shaking my head, I ran up to the front, grabbing the slip and dashing out of the room; avoiding the more prominent stares coming from my classmates.
Running the short distance to the nearest boys’ bathroom, my knees quivered as they made their way to the first stall. Everything meshed together: the sticky blue floor; the porcelain toilet on which I laid my neck on; the burning acid and bile making its way up my throat, projecting the brown remains of my breakfast and lastly, the vibrating of my phone before I blacked out in the middle of the bathroom floor.
++++
January 2; 12:43 PM
Looking back, I knew I had over reacted. For some reason though, the fact that I had to hear about any action or event in my (now ex) friends from someone other than them personally scared me; more so if it was Brendon’s. The fact that I had to hear he just asked this girl out from our school gossip column was beyond my recognition of things that had happened between us in past years. He used to tell me things, major things, before he went out and did them.
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