The Ineffable Ruth Rhodes

epilogue

Until five years later.

The weeks that followed after Ruth's leaving were harder than anything Vincent had ever been through. He was torn, torn beyond description, because he missed her so much and wanted nothing but to hold her and run after her and — he couldn't.

And he thought of his star and how he knew that if she saw him the way he was she would hold him and tell him "don't be sad," because she wasn't dying, and she was going off to be happy but it meant nothing to him. She wasn't even with him and yet the fear of disappointing her somehow willed him not to run after her, or reach out, or say send a text.

All he could do was see her in his dreams and miss her, although the word miss didn't come close to describing the feeling of longing he had.

It was then that he truly realized that you could feel homesickness for a person, and that his home was her. His home was Ruth.

He couldn't seem to grasp the fact that she was gone. Gone.

His room still smelled of her.

Or maybe he'd gone insane.

It was as though everything in his life reminded him of her.

Even years later. He couldn't quite seem to rid himself of her.

At least, that was what his roommate told him.

"Vincent," Anthony, Vincent's dorm mate started slowly. "Vincent... didn't you say you knew someone named Ruth? Rhodes, right?"

Vincent raised a brow, surprised by the sudden mention yet not surprised at all by the pang in his chest when he heard the name. "Yeah...?"

A slow smile spread across his face. Anthony's eyes lingered on the name left on the corner of the New York Times paper in his hand, and the convention with the date and time.

Anthony kept silent for several minutes before speaking up casually. "Hey, you free this weekend?"

Vincent narrowed his eyes. "What for?"

"You like The New York Times, right?" Anthony flipped the newspaper around, waiting for the spectacular reaction as he saw the name in thick printing. It was no surprise his friend liked the paper, what with the way he scanned every newspaper he came across for that one name. "We could go. I've been so bored lately."

Vincent's eyes widened. "Yes." he nodded vigorously, and Anthony knew he'd done right.

What Anthony didn't know was that his hand had been covering the author's name all along.

—-

He took his stand at the back of the room, watching people file in and out. The crowd was surprisingly large for a writer, especially one writing about white privilege and white fragility. He tried to peek over and around people to catch the writer, but they didn't seem to be there yet.

"What was their name again?" Vincent asked Anthony.

Anthony's smile dropped. "I showed you."

"No you didn't," he said.

"What?" Anthony's mouth plunked open. "So she's not why you wanted to come?"

"Don't tell me..." Vincent felt his annoyance flare up, his tone a hard warning. Had Anthony played the 'invite your ex from university to a date without telling you' game again? "Anthony... What are yo—"

"Hello everyone."

His thoughts were drowned out by the one person who made him feel like he'd reached the shore. He didn't need to see her yet, but he heard the voice, the same voice he'd listened to the voice messages of over and over to see if he could keep her words, her love, her, away in his brain for him and only him. It was more matured, slightly deeper. But it was that voice. That ineffable voice. His mind went blank.