Mr. B. Urie

9

"I'm not writing that damn paper!" I complain on the drive from my house to Brendon's. With his eyes focused on the road, the only look he can give me is a quick one of utter confusion.

"Arie, it's not that bad. I just told the whole fucking class that my parents are Mormons and that I'm an atheist. I'm not supposed to talk about my views on religion or politics, as a teacher! It's not like I'm asking you to read your memoir to the whole class, I'm just interested in what happened with your mother."

"If you want to know, why didn't you just ask me instead of forcing me to write the most difficult essay of my life? I mean, Jesus, Brendon! I can't tell if you really like me, or really hate me." I can't help it, I'm yelling now. That mixed with the confined spaces of the car makes my head spin. I close my eyes and lean against the window.

"I'm sorry." He whispers softly, reaching a hand out to stroke my cheek. He can't look at me while he's driving, but I know how much he wishes he could. "I'm an English teacher, I don't know how to deal with things unless it involves making lesson plans or marking assignments. I should have asked you before coming up with the project."

"You're right, you're an English teacher, you have every right to teach whatever you want without consulting me. But let's make a deal: I'll tell you everything if you do the same." I sigh, taking his hand in mine.

His eyebrows raise, and it almost seems like he's going to back down, but then he lets out a light chuckle. "Well, there's not really much to say. I love my parents and they love me, we just don't agree on certain things. Which is why they kicked me out just after high school."

"They what?!" I ask, incredulous. I can't believe anyone's parents would kick them out of the house, even for a large disagreement such as religion. Brendon bites his lip, holding back a laugh.

"They kicked me out when I was, like, eighteen. For a while, I lived with my best friend, Ryan, but then he and my other friend Jon went on another path. You remember the sweater I lent you yesterday?"

"The big black one that had some acronym on it?" I ask as we pull into Brendon's driveway. He nods and puts the car in park.

"Yeah! That was merch for what was going to be one of the biggest pop-punk bands in Nevada, maybe even all of America: Panic! At the Disco. At first I played lead guitar and did some back up singing; Ryan was lead singer, Jon played bass and my man Spencer- wish you could've met him, he was really rad-played drums. Then, when everyone heard my voice and listened to what I had written, they made me lead singer and moved Ryan to back up.
"Ryan and I were tight, but Jon and him were even closer," Brendon sighs, leading me into his house. We sit on his couch as he continues. "They ultimately had a different sound than what Spencer and I were going for, so they moved on. I had to leave Ryan's house, you know, out of sheer awkwardness, so I went to live with Spence for a bit. Then we found replacements: my buddies Dallon, who is currently still one of my best friends, and Kenny. It was great while it lasted."

The way Brendon talks about the band makes his eyes light up and I smile at the golden days he seemed to have had. I wish I was around for them. "So what happened?"

"Spencer, uh," he clears his throat, sitting up a little straighter. "Spencer left because he needed to fix his drug problem. After that, we kinda just fell to shit. Dallon, Kenny and I stayed friends and Spencer . . . Well, he's somewhere. Alive, I hope." I can see the pain in Brendon's eyes and I move closer to him so that my knees are against his thigh (I'm sitting sideways so that I can listen better). "I never even thought I'd go to college, it's a miracle I got in. Before music, I was going to go into cosmetology. I have no idea how I got here; to being a teacher. An English teacher, for that matter." He shakes his head in disbelief, and I squeeze his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.

"If it's any consolation," I say solemnly, "my story is just as heartbreaking. If not, more." His eyes crinkle at the corners in a sad smile. He leans in and kisses me softly, so softly that our lips almost don't touch. There's a ghost-like ache left behind in the wake of it that makes me want to cry. "I was barely thirteen when my mom died. Can you imagine? Losing a parent, the one who was always there? It would have been nice to have some warning, like with cancer patients, but instead, I had to hear out of nowhere that she got in a terrible accident. Sudden death is sooo much worse, B."

Flashback

I'm standing outside my middle school waiting for my mom, like any other day of the week. Except, today she's late. She's never late, and if she is, she tells me in the morning.

I sit on the curb in a huff and looked at the watch on my wrist: 4:00. Twenty minutes late, without warning. Where the hell is she? I think about going back inside and calling her cellphone; maybe she just forgot? But how could she? This is a daily routine! Standing back up, I storm into the school, past the lockers in the hallway and into the main office.

"Can I borrow the phone?" I ask, trying my best to be polite. It can be a bit of a struggle for me, not because I'm rude, per se, but because I tend to be sarcastic and urgent with things.

"Of course, dear. Just dial 99 and then your number." The secretary smiles at me. Neither of us can possibly know what is about to happen, how can we? I pick up the receiver and dial my mom's cell number. It rings twenty times before going to voicemail. Weird . . . Then I try my dad's and he picks up right away.

"Hey—"

"Oh thank God, you're okay!" He lets out a sigh of relief. I narrow my eyes in confusion, why wouldn't I be okay?

"Evidently . . . But I'm still stuck at school. Have you heard from mom?" I ask, tapping my fingers on the counter absently.

"Arie, she's . . ." I can imagine the tears in my dad's eyes, and I've never even seen him cry. That is how incredibly devastated he sounds. "There was an accident, about twenty minutes ago, and there were two casualties and I thought I'd lost both of you, and . . . How am I supposed to live without her?"

"Dad?" I take a deep, shaky breath. It can't be true, he has to be playing some sort of sick joke or something. "No, dad, she's not . . . Mom's not . . ."

"Arie, there wasn't anything they could do. She died at the scene, on impact."