Lonely and Tired

Life at Eleven

I wiped the corner of my eyes with my t-shirt. Mascara smeared along the sleeve and I felt a perverse pleasure in knowing that I looked as shit as I felt. Judging by the dampness of the ground under my knees I was going to have grass stains to join the black marks on my shirt. Like some badly executed form of camouflage make-up.

Not that I was hiding from anyone, no one was looking for me although it was good to know that if I didn't make it back to my cousin Cathy's by dinner time she might call the cops; even if it was just because I had her car.

I leaned forward and tipped a dribble of water onto the plaque set into the grass and used the mascara free sleeve of my t-shirt to clear away the smears of dirt and mud. Jet lag hung heavy on my shoulders but I knew the exhaustion I felt was about more than a change of time zones.

"Bloody hell Ryan," I grumbled through my tears, "Look what you've made me do." I lifted my hands in a gesture of hopelessness as I plucked at the grass and dirt accumulating on my clothes.

Cathy had offered to come with me today but I felt like I needed to visit for the first time on my own. I hadn't been here for the funeral and although it couldn't have been helped it still made me feel guilty. Almost two years later. It would have been so easy at times to hop on a flight and come here and at others it was an insurmountable obstacle; one that I couldn't possibly have faced down. Even six months ago when I had a two night stopover in Los Angeles I could have hired a car and driven the hour or so down the coast but the very thought of doing that on top of everything else I'd been dealing with had almost induced a panic attack so instead I'd gone up to Santa Monica and stared vacantly at the pier. At least I'd gotten some good photos.

I looked at the plaque again to confirm the words that I already knew were written there along with the date he was born and the date that he left us forever.

Ryan McInerney. Beloved son. Beloved Brother. Beloved Lover of Many.

The music in his heart will never fade away so always set the volume on eleven.

If you didn't know Ryan those words would sound stupid, irreverent even but if you did, God, they were so appropriate and told you everything you needed to know about my brother. At times he was stupid. At times he was irreverent. At times my mother had despaired that he'd never settle down. And he hadn't, or more to the point, he hadn't had a chance to.

I leaned down and kissed the plaque where his name was engraved.

"I'll be back Ry, sorry it's taken me so long to get here the first time."

I stood up and dusted myself off. Those grass stains were going to be murder to get out. I really hoped that Cathy had some kind of in wash soaker. Strands of dark hair fell in my face so I pulled my hair band free and heaped the lot of it up on top of my head before twisting the band around it again. I knew cute twenty-somethings had this thing they called a messy bun where they looked adorable but the knot on my head was usually just a mess. At thirty-one my chances of learning to do cute hairstyles were pretty much gone; if I'd not learned by now I was never going to learn. As I pulled my hand free of the hair band I felt a momentary flash of panic and glanced at my naked left ring finger. My heart began to pound and I looked frantically around at the smooth turf surrounding me before I remembered that it had been over a year since I'd worn a wedding ring.

"Get a grip Steph," I scolded myself. Eli's and my divorce had been final a month ago and we'd not lived together for almost a year and a half. Our working relationship had limped on for another six months after our separation. So much for meeting the man of your dreams as a back packer and living happily ever after.

I trudged across the lawn toward where I'd parked, shivering slightly in the November air, glad to know I had a hoody in the car. Apparently the temperature was abnormally low for this time of year in this part of California, I didn't care. It suited my mood.

I jumped into the car and swore. The steering wheel was on the other side. Fuck it. Instead of doing what any reasonable adult would do which was open the door, get out and walk around to the correct side of the car for driving in this country, I took the petulant, childish way out. This was basically me climbing over the centre console, jamming the key in the ignition, slamming my foot on the accelerator and yelping and jumping on the brake at the crunching noise of the collision with the car behind me as I realised that I hadn't taken Cathy's car out of reverse.

"Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!!!" I swore slamming my hands down on the steering wheel. I slumped forward, head on the steering wheel as the jet lag, emotion of my first visit to Ryan's grave and horrified shock of what I'd just done to my cousin's Mercedes all hit me at once. At that point I just wanted to hit rewind on my life. I was almost certain that this was not the kind of thing my annual travel insurance policy covered.

A tapping at the window had me smearing more mascara on the sleeve of my t-shirt. Fuck. There had been someone in the car I'd just slammed into like pensioner who refuses to give up their driver's license. Without lifting my head I turned to face the most likely irate occupant of the other car. Dear God he was hot. Dark sunglasses, messy dark hair, cheekbones and a jawline that were the very definition of bone structure and were those tattoos peeking out above the collar of his black t-shirt, below the cuffs of his leather jacket and across the knuckles that tapped again on the car window? Fuck, I'd thought that Eli with his Instagram friendly version of a 'fitspiration' body was hot. Eli was a boy pretending to be a man. This was a man, clearly one who was pretending to still be a boy.

He stepped back as I reluctantly opened the door and climbed out of the car. 'Idiot' my brain screamed, 'this is America. He might have a gun.' Sure, because all my cousins carried guns and randomly shot at people, actually my cousins in Texas did have guns, not that any of them had ever shot any one. Although I know that Cathy's dad my Uncle Bob had threatened Cathy's husband Jeff when they first started dating. Well even if Mr Hotness did have a gun with which he planned to punish me for the damage I'd inflicted on what looked like a Mercedes even nicer than Cathy's there was no better place for him to do it. At least Ryan was here.

"What the hell just happened?" He wasn't shouting exactly but that wasn't really the voice of concern.

"I'm sorry, is it really fucked up?" I asked climbing out of the car on wobbly legs and walking toward the rear bumper.

"It's not too bad, somehow you managed to get your foot on the brake before you made a real mess of her," he said as he ran a tender hand over the bonnet. Really? Her? He was one of those guys? The ones that referred to their cars as woman? Probably treated them better than the women in their life as well.

I gave myself a mental shake to stop my thoughts rambling down an irrelevant path. Just because Eli had gone Instagram and hashtag crazy when he'd bought himself a BMW it was no reason to tar this guy with the same brush. Still he had called his car her...