Impossible Year

The room was cold. Too cold for early fall, and Brendon shivered as he rubbed his hands together. Hoping to occupy his mind, to give his hands something to do other than shake, Brendon continued to fiddle with the synth. He did that for an hour, but nothing fruitful happened. Just clumsy sounds and too-clunky chords.

Sighing, Brendon leaned back in his chair. Maybe it was time for a lunch break. A late lunch break, considering it was already three-something, but he might be able to find something in the kitchen. Then a thought came to him. He'd already looked through all the voice memos and notes on his phone, but weren't there some old files on his computer?

Moving a bit quicker now, Brendon clicked through the various screens necessary to navigate to the folder titled ‘Unfinished Songs’. And there it was.

He saw it immediately. Most of the files were one or two lines, maybe a sequence of chords that sounded nice. The barest of ideas. But this. This one was almost complete. But it wasn't, and there had been a very good reason for that. Brendon recalled that as he clicked on the file, but it was too late. The lyrics and chords were already spread in front of him, some pieces missing like some demented puzzle.

Because that's what it reminded Brendon of, as he looked at the song he'd written almost seven years before. That had been a tough year, an impossible year, and, at the time of it's creation, Brendon hadn't been ready to release it. He wasn't entirely sure he was ready now.

But it was new material. What it needed now was the barest of editing. Brendon hoped his brain could at least handle that task.

So Brendon set about piecing together the song, but he didn't get very far. He made it into maybe the second verse when he was suddenly thrown back onto a beach in South Africa.

The sky was the cliche type of stormy, dark and opposing. If Brendon had had any sense, if he had listened to his gut, he would have known to pay more attention to Ryan and stay away from the beach. But he was young, and he still didn't know much.

So Brendon had shoved all notions of wrongness out of his head, focusing on the show. And then, afterwards, he focused on the party, on fitting in and drinking a bit too much. But he didn't do anything too stupid. He wasn't an idiot, and he could always see Ryan somewhere in his field of vision. Until, suddenly, he couldn't any more.

He told himself he wouldn't panic; still, the waves of anxiety and concern refused to calm. He hadn't been paying attention to the time, but it couldn't have been that long since he'd last seen Ryan. He could find him. Everything would be fine.

After asking Spencer and Jon and a number of other people whose names he should probably know by now, Brendon decided to venture outside. He hadn't had a drink in a while, too busy thinking about Ryan, and he was able to think a bit clearer. The beach was visible from the house, the waves slamming against the smooth sand, and Brendon had the thought that Ryan might’ve headed out there to get away from the party.

He was right, unfortunately. Because he found Ryan. But when he saw him, his boyfriend wasn't alone. Brendon felt a little sick as he saw Ryan leaning against a railing, some blond guy wrapped around him.

Brendon shook off the memories, surprising himself when he noticed moisture cling to his eyes. Rubbing at them a bit self-consciously, which was stupid because he was, of course, alone, Brendon chuckled to himself and closed the window. Definitely time for a lunch break.

Still, the memory persisted throughout the day. He hadn't properly thought about Ryan in months, but now it seemed the man was planted firmly in his mind.

Later that night, he found himself messing with phone, twiddling his thumbs almost, contemplating. Should he? Sarah was out with friends, she probably wouldn't be home for another hour. What harm could come of it?