The Diary of Ryan Ross

Chapter one

August 20, 2004

In the past few years I've noticed that parents do not understand anything. Nothing against them, just what I've noticed. They don't understand what it's like to be seventeen, eighteen. That or they don't remember. This is your reminder. I am writing this to tell you what it's really like to be someone like me.

I hope you understand.

tomorrow, I start my senior year at a new school. not really sure how I feel about it. if I were to stay at the school I was attending last year, I wouldn't have any friends. end of story. moving gives me the opportunity to make friends. but I'm completely antisocial. how can a loser like me make friends?

you can see now why I am so conflicted.

I had to say goodbye to my friends last week. don't get ahead of yourself, they are good friends. not the kind of friends you would expect, though.

I said, "I guess this is the last time, huh guys?" they stood there, staring back at me. they can't talk, one of the qualities a good friend has that they lack. I don't expect them to talk. that'd be silly of me.

they aren't even human.

they're the guitars my dad's forcing me to leave behind. he said I could bring one. only one. he doesn't understand choosing a favorite which guitar to take with you is like choosing which child you won't slaughter. bullshit.

anyways, our new house is nice. ish. he let me choose my room. he even let me have the basement for guitar practice. how generous.

I chose the room with the view of the street. stares directly at the house across the street. I swear there's logic behind it.

you see, there's a boy who lives directly across the street. i noticed him when we pulled into our driveway the first time.

he was sitting on the curb, playing guitar. I play guitar m'self obviously, but I had never heard a guitar make such a beautiful noise. I wanted to hear it again.

so I chose the room closest to his house.

creepy, I know. but what was I supposed to do? go over to his house and ask him to play guitar for me?hi, I'm Ryan Ross. you don't know me but, I watched you play guitar. can I hear you play again?

yeah, I can already feel the goddamn door being slammed in my face. it doesn't feel great, let me tell you. So around ten, I decided it was time to go to bed. so I laid on the mattress, staring at my ceiling. after, like, two minutes I got bored. so I walked to the window.

there's a tree right outside my window. it's great because when the kid across the street plays guitar, I can sit in the tree and listen.

so I sat in the tree, waiting for a couple chords, a sweet serenade that would never come.

what was I expecting? it's ten o'clock at night. no one is going to sit outside and play guitar. not even him.

but then, like the weird ass loser I am, I stared at his house. I saw him. he was sitting on the curb, with his guitar. i felt so off, creepy even, staring at him. I just couldn't stop looking at him. He was beautiful.

and as soon as I heard his voice, I knew I wanted that boy more than anything. his voice was like dusty summer nights and Christmas lights on December 24th. Saccharine, yet acidic. my mom always told me not to do drugs but she never warned me about this.

his voice is a drug unto itself.

it was as if this boy I had never even met knew absolutely everything. I wanted to climb down the tree and introduce myself but I couldn't. I can't be so strange anymore.

I have to leave a lasting impression and walking up to the boy you've basically been stalking for the past few days is not the impression I want to leave. I climbed back into my room, waiting for him to finish the song.

I finally shut the window after he strummed his final chord. I watched him stand up and grab his guitar. I could still see him perfectly, even in this cracked darkness.

climbing back into bed, I couldn't stop thinking about tomorrow. I'd finally get the chance to meet the man of my dreams, as crazy and stupid as that sounds.

so long and goodnight,

-ry