The Beach (Mimmy)

Chapter One: Crashing the Pity Party

“Beloved son, brother, best friend. James Owen Sullivan, 1981-2009. Jimmy jumped into life and never touched bottom.”

-          Jimmy’s actual gravestone found at The Good Shepherd Cemetery in Huntington Beach, CA

It was a cold, blustery day in Huntington Beach. Temperatures dropped to a frigid 52˚ Fahrenheit as the small group gathered around the gravestone. Kelly placed the cross, adorned with the word “foREVer” by the grave, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as the wind whipped and lashed about. Katie let out a sob, turning and pressing her face into her father’s side.

Two years.

Matt stood, silent. A few people spoke to Jimmy, told him they missed him and they couldn’t wait to see him, but Matt couldn’t find his voice. He wanted to speak, to recall all the fond memories of cuddling in bed on rainy days and splashing in the puddles afterwards. He wanted to remind Jimmy and himself of the way the drummer would sing loudly in the shower to make sure Matt heard him. He wanted to talk about the time Jimmy tried to teach Matt how to walk on his hands, which ended in the two laughing in a heap on their living room floor.

There was so much he wanted to say.

He didn’t speak on the drive back home. He let the sounds of the radio fill the silent void of his car, switching the station when Nightmare began to play. He didn’t want to listen to himself anymore. He was tired of it.

He didn’t speak when he opened the door to his home, didn’t greet Bella who was whining and jumping and just begging for attention. He hung his keys up next to Jimmy’s, put his coat up on the rack next to Jimmy’s and padded through the cold house to take a shower.

It was there, under the scalding spray and the weight of Jimmy’s passing, that Matt began to cry. The tears mixed with the water that burned his skin, washing down the drain, along with his pain. He sobbed, harder than he had in a long time, chest heaving and back curling. He sunk to the tile floor and tugged on his hair, bawling and wailing and weeping bitterly.

When he had cried all his tears, he sat in the shower, numb, weak and tired. He thought about the bottles in the medicine cabinet. How many of those painkillers from the dentist would it take for him to be with Jimmy? What would happen if he took some of that medicine with alcohol? Matt had gotten rid of all their recreational drugs in a fit of rage against them shortly after Jimmy left, but how hard would it be to get them back?

“Matt, get out of the goddamn shower.” A voice called out firmly, and for a split second, Matt thought it was Jimmy. But the voice continued, Zacky’s voice. “You’ve been in there for a fucking hour since I’ve gotten here, and I’m starting to get worried.”

Matt realized that the water pounding onto his head was cold. Oh well. He sighed, standing and shutting it off. He toweled off a little bit before wrapping it around himself and exiting the bathroom.

He heard the sounds of some sitcom on the TV in the living room as he changed. He went to Jimmy’s drawer and tugged on his “FTW” shirt. It may not have fit him right, but Matt didn’t give a fuck.

Zacky was sitting in front of the TV in the living room, flicking through the channels, a plate of some sort of creamy pasta in his lap. “I brought over alfredo. It’s in the kitchen.”

Matt sat next to the guitarist. “’m not hungry.” He mumbled, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

“Did you eat breakfast?” Zacky asked through a mouthful of food, eyes not leaving the television.

“Yes.” Matt lied. He knew Zacky could tell he was lying by the way his shoulders slumped a little in disappointment, but he didn’t object.

They sat in silence for a moment, both pretending to watch Seinfeld, before Zacky stood with his empty plate. “We’re all gonna go to the bar tonight. Arin’s coming along too. Do you wanna go with us? I’ll pick you up…”

Matt just shook his head, unfocused eyes on the characters on the screen.

“Dammit, Matthew!” the TV screen went black as Zacky turned it off, and Matt looked up at the younger man, bewildered.

“You’re not the only one that lost Jimmy, you know. We all did, and it’s a daily struggle for all of us. I know you guys were married, but that doesn’t give you the right to mope around all the fucking time. It’s been two years, and you still have horrible bad days like this. Get over yourself! Come out with us, have a good time! You won’t get better if you just stay here day in and day out. Fuck, you were even this distant on the tour!”

Matt didn’t reply. His lip began to tremble and he took a deep, shaky breath.

“Oh, don’t pull another one of those on me, Matt. I’m tired of pitying you! Whenever we give you a little grief all you have to do is pout and shed a few tears and we’re stumbling to kiss your ass. Well, I’m done with that. You can’t live in the past! Jimmy’s gone, and yes, we miss him, but all you do is dwell on it! And everyone’s like ‘Oh poor Mattie, he’s missing his hubby,’ but we all lost a best friend too! No, you’re not getting some shitty pity party from me! God, I just thought I’d try and be nice to you today! Well I’m done sucking up to you!” Zacky stood and stormed to the door, grabbing his coat as he went. “And eat those goddamn noodles!” he yelled.

The slamming of the front door shook the house and Matt’s heart. He waited in silence, numbness spreading through him as the collected tears slid down his cheek. After a while, Bella trotted into the room and leapt onto the couch, licking at his face and pawing him excitedly. Matt got up to let her out, standing outside with her as she did her business. She brought her tennis ball to him and nudged his hand with her wet nose, but Matt shook his head, rubbing her behind the ears a little, before leading her back inside.

Matt rubbed his face with his hand as he closed the door. What was he doing two years ago today? Ah, he was at Amy’s house. He had been helping his sister move. He remembered calling Jimmy, telling him he’d be home late that night.

“Yeah, babe, that’s fine. I’m just gonna spend some time at Zacky’s.” had been the reply. Matt had told him not to spend the night, because he wanted someone to come home to.

If only he hadn’t said that. Would Jimmy still be here today?

He remembered the last words he had spoken to the older man. “Alright. Bye, Jimmy.”

Bye, Jimmy.

Always, Matt had said, “Love you.” The only time he failed was the last time he’d ever speak to his husband.

With a sad sigh and the most willpower Matt could muster, he went into the kitchen and fixed himself a plate of pasta.