The Diary of Ryan Ross

chapter nine

November 20, 2004

I wake up with a burning desire to do something I probably shouldn't do. Or shouldn't want to do, in the very least.

I know it sounds stupid, but I am being serious.

I wake up at two in the morning. I never wake up this early and, honestly, I was a little startled myself when I found myself lying awake this early. The air felt dense and my mouth was dry, as if I hadn't had six glasses of water yesterday to kill my hangover. I was sweaty, even though it was like sixty degrees outside. There was only one thing on my mind.

My mom.

Yeah, the shitty one I wrote about. The one who hated me. The one who abused me. You get the picture.

Anyways I sat up and tried to think of all the reasons that i would be thinking of such a shitty person. It's not like when I wake up at unholy hours because of a nightmare, or because Brendon texted me for some fucking reason.

I'm not dying. Why am I thinking about her?

Then I remember.

It's November twentieth. The day she died.

I smack my forehead. Of course. How the hell could I have forgotten? It's been six years today. Six years since I lost my mother. Six years since I had forgotten that loving families exist.

I force my eyes open all the way, looking at the clock on my nightstand. 2:28. Grand.

I rip off the covers and sit up straight, feet flat against the floor. I can feel my insides writhing, I can't think. I can't do anything, all I can even think about is what I need to do. What I need to finish without my dad's acknowledgment.

I stand up slowly, hesitantly, and start walking to my door, hoping and praying that the floor doesn't creak. It doesnt, thank Jesus, but I still walk through the house quietly.

The stairs are frigid against my bare feet and they make sticky, little noises when I walk down them. My muscles are tense, I'm not sure if it's because I'm trying to be quiet, and ultimately failing, or if its just the task at hand that has me sweating nervously.

I finally reach the bottom of the stairs, and I run noiselessly across the carpet to the kitchen. I grope the walls to find my way to the phone. It's dark and I can hardly see my hand in front of my face. But, finally, I find the phone.

I dial Spencer's number. I know he's probably awake right now, crying or feeling sorry for himself. Anyways, I dial the number and nervously drum my fingers against the countertops.

He picks up, and I hear his hitched and shaky breathing on the other line.

"Ryan, what the fuck do you want?" He mutters, sniffling. Yeah, like I said. He's been crying.

"I need you to drive me somewhere,"

"Um it's nearly three am? Are you wanting to rob a gas station or something?" Spencer asks. He sounds pissed and to be honest, I couldn't care less at the moment. I need to get this done.

"Listen, it's important,"

"What could possibly be so important that you need me to-"

"I need you to drive me to the cemetary." I whisper. Spencer goes silent. All I can hear is his I think he understands.

"I'll be there in ten," He says, before hitting end. Thank god for Spencer James Smith.

I sneak back upstairs to put on some jeans. I don't think it's proper to visit in my pajamas.

On my way there, i peak into my fathers room. He's snoring loudly and I'm positive that he can't hear me. I notice that he holds a pillow close to his chest. The pillow that lays on my mother's empty side of the bed. He knows that today is the day.

The day that he lost his best friend.

It breaks my heart to think about that.

I close his door, making my way towards mine. I'm in a hurry at this point, Spencer could be here any second. I grab my dirty jeans from yesterday off the floor, pulling them over my skinny legs.

I feel ridiculous and indecent wearing jeans with a Camp shirt I made like seven years ago. Shocking that it still fits.

But by the time I find a half decent shirt, I see Spencer's car pull into my driveway. It's a little too late for a change, I suppose. I tiptoe over to my window and unlock the latches, pulling it open and climbing into the tree outside of it.

It's a short climb down but it hurts my hands, and opens some callouses on my fingertips. But, I make it to the bottom at last, and head over to Spencer's car.

"Sorry I'm late," He says when I get in. He reaches behind his seat. "I had to find you something," Spencer hands me a few flowers tied up by a string that would belong in a sweatshirt or something.

"Spence, I..."

"Let's hope she likes roses."

-

The drive to the cemetary takes about thirty minutes, and my knees shake the entire way there. By the time we arrive, it's four am and the sky is beginning to get lighter.

"Right here," I say when Spencer turns down the road. He pulls over, and i grab my flowers and jump out, heading into the row of headstones.

It's been six years but I remember exactly what it looks like. I remember the exact location. I just remember it. And it pains me.

Finally, I find it.

Danielle Ross, 1962-1992
Loving wife, mother and friend.

I nearly break down when I see it. Keep yourself together, George. I kneel down in front of the headstone, the wet grass soaking my knees. I don't even care.

"Um, hey mom. It's been a while, i guess," I said, brushing my hair out of my eyes. "So let's see. Dad and I moved. Again. He couldn't take living in that house anymore. He always thought about you. And he still does. Um, I made some new friends. And I'm dating a really nice guy, you would like him a lot." I feel a tear run down my cheek.

"I wish you were still here. It gets really lonely around the house anymore, y'know? Dad is still upset. I think he's depressed. But he still keeps the picture of you and I on the swings up in the living room. He looks at it everyday. I think it makes him feel at home," i whimper. The tears are really coming down now. "I know you hated me. Or maybe you didn't. Maybe I was just a shitty son. But I really wish you were here with me. I could be a better kid and you could even be a better mom and we could be a happy family again. We could be," I sigh. "Happy."

I wipe the tears off of my cheeks with the back of my hand. I can feel to eyes on me and I know it's Spencer and I don't even care that he's here.

"I need to get going. I promise I'll visit again soon," I mutter, even though it's probably a lie. I set the flowers down. "I love you so much, mom."

I stand up, looking at Spencer. He pulls two cigarettes out of his pocket. I grab one, letting him light it.

"You did good, Ross," He said, patting my shoulder.

"I sure hope so."

We walk back to the car together, his arm still on my shoulder. The grass makes gross noises beneath our feet.

He opens my car door for me. Before I get in, i look up at the sky. The early morning sun shimmers through the trees, giving the atmosphere a happier look. It's beautiful.

It's a new day.

I smile to myself, wiping the tears away for the last time. I spent a long time being sad before my day even began. And now it's here. I can be happy if I want to and I can forget that today is a sad day.

I choose to be happy. Just for today.

so long and goodnight,

-ry.