Rust and Frost

Eight

Dave, in an extraneous amount of detail, told Mark and Ronnie everything. Thoroughly stirred and mildly appalled, they all headed home after their debrief. There was not much to be said. Saying it out loud, Dave came to realize, made things seem immovable.

Dave schemed as he plodded down the sidewalk. The tension that'd come over them may have silenced his vocal cords but his mind continued to run at a hundred miles per hour. He kept turning the different gears and screws of this problem over in his mind. There had to be something he was missing. An opening for him to dive in and pull Brandon from the wreckage these past weeks had been. Maybe if he went over it a couple more thousand times, he'd figure it out.

Later, when the sky would be dark and the clouds clear, Dave would call Mark and tell him to come over. Mark would remind Dave that it was Thursday and they had school the next day. He'd agree to be there regardless.

But first, as Mark left the diner, he felt goosebumps at the chill in the air. Against all odds, that nostalgic excitement was coming back again. Winter had become a marker of memories, and a goalpost, too. A season to look forward to. It usually brought about pleasant times. Reminiscing made him smile, but the past reminded him of the present. Mark's chest ached with a pang of helpless ruth. This whole ordeal was pitiful. He kept smiling anyway.

As Ronnie walked home, he dwelled on the fact he was doing so alone. Brandon, evidently, was not physically there. But he was on Ronnie's mind, which really was the way things were going right about then. Having the image of someone but not them, in person, with you, was a starkly bleak difference. Brandon couldn't hold his hand, laugh about everything with him, or whisper all kinds of sweet little nothings in his ear. This was fundamentally, crushingly wrong. Ronnie picked up the pace, hoping walking faster than his thoughts would make them stop.

Once home, he let his backpack fall to the floor with a thud. He dragged himself to the couch. He'd somehow missed the memo that his legs were now made of cement. And his shoulders were bone-tired, which was probably a byproduct of having the weight of the world on them. He laid down with his arm over his eyes. The bright light at the end of this tunnel was looking to be another oncoming train.

His mom watched this entire scene unfold with an air of dismay. It'd be one thing if Ronnie was simply worn out. He'd been overall quiet lately, which rang loud like cracks of thunder. She hadn't even heard him drum in days.

"Ronnie. What's up?"

'What's wrong?' had been the first phrasing that'd come to mind but she didn't want to assume anything was wrong. This could very well be like dissecting a bomb, calling for delicate moves.

"Boy drama," Ronnie groaned. If he wasn't so tired, he'd have laughed at how stupid this was. If only he could step beside this and see the forest of the trees. Because really, this was one tree in an otherwise unassuming forest. It was certainly not as insignificant as many of the other trees, but this would all have to pass eventually.

At least he was talking about it.

Her next thought: 'Right, let him know you care and you notice these things but for goodness's sake don't assume..."

"I'd noticed he hasn't been around."

Ronnie made a 'hmm' noise of acknowledgment.

The silence of the past week or so had been almost unnerving. It'd been a barely-audible hum in the background. The absence would be obvious, then that feeling would start to fade, and right as she'd put her finger on what was missing, it'd hike up again and buzz loudly. She'd gotten used to Ronnie either running off or bringing Brandon home most days over the years. That'd been a pleasant game of tug-o-war between the house being empty and the sounds of young, living people filling the space. Now it was always still.