[today is the day that thing happened a couple chapters ago yknow that thing]
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People are not so easily forgotten, I decided. People had told me before, that it was the most difficult thing in the world to forget about someone. I never really believed them until I had to do it myself.
I'd barely known him for 218 days, and damn it he'd managed to flip my life upside down.
The bus taking me home for spring break was nearly empty, which also blew my mind somehow, the only people being Joe and Andy from Patrick's room, and a couple others. They remained some of the only people I'd recognized and a few of the only ones that had really meant their apologies.
Figures, I thought and sat down in the same unoccupied spot I had the first time on this bus, I arrive without him and I leave without him.
Although I would be returning to Seacoast after the couple weeks, but not everyone would be after spring break. I'd kinda hoped I would be able to introduce Brendon to my mom and dad, tell them 'this is the one' but that dream had been shattered like the windshield to his car and crushed like his chest.
Patrick was packing up to go home, so was Pete. Ryan had somehow achieved an early acceptance letter to the university of California so he could pursue his dreams of becoming a doctor earlier than he'd expected. I guess they'd liked his grades and all the advanced classes he'd taken, and the constant praise he received from everyone must have had some assistance. It was very impressive; we were all really happy for him.
Of course, everyone had gifted things to sift through over spring break, as a goodbye in case of the rare chance we never saw each other again. I hoped that would never happen, but I had the feeling in my chest that we might go our separate ways one day. It wouldn't be soon, thankfully.
We had all made an agreement to still stay in contact though; we crossed our hearts and hoped to die on it.
The bus jolted to life and sputtered off campus, the exhaust clouding the back window so I wasn't able to watch as 3/4ths of the school year faded in the distance. And by the time I glanced back not even a minute later, it was pitch black outside, from the sudden rain, exhaust smoke, and the time of day. Because of course the bus to take us home had to break down and stall everyone for a couple hours, and by then it had started raining.
I grabbed the package Patrick had given me first, wrapped in nice paper from a decorating store with a tidy card with 'Dal Pal' written across it attached to the top. It was much more formal than I'd expected from the guy that I had traded strange looks with while in nothing but some boxer shorts and the fluffy reindeer socks Ryan had given us.
Underneath the paper was a nice black and white picture with a frame that metaphorically had Patrick written all over it. It wasn't a Polaroid like I'd expected it to be, but a simple photograph of all 5 of us at the start of the year, a picture I'd forgotten was taken. Our smiles were frozen behind the glass, arms draped over each other's shoulders and we all looked... happy. The card was written neater than I'd expected it to be:
Dear Dallon,
I'm very glad I was given the privilege to have met you, let alone be associated with you up until we part our ways, which I hope will not be as soon as it appears. I will be returning to Seacoast after this break, as will Pete, and I do wish to see you there. It's alright if you don't come back though. Pete and I both understand.
I thought I was going to write more in here about how much of a great person you are, but I'm pretty sure you're already aware of that. Well, I'll just get to some details I meant to include.
I really think he loved you. I really did. You know what, I still do believe so. Present tense seems more appropriate in this situation. And I hope you never forget that that night wasn't your fault; I know you've been beating yourself up over it recently. You really shouldn't be.
Please take care of yourself.
Much love, Patrick.
I smiled to myself and ran the pads of my fingers along the dark finished frame. I wonder if it would fit on the cluttered ledge above the fireplace at home. If it didn't, I would definitely make room, no matter what my mom would say about it not matching the theme of the other pictures. She'd probably understand once I told her the significance behind it. I don't even think my parents know about what happened. That's going to be a touchy situation to explain; they'd expected me to never be associated with that stuff, yet there I was.
So I set the frame and card down on the empty seat next to me and picked up the one Pete had given me.
The wrapping paper was a soda stained Trader Joe's bag, taped shut with the cartoony cat duct tape I had given him in exchange for my stress egg holiday present. I'd expected nothing more and nothing less from the roommate that had gotten so drunk once, he stood on a lawn chair and broke it clean in half. The card attached and folded into a slot was simply a creased sheet of notebook paper with loosely written sharpie letters bleeding through the page.
Dear Beanstalk,
Patrick says I should write "I am very glad to have been given the opportunity to have you as my roommate," and so on and so forth, but no. That's too formal. And I am far from any definition of formal. But I am glad you were my roommate because I don't think anyone else besides you would've sat with me and watched golf tournaments reruns without going insane yourself. Truth is, I'm not even sure why I found them so funny. I think it was an inside joke I'd made with myself like 4 years ago. It must've been pretty damn funny, because I am pretty damn funny if I do say so myself. See the correlation? I'm hilarious.
Also, I'm sorry I yelled at you and called you selfish that one time when you started to blame yourself for 'assisting Brendon in leaving campus that night', as Patrick so eloquently words it. I was really tired and also mad and I shouldn't have acted like that. Because we were all mad.
I think I'll miss you though. It'll only be like 2 weeks because I could've sworn I heard you tell us you'd be back after break. I hope so, because if you don't come back then they'll assign me a new roommate and nobody's gonna put up with the shitty little broken lawn chairs for as long as you have. I'm getting new ones that'll hopefully last until the end of the year. Be there or be square, nerd.
Patrick also says I should apologize for calling you a nerd, but I'm not gonna.
Looooooooooooove, Pete
Thankfully, nobody else was close enough to catch a glimpse of whatever I'd just read.
Also stuffed the bag was a grey shirt that was probably either too big or a little bit too short, but I didn't mind. Most shirts fit that criteria anyways. The print across the chest was in white comic sans font, reading in big bold letters "more stressed than a scrambled egg". The quote never made sense, but then again that's what made him so funny. I couldn't wait to see him again after spring break.
My mom would probably call the shirt atrocious and bleach it with the next load of laundry she insists to do. I think I'll just hang the shirt in the deep depth of my closet where it'll never see the light of day ever again.
And then came Ryan's. It was also neatly wrapped, but with a paper bag from the grocery store instead of decorative paper like Patrick's. It was so nicely folded it didn't require tape to stop it from falling open to reveal the single thing inside; a handwritten card, exactly 2 sheets long, filled to the very final line in large loopy cursive lettering.
Dal,
The only reason I'm putting all of this in this specific letter you're receiving is because I know I'm leaving and I might never see you again (which is a worst case scenario. It's a big world out there). That sounds terrible, but you're going to actually hate me after reading this.
And on the off chance that I do see you again, I want you to know that I truly am sorry, and that I would prefer to not discuss this in person. It would break my heart more than it already has to have this brought up again.
I'm also putting this in Pete and Patrick's letter too. Because you all deserve to have this information I was saddened to find out let alone muster up the courage and say any of this aloud. And I have to write this 3 times, which serves me right for not saying it.
Again, I dread even writing these words, but I believe I know why he left that night. Thanks to my deductive reasoning, perfected by first aid skills to analyze the severity of a situation, I've come up with nearly the full story behind the single question; "why?"
He wasn't angry at us, or anything like that. If you recall that night when we released all the cats on campus and relaxed back at the jacuzzi, he told us on March 21st, Sarah took her own life. And if you also recall the date 2 weeks ago, it was 2 hours away from the day after the 21st. In other words, he'd almost forgotten to visit Sarah that day. And I assume it is a tradition, like it is with most others, to visit your deceased loved ones on the anniversary of their death. And that's why he left.
Now, I don't know if you've ever been so in love with someone only to lose them to themselves. Maybe you have, I don't know. But lemme tell you, from experience, you'd do anything to be with them again. And that's what he did. In that one moment everything came down to, he wasn't thinking. He acted impulsively. He wanted her back.
I can only imagine what he must've been thinking as he drove over the barrier. I don't think anyone will ever know for sure. All I can think of is that he missed her so much, he couldn't stand to be away from her any longer, no matter how many people he had with him. So it wasn't our faults. It wasn't mine, nor Pete or Patrick's, not even yours. He made the decision on his own free will. We always said his impulsive mind would come back to get him someday, and we were right.
The pink flowers I'd been told about were also reoccurring in their book as Sarah's favorite flower. I have made the assumption already that he was going to see her and give them to her that day, but forgot and remembered at the last second after catching sight of the flowers.
But I'm not sure why he chose to drive off that specific ledge, seeing as there were many a much shorter distance away; it must've had some significance. Maybe he just started thinking later on near that cliff. Maybe you know. If so, please tell us. I'm sure we'd all be appreciative to find out why.
I'm sorry I never told you guys. I'm sure it would've hurt more as soon as I figured it out and told you all right away.
All I have left to say is to let you know that we all want you to continue doing something, Dallon. We're all heartbroken but it's become apparent that moment in the gym on the day after had hit you the worst, somehow. Maybe it was the kiss. Or what he said to you after. It could've been the 'To be continued" that wouldn't be continued.
If there's one thing I do know, it's that he would've wanted you to keep going.
Best of luck, Ryan.
P.S.
I spoke with him a couple days before, too. You were brought up in the conversation somehow. Man, I wish I could even begin to describe to you the way his eyes lit up like I'd never seen them do before. Like when somebody says "chili" around Pete. It was like how yours brightened whenever he was around. Don't let anything that happened bring you down.
And I read over the paper a couple times in disbelief, because it all made perfect sense somehow. We'd all forgotten about the significance of Sarah. They'd literally created a book together, which I got to keep (decided by Rock Paper Scissors National Seacoast Championship of Room 321), and were practically inseparable, judging by the lengthy stories they'd written down about their adventures together.
The one we'd never known had been the end of all things as we knew it.
But I'd never told anyone else about how I took him to the forest so many times, where he'd sit and scream his feelings into the air like they were caged birds. I couldn't tell them about that, not ever. It held too much meaning to me to share.
So it remained unsolved.
The P.S. caught me too. Not in a bad way; it kinda made everything hurt a little less, in a terribly heartbreaking way.
I glanced up for the first time in a couple minutes and found we were right around the corner from where I'd taken Brendon to yell off the cliff face, to stargaze, and that final night when he'd driven off the edge.
I held my breath as we passed by a couple workers, repairing the split barrier, and just as we rounded the corner, the tree he'd crashed into toppled over. It felt strange passing through the exact spot where he'd died barely 2 weeks before.
And out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a green sign being pushed into the ground with fake torches surrounding it. Time stood still just long enough for me to read it, like the universe had meant for it to be seen.
Dedicated to Brendon Urie
Much love to his friends (in no specific order); Dallon, Pete, Ryan, and Patrick
I wondered where they'd got that last line as time returned to normal pace, then realized it didn't matter. Then I wanted to know who'd convinced them to put up that sign. I don't think that mattered very much either.
And the bus kept sputtering along.
The sign fully disappeared from sight, and we drove along the edge of the cliff I'd never been through before. The first time, the driver had taken a different route. And looking over the canyon, I could finally appreciate the seemingly infinite spread of trees, reaching towards the stars beginning to shine in the dusky sky. It was endless, a terrain yet to be explored. It struck me as something he would've loved to do.
I'll take him to the ends of it someday. I promise.
The streetlights arching over the road illuminated everything in orange. Like a dull orange that's so close to looking like the sky during a sunset, but is so far from that and is closer to resembling a gross moldy fruit instead. Pete and Brendon shared an old expired orange once. They'd argued over whether the fuzz was the best or worst part, and if the green slices and squishy rind had become the same thing. They got sick afterwards, but they both said it was definitely worth it.
I remembered once Brendon said the lights brought him back home that one time when he'd left for 3 days without any explanation or contact during those 72 hours. I'm not sure I believed him when he told me that, but the lights seemed a bit off - in the good way though, of course. They were strange in a good way. Like they'd been tinted a little brighter for the night. Especially that one.
Maybe there was a significance behind them. They seemed to follow him wherever he'd decided to run off to, coincidentally also wherever he would take me with him. But it remained unsolved.
I glanced up above the streetlights and I could've sworn one of the stars in the sky was glittering brighter than all the other ones, gleaming as one of the points in Lyra.
And at the thought of the story behind the constellation, I thought, maybe I'm Orpheus, and he was Eurydice. Maybe I was destined to look back and lose him for good. Or maybe it was the other way around, and he went to where he was always meant to go while I stayed behind.
But there he was, set in the stars, burning brighter than a wildfire, never to be forgotten as long as he lived. Just like he said he was.
The stars disappeared as we passed through an unanticipated tunnel that seemed to go on for miles. I felt my eyes grow heavy, starting to drag me to the depths of sleep I hadn't been welcomed back to for so long.
The flashing lights faded to darkness, and I slept. He wasn't there this time, however. I was glad I wouldn't have to go through the torture of seeing him again in the way we had demolished him to be. I'm not sure I could've taken it any longer; surely I would've gone insane by now. But I didn't. I think it was because technically he was still there.
I really missed him though. My dreams were the only place I got to see him anymore. But now he was really gone, I guess. He deserved to move on. After everything he'd ever been through - heartbreaks, endless destructive arguments with himself, loss, etc. - Brendon deserved more than anything to move on to somewhere and something better.
Memories flashed in my mind like I'd pressed the repeat button for a dream. It played backwards, reliving all the awful recent events first before screeching to the last night when his lips met mind for the first time, saying "I love you" in unsaid ways. And from there it was like I was watching him get better. The dark gleam in his eyes slowly faded with each rewound day, fireworks shooting back into the ground, cigarette smoke drawing into lips curved up to a smile. All the way back to the first time I'd met him, and I got to watch the same spark in his eyes when our gazes matched for a split second. Then to the bus, where the rain never stopped and I was back where I started. On a bus, in the middle of a storm, #57 without my #1.
This is not a love story. Love stories don't end in an eternity of heartbreak and the crushing feeling of knowing you killed somebody that loved you back. Love stories are no place for the hopeless romantics and the heartbroken, there is no room to stand for the dreamers and the lovers that don't get what they want most in the end.
Love stories end with smiles and laughter and everyone where they fit just right. Love stories end in contentedness, when you discover they love you too, feelings of closure that sink in your bones and tell you that it won't be long until you see that one person again. Love stories mean you get to say "I love you too" and hear it back. Love stories are the tale of how you meet the one.
For every last right and wrong reason we'd created all on our own, this was a love story.
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[3362 words, 3/22/17, this "book" is (almost) officially over. The only chapters left are the unofficial epilogue. Yikes man.]