Flipping Coins

It was a sad way to end the dinner, but goodbyes were the ending result of the night. Panic would leave at promptly five thirty A.M the following morning, to Orlando, Florida for the second venue of their summer tour with Black Gold and This Providence (and some special appearances of Fall Out Boy on certain selected tour dates.)

Piled in a clump of friends on the side of the expensive restaurant, the band members of Panic gave their final goodbyes to their friends/girlfriends--a mix of emotions hanging in the dense, Vegas air the majority of us had breathed in for practically all of our lives.

Pete Wentz was laughing with Jon and Jordan, who were all basically tourists to the Las Vegas scene. Brendon and Ryan were both holding onto their sorrow-stricken girlfriends, while Zack reminisced in old memories with Spencer and Dan (better known as Dan-Angel-Snowfreak). I, on the other hand, had somehow been pulled into a group of girls, of which including Gretel, Zack’s wife, and Dan’s girlfriend.

While the others discussed the various types of haircuts and styles they used to sport in their past years, I attempted to join in on the conversation by commenting on others statements. I couldn’t exactly relate well to the discussion. My hair has always been the same--unmanageably wavy, slightly long, and dully brown. It’s been that way since birth.

I think everyone was really waiting for the couples to break up so we could wish Brendon and Ryan good luck (minus me for Brendon, of course.) This, unfortunately, took a little while, seeing as Evelia couldn’t seem to detach herself from Brendon’s lips, nor Ryan from Fran’s.

It didn’t come as a surprise that Spencer and Gretel or Zack and Mrs. Hall weren’t sharing intimate goodbyes. These were the couples that had already been casted under true love’s spell, and they were past that leaching, smooch-any-moment-possible phase. Love really was a funny, confusing thing.

“Alright!” Pete finally shouted halfway through another one of Ryan’s slimy kisses to Fran’s giggling lips. “Kids, I’m sorry, but some of us here have insomnia and a bad-ass case of jetlag, so I think that we’re going to have to cut the Breakfast Club moment short.”

I kept my gaze focused on Ryan and Fran, not even bothering to observe Evelia and Brendon’s reaction to Pete’s demanding speech. Ryan draped his lanky arm over Fran’s shoulders--both red-faced and giggling slightly. Pete shrugged his shoulders apologetically at Ryan’s playful glare before they both bursted with smiles and bumped fists like they were “home-dogs.”

Grateful to escape the clique of girls, I rushed over to Ryan and Fran, who were both back to their natural skin tone and laughing with Pete.

Fran met my eyes welcomingly, energetically greeting, “Hey, Ems! Oh--sorry! I’m not sure if you like to be called that or not. I know some people are weird with nicknames, like only certain people are allowed to use them and all, so I’m sorry if you’re like that---“

“Don’t worry about it!” I laughed. “I don’t mind it in the least. As long as you don’t refer to me as some kinky stripper name like The Abuser, I’m good.”

Fran laughed, using that special power she possess to make me laugh even harder, which, in turn, interested Pete, who laughed when he heard the story, which made Ryan laugh, who was listening in…and so on and so forth.

Once our bellowing session was over, Ryan looked towards me and addressed, “Hey Emie? Do you want to have a quick walk with me around the parking lot?”

Fran didn’t look in the least bit hesitant or angered--in fact, she looked almost encouraging--so I accepted and began to walk alongside Ryan, away from our noisy clan of close comrades.

Ryan slung his arm around my shoulder, guiding me closer to his thin embrace so that our body heat mixed together in an ultra powered shield against the desert night’s bitter coldness. He sighed--his spew of breath visible in tiny wisps of fog before they almost instantly evaporated. He craned his neck to look at me, smiling when he noticed I was already smiling up at him.

“I just wanted our goodbye to be a little less exclusive,” Ryan informed me, looking back up to the lively city scene before us.

I nodded, following his gaze and resting my eyes on the various casinos and nightclubs illuminating the sunless, midnight setting. “I would have asked you anyways, if you hadn’t of beaten me to the punch.”

Ryan chortled softly, letting the comfortable silence settle between us for the next minute. After this, he began seriously, “I’m gonna really miss you, doll.”

“Doubt it,” I snorted, still unserious. “You’ll probably have a private party in your bunk at not having to fulfill your psychiatrist duties for a solid 60 days.”

Shaking his head a little, Ryan went back to adjusting the mood to humorless. “You know that’s not true. I’ll miss you so much that, if you end up forgetting to call me--which you will--I’ll have to call you just to soften a sting of my Emie-less world.” Ryan kept his eyes staring straight ahead, not pressuring me to come up with the appropriate reaction to his words.

Shoving my hands deeper into my pant’s pockets, I muttered shyly, “Whatever.”

Because it was the only response I could think of. I didn’t, nor have I ever, reacted well to compliments.

Ryan changed the subject as soon as the uncomfortable word left my mouth. “And anyways, I’ll have to deal with those four retards back there for two whole months. How much fun will that be?”

“Tons,” I responded, a mischievous nature captivating my vocalization.

“Exactly. Too much fun for me. Things will get out of hand, and I’ll wake up one morning in a pin of pigs with a sombrero on my head. Then I’ll look down and see some gay, middle-aged man named Fabio asleep on my lap, and that’s when I’ll really freak out.”

I immediately cracked up, glad to have the comedy back in our discussion. At that moment, I subconsciously held onto Ryan’s tiny frame tighter, not wanting for him to leave me alone here--in Vegas--for two months straight. How was I going to survive?

The moment got the best of me, and when the silence crept back, I said softly, “Don’t leave, Ryan. Let This Providence and Black Gold and Fall Out Boy go on tour, get someone to replace you…anything! Just don’t leave.” I hugged his waist until it almost hurt, just to go along with my desperate plea.

Ryan sighed, rubbing the top of my head with his long, calloused fingers. “I wish I could stay and let the team take this one, but it’s my job, as odd as it seems. I have to go.”

“I know,” I groaned grudgingly. I had known for about 4 years now that it had to be this way--for all the guys. And, for some strange, unknown reason, I still hadn’t quite adjusted or come to terms with it yet--maybe I never would.

We let the silence take over co-pilot for a while, and when we finally turned to retreat back to our bunch of colleagues, it was only then that Ryan chose to speak again, “And I don’t want you to think about Brendon at all during the next few weeks, okay? He’s not worth it.”

I agreed wholeheartedly, “I definitely won’t. I’m going to use this time of separation as my own personal Rehab period. I think I’m actually starting to improve as we speak.”

I could hear the smile in Ryan’s voice without even looking up at him. “Good! This must mean that my psychiatry skills aren’t total shit.”

By the time our laughs came to a close, we had already reached our group again, who all eagerly rushed forward to say their goodbyes to the pair of us. Everyone except for Brendon and Evelia--that is--who seemed to have already said their goodbyes and mysteriously disappeared before our return.

I guess a farewell counted as association too.