Thin as a Dime

Ryan stood in the mirror. He looked to his face. Disgusting. He looked to his body. Repulsive. He looked back up and saw someone standing behind him. Perfect.

Brendon sighed and reached to pull the white sheet back down over the mirror. Ryan had promised he wouldn’t look. It wasn’t the first time he had broken his promises.

When the sheet was safely brushing the carpet, Ryan turned around. He looked hard in Brendon’s face. He was perfect. How could Ryan ever be worth his time?

“Stop it,” Brendon whispered. His eyes had a certain serious that Ryan had seen many times before. Brendon didn’t approve of Ryan’s actions and he couldn’t blame him.

“What?” Ryan said, even though he knew what he had done wrong.

“Stop obsessing and stop looking at me like that. You know what I think about you and it’s not subject to change,” Brendon raised his eyebrows and shook his head. The expression was meant to show his care and compassion for Ryan, but Ryan decided to take it as sarcasm.

“Yeah, you say that now,” Ryan whispered with his eyes to the bus’s dirty floor.

Brendon raised his face up with the edge of his index finger. “You have to stop this Ryan. You have to quit scrutinizing every little thing about your body. Why is that so hard?”

Ryan didn’t look at Brendon’s face. He jerked his head away from Brendon’s grip and walked toward the bunks.

Brendon followed. “Why can’t you take anything I say seriously? Why do you I think I would lie?”

Ryan still didn’t say a word. He simply grabbed the worn in white t-shirt from his pillow and slipped it over his bony frame. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and checked the time. “We have to go to sound check,” his voice was incredibly dull and his eyes had no life.

Brendon sighed rubbing his face, “Then let’s go come on.” Ryan could tell he was mad now. Why wouldn’t he be? Ryan was a disgrace to him.

----------------------------------------------------

Ryan was a repeat offender of the following situation. It seemed like every week there would be another thing for Ryan to change about himself and another reason that he wasn’t up to Brendon’s standards. Brendon watched him change from an awkward teenager, desperate for self-discovery, to a budding grown-up, lost in the loop of the real world. He grew weaker, in spirit and health. His skin turned translucent and every vein and bone was visible. His mentality brought down the group. It would last throughout the tour. Until the very last day.

“Hey, Ryan,” Brendon raised his voice in optimism, after the last show, “Wanna come get Thai with us? It’s your favorite.”

Ryan would stare blankly with eyes that sunken eerily into his skull. “No, thank you,” his voice would have a wistful bite that took the breath out of Brendon’s lungs.

Brendon sighed hard. He crossed the bus taking a seat next to Ryan in the corner. “Ry, come on,” he whispered. “Just one night. To celebrate everything we’ve done up to now. Please, Ryan.”

Ryan would keep his eyes away from Brendon. His arms tucked over his fragile frame. Brendon could see his reflection in the bus window. Expressionless. Dead inside. “I said, ‘No, thank you,’” Ryan’s voice sounded cold and angry. The lack of nutrition only worsened his moods.

Brendon gnashed his teeth. He stood up aggressively, “Okay. Fine. Stay here and continue to kill yourself!”

Ryan looked back into Brendon’s eyes. The happy/angry honey color was gone and all there was was a frightened dark brown. Brendon held his stare. It killed him to see that color in his eyes. Killed him to bring on the fear that he saw. Brendon was tired of being killed. Without warning, he was fuming.

“All you’ve done for the past two months is starve yourself and put yourself down and frankly I’m sick of it! Every day you say you’re not good enough for this, not good enough for me! Yet, you keep forcing yourself into this emotionally-masochistic… state! I’m not doing this anymore! I can’t Ryan,” Brendon closed his eyes and tired to wipe all the emotion from his body with a heaving breath. “I’m leaving, Ryan. I’m going to get Thai and then I’m going home. I will see you in a month.” With that, Brendon walked out of the bus, furiously punching the bus door on his way out.

----------------------------------------------------

Brendon didn’t lie. A month later they had a festival in France. None of the boys had spoken to Ryan since the last night. They barely knew he was alive other than the confirmation that he was boarding the same plane as them by the record company. They stood at the terminal with only a few minutes to spare. Their carry on’s in hand and their brains whirling with the fact that Ryan hadn’t arrived yet.

“Fuckin’ A,” Jon whispered with a barely audible voice. The other boys looked up to see what he was gawking at.

Brendon’s mouth hung open. He barely recognized him. His brown cords were baggy around his stick legs, he wore a long scarf that covered his barely there torso, and the giant bracelets and sunglasses didn’t help the cause. He looked skeletal. The closer he came, the bigger the shadows looked on his hollowing cheeks. He came up into the circle with his boarding pass in hand. Nobody said a word. They just tried to act normal, like they weren’t sneaking peeks at the ghost that had replaced their best friend.

Brendon sat next to Ryan on the plane. He couldn’t touch him or look at him or even think about him. It wasn’t Ryan sitting next to Brendon. He wasn’t sure who it was, but it was certainly not the one he loved.

Spencer lost the rock paper scissors game and was forced to room with Ryan. It was so awkward. Ryan just sat on the edge of his bed, huge glasses still laying low on his bunny nose. He looked like a blind child on the first day of kindergarten. Dazed and confused and uncomfortable in his skin. He didn’t speak the whole night. He didn’t even change into new clothes. Spencer got out of the shower and Ryan was passed out on his bed. His knees drawn in towards his chest and his arms tucked under his pillow. He looked like a premature fetus, except worse cause he had actually been born.

Spencer shook his hair out and went across the hall to the other room. Brendon was coiled up in the corner chair with his hand over his eyes and his butt almost falling out of the chair. He heard the door open and dared to look. Spencer shook his head, “Guys, we can’t do this. We can’t let him do this to himself anymore.”

Jon clicked the channels on the TV, mindlessly, “What do you want us to do, Spencer? Really. We’ve tried talking to him. He doesn’t respond.”

“Yeah, I know we tried. Maybe it’s bigger than us though. Maybe we need to let professionals handle it,” Spencer jumped onto the edge of Jon’s bed. His blue eyes were hinting at something.

Brendon looked at him quizzically, “You want to send him to rehab?”

Spencer’s face looked uneasy but it was clear that that is what he had indicated.

Brendon sighed, “We can’t do that. Not to Ryan.”

“Brendon, give it up!” Spencer yelled, “That’s not Ryan! I know you want to believe it’s him, but it’s not. Something else is going on and we are not gonna be able to fix it! You can stand on the sideline and condemn him to more self-inflicted damage or you can try to help him!”

Jon looked over at Brendon, “He’s right, dude.”

Brendon put his hand back over his eyes, “Can… can we just deal with this after the show?”

Jon and Spencer looked at each other with sarcastic eyes. Spencer looked back and spoke, “Just think about it, okay? Think about how great it would be to have him back.”

Brendon didn’t think about it. He couldn’t stand the idea. He slept restlessly that night, tossing and turning about what he should do. He wanted so badly to have his Ryan back, but rehab? He felt like that was such a stab in the back. Ryan wasn’t meant for that. No. Never.

----------------------------------------------------

Brendon didn’t look at Ryan again until they were about to go on stage the next day. They were getting their instruments on and getting their wires put in. Brendon watched as someone handed Ryan his guitar. He saw the weight of it fall in his hand. It hit the ground with an awful bang that made everyone turn their head towards him. You could see the embarrassed expression in his face as he bent over and struggled to put it over his shoulder. Spencer looked back at Brendon with a certainty in his eyes. Brendon just pursed his lips and continued warming up.

The boys took the stage shortly after. The crowd screamed and hollered and Brendon felt a rush of adrenaline pump through his veins. He smiled and looked over to Ryan.

He was struggling to adjust his microphone. He twisted his frail arms but just looked a little flustered when he figured he couldn’t do it. He pointed to a stage hand and told him to adjust it for him. The tech did so without any difficulty.

Brendon’s lips were tight again and he looked back to Spencer. He waited for the count off and started the show.

They were only half way through the first song when Jon came over to Brendon. He waited for a break and Brendon leaned in to hear. “Listen to him, Brendon.”

Brendon opened his ears towards Ryan during the guitar solo. Jon was right. Ryan wasn’t playing it right. He was only getting about every fifth note. Brendon didn’t look to Jon or Spencer. He knew their looks would be the same.

It continued like this. Brendon was just trying to ignore it. Trying to act like nothing was wrong but inside he was falling apart. He couldn’t dare himself to glance at him. He just kept pushing. He wondered if anyone else noticed. He was beginning to think they did.

By the fourth song, they were half way through. Brendon was just trying to get it over now. He could feel the glares from Jon and Spencer. They knew what he was doing. They knew his façade. Brendon sucked in a deep breath and held it in in preparation for the solo. He tried not to listen, he tried to just concentrate on his own strum pattern, but he looked up to the crowd. He stopped noticing the music. All he saw was their shocked faces and their open mouths. Some shouted out or gasped. Some cheered. He knew the direction they were staring. He forced himself to look over. All he saw was Ryan, motionless on the ground.

He saw the stage hands rush over to him. He watched one, effortlessly, pull him over his shoulder and run offstage. He heard the crowd boo and felt the vibrations from Spencer’s drums stop. He saw Jon run past him and Spencer follow. Now he was alone. He looked back to the crowd. Their faces looked scared and shocked and angry. All the same emotions that were wheeling through his own mind. He pulled his guitar off and set it down. He felt his legs carry him over to the side of the stage. He saw the crowd rushing around feeble boy on the floor. He heard people shouting in French all around him. He saw people on their cell phones. He felt the madness in his bones, from his hair to his toes. On impulse, he ran towards the swarm of helpers. He pushed his way through. He didn’t excuse himself or anything. He finally broke through to the center. He knelt down. Ryan’s eyes were barely open now. He was barely conscious. “Ryan!” he shouted at him. He felt his breath catch in his throat and his hand fly to Ryan’s hand. He wrapped his fingers around it. He could have broken it off right there. He felt his lip quiver and his body shake. Ryan looked back to him. His eyes were black and frozen. Lifeless. He watched him close them again and lean his head back onto the black floor.

He saw the flashing blue and red lights from the corner of his eyes. He looked to them. The ambulance had come. Without thinking, he grabbed Ryan under his head and behind his knees and lifted him. He couldn’t have weighed more than sixty or seventy pounds. He felt his body limp and cold. He carried him to the van and let the medical personnel pull him in. They shouted French all around Brendon, but of course he couldn’t understand. He watched them close the door and quickly drive off attempting to find a way out through the masses of people. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked. It was Spencer with Jon close behind him. They no longer had the “I-told-you-so” looks on their faces but, instead, their expressions showed sincere remorse and fear. Brendon imagined his was similar.

Spencer shook his head, “Come on, Brendon. Let’s go.”

They drove to the hospital in a van that the festival let them borrow. They were all nervous wrecks, afraid to catch each other’s glances and expecting the worst in this situation. They pulled into the hospital parking lot that was marked with an internationally translated red cross. They all felt the weight of the word on their shoulders as they walked through the automatic doors into a white, crisp waiting room.

They sat in uncomfortable chairs on the wall for an hour. Brendon couldn’t help but sing “What Sarah Said” a million times over in his head. He couldn’t bear to think about the one line though. Sadly, it was the one he kept repeating over and over in his mind. “Love is watching someone die.

A doctor approached the boys at their spot on the far wall. “English?” she asked. Her French accent was barely noticeable, thankfully. The boys nodded their heads. “Your friend Ryan is okay,” Brendon felt himself sigh a bit, but the feeling didn’t last long, “but I don’t know if you noticed but… he… has a problem.”

Spencer spoke out, “Yes, we are aware. We apologize. We didn’t know it had gotten to this point.”

The doctor pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows, “Well it is much to far. He is at extremely unhealthy weight. He is malnourished and deathly dehydrated. If he doesn’t get help soon, only worse things are to come.”

Brendon suddenly felt like he’d been sucker punched in the stomach. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe even, but he felt like his lungs weren’t working. He rubbed the stubble on his face and forced his eyes back open, “Can we see him?” His brown eyes were hopelessly hopeful.

The doctor looked back at him. She saw his eyes. “Yeah, he’s very weak right now and we have him on fluids, but he’s awake.” She escorted them down the endless hallway. The heart rate meters and air tanks made an orchestra of upsetting noises. She lead them into a room at the end of the hallway.

Brendon bit his lip and turned the corner, forcing himself to look. Ryan was draped in blankets and you could see the IV drip next to him. He looked exhausted. His black eyes looked towards the door and he attempted to sit up as his friends came in the room.

“No, no. Don’t struggle, relax,” Jon said to him. The three of them lined up on the edge of the bed. Brendon was on the end. His gaze was unblinking and his jaw was clenching with ridiculous force.

“You scared us, there, buddy,” Spencer said rubbing his hand on Ryan’s brown hair.

Ryan’s eyes went down the line until they saw Brendon. They filled with fear. “Brendon,” he whispered. It had been the first time he talked this whole trip.

Brendon took two quick steps to Ryan’s side. He reached down to grab his hand. It was colder now and possibly bonier.

“I have to tell you something,” he whispered. He looked like he was about to face God with those black eyes. “My dad died.”

Brendon’s heart sank. He didn’t even know what to think, “What?... When?”

Ryan licked his dry lips, “Three months ago.”

Brendon felt his water and his lower lip begin to quiver, “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Ryan looked ashamed, “I don’t know. I just didn’t know what to do about it.”

Brendon felt a tear rain down his cheek. He tried to wipe it away with his jacket sleeve. “You didn’t have to hold it back. I’m here for you, always.”

Ryan’s eyes began to water, too.

“Do you believe me?” Brendon squeezed Ryan’s hand in his own.

Ryan gave two quick nods.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the doctor spoke suddenly. Everyone had forgot she was there, “but we are gonna have to run some tests before we can release him. Your manager told me your flight leaves tonight, meaning we are gonna have to run these tests now.”

Brendon held Ryan’s glance, “Okay. That’s fine.” He squeezed his hand one final time before dropping it back on the hospital bed. Jon grabbed Brendon’s shoulder and shook it comfortingly, leading him out the door.

They sat down in their three chairs again. Brendon was still sopping up the last of his tears. He looked over to his two friends. Spencer spoke first, “What do you think we should do?” Both of them were giving him a sympathetic look that demanded an answer.

Brendon knew what the question was really asking. He looked at his friends with a firmness in his dark brown eyes. He nodded in agreement. He wanted his Ryan back.