The Ghost of a Rose Vest

Months passed and soon April of 2007 had come around. The days were getting warmer and longer. This was good news for the four boys who were still sleeping in the giant Log Cabin in the Nevada Mountains. Brendon’s arm was thrown over a large throw pillow as he lay on the burgundy couch. His mouth hung slightly agape as a bit of saliva escaped his lips and was slowly rolling down his chin. In the room over was a sleeping Spencer, who slept soundly under his soft comforter. In the bedroom across from it was Jon, who had his arm draped over a fat tabby cat. And last but not least, in his own bedroom Ryan slept, tossing and turning in a web of blankets and pillows. His trusty hound sat on a chair across from the bed and watched her master roll on the mattress. Tilting her head to the side, she watched him closely for the next few minutes until she decided that it would be best to wake him up. She let out a soft bark, and though it was small, it was enough to wake up Ryan, who was a very light sleeper.

Ryan shot up in his bed. His eyes wide and his hair a mess, he looked over towards the little dog, who wagged her tail vigorously as she saw him awaken. Ryan sighed and slowly stood from the bed. He gingerly rubbed his eyes as he walked passed the chair patted the little dog on her head before he walked silently into the bathroom. He silently thanked her from waking him up from his dream. The dream – the dream was irrelevant – but it was obviously troubling the skinny man.

This was the way Ryan had lived over the past couple of months. He went to bed early, had bad dreams, slept late, ate, and then he continued on the pattern. Ryan definitely hadn’t changed, no matter how much the others wanted him too. He only looked a little different. The guys had made him get a haircut, throw away his eyeliner, and get rid of the twenty pairs of skin tight jeans he had inside his closet. Ryan really didn’t appreciate it, and he didn’t think it was fair that Brendon got to keep all his clothes, but that was just the way it was. “If you want to make him a man, you gotta make him look like a man”, Pete had said to Brendon when he realized how Brendon wanted to change Ryan. And Brendon did exactly that.

Ryan closed the door behind him softly as he walked over to the mirror above the sink. Ryan sighed as he looked at his messy reflection. His hair looked like it had been run through the dyer a few times as it stood tall and frizzy on his head. His eyes were droopy, with deep bags underneath them. His shoulders sagged like a ninety year old woman’s boobs. Ryan was a complete and utter mess. He sighed and looked down at the sink, turning it on he moved his hands underneath the frigid waterfall of ice and washed away the dirt in the creases of his long boney fingers.

Ryan did the rest of his bathroom routine in a daze, doing everything he did out of habit. He took a shower, dried his hair, got dressed and soon stood in front of the mirror again as he brushed his dark brown locks. He still wasn’t really awake, but he soon became fully awake when he heard a voice.

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who has the ugliest hair of all?” The voice echoed against the walls in a whimsical tone.

Ryan immediately stopped what he was doing. With wide eyes he slowly turned his head to the left and to the right to see where the voice had come from, but he saw no one.

A minute later the voice was heard again.

“Seriously, What on earth have you done to our hair?” it said, sounding as only a breath.

Ryan turned in all directions of the bathroom, looking to see where the voice was coming from as he clung to the jacket around his body in fear. “Who said that?” he asked timidly, moving his eyes in an unsteady motion as he looked around the bathroom.

“Me.” The voice said again, but this time sounding much more real and life like.

Ryan turned his head in the direction of the voice once more and this time what stood before him completely astounded him. There, standing in front of him, was the image of his old self, clad in skintight black pants, white elegant gloves, a red silky sash, and the rose vest. His arms were crossed over his chest as he looked at his current self with disgust written all over his handsome young face. Ryan could hardly focus his eyes away from the makeup that surrounded his old self’s cold eyes, but he managed. Ryan rubbed his eyes and then looked back at the other Ryan with his mouth agape. The other Ryan rolled his eyes.

“No, you’re not seeing things, you idiot,” he said sarcastically, “God, we sure have become an idiot in our old age.”

Ryan ignored him and just continued to stare. “Holy Fuck.” Ryan said, looking at himself. “Holy shit,” he said again not believing that his past self was standing before him. “Why, how?” he asked, looking at the other him.

The other one shrugged. “Well genius, you’re mental. And I am a fictional character in your mind, well at least right now. I did indeed exist, that is, until you decided to get rid of me.” He said maliciously. Ryan raised an eyebrow at him.

“You mean to say, I’m hallucinating?” Ryan asked, staring at the man incredulously.

“Well, not really.” The other said, picking at his nails. Ryan huffed.

“Well then, what the hell is happening?!” he demanded.

“Why not just say I am a ghost, the ghost of our rose vest.” The other said, smirking.

Ryan shook his head, looking away from the other him. “I’d rather be mental,” he muttered. “So how do I get you to go away?”

The other Ryan shrugged, “I don’t know,” he said, completely bored with the situation. Ryan sneered at him, and tried to ignore him as he continued to talk about random things while Ryan thought over the current events. He blabbered on about something Ryan didn’t care about, but soon it was starting to get on his nerves.

“Can you please just shut the hell up?” he said bluntly to the other Ryan.

“No.” he replied rebelliously. Ryan was now really starting to get annoyed and frustrated.

“Well, can you go away then, so I can finish getting ready in peace?!” he yelled. Ryan usually wasn’t a very verbal person, but when the situation demanded it, he could be very loud and commending. He didn’t like to be made fun of, but usually he didn’t outburst at people. Perhaps though, because the person Ryan was talking to was essentially himself and he was able to yell at him because he was constantly yelling at himself. Despite what most people might believe, Ryan had a very low self-esteem, and back then, around June to October when his father had first died, he covered up his insecurity with sarcasm, but now he really didn’t try to hide it. He really didn’t care anymore if they could read him like and open book. He tended to keep his feelings bottled up, but it was obvious that Ryan was unhappy with his life at this point and time.

The other Ryan rolled his eyes, “Fine, but don’t expect me to be this submissive when you next see me.” He said. The figure of the other Ryan started to fade away as he stepped back towards the sink, where he finally disappeared into the wall, only leaving pencil eyeliner on the sink counter top in his place.

Ryan looked the eyeliner with bewilderment carved on his face. He stood there looking at it for a long whole before he snapped out of his little trance. Reaching out his hand he grasped the pencil in his hands and ran his fingers against it. Popping of the top he drew a small line on his palm and indeed the pencil was true and genuine. He really couldn’t believe that had just happened. Ryan looked from his left to his right as if he were doing something wrong before he looked back down at the pencil that seemed to be begging for someone to apply it to their eyes. Biting his lip Ryan slowly brought the stick up to his eye and ran it across the lid. Just a little bit couldn’t hurt, right?