Status: complete
Thanks for Never Asking
Thanks
The first time Brendon remembers seeing him, he walks up to the counter with a box of band aids and a bag of gummy bears. He doesn’t have a prescription to drop off, or one to pick up. He just pays for his things in quarters and pennies, and then leaves.
-
The next time Brendon notices him is when Spencer’s ringing up a bottle of NyQuil for the guy. He has rings under his eyes, but Brendon can’t tell if they’re from black kohl or the lack of sleep. Probably both.
Brendon also notices that his fingers are long. Long and red, and cracked and dry. Brendon wonders if Spencer should recommend him some lotion. And Brendon then wonders if Spencer did recommend the guy lotion what he would buy, because he doesn’t look like the normal Aloe type. Maybe strawberry scented. Or vanilla.
-
“You guys sell cigarettes?” he asks.
Brendon blinks at him, because the guy just waited on line for ten minutes to ask him if they sold cigarettes in the pharmaceutical part of the store. Why? Brendon hasn’t a clue, so he says in a firm voice, “No.”
Brendon doesn’t see him again for another week.
-
“Is this it?” Brendon asks, already putting the Claritin in a plastic bag. The guy sniffles and nods, pulling out his wallet.
“License?” Brendon mentions when the guy pulls out the money to pay. Brendon gets a questioning look in return, so he clarifies, “It’s part of the law now. We have to make sure you’re old enough to buy it, and we have to keep track of who buys it when because of the drug-making-in-the-bathtub incident a while ago.”
Brendon doesn’t mention that he also wants to know his name.
-
Brendon first notices the tattoos on Ryan’s wrists when he comes to get a prescription for some sinus medication filled.
-
Ryan, as Brendon learned, dumps an armful of stuff onto the counter a few days later. There are five boxes of condoms, three bottles of lube, more band aids, a stick of gum, and another bottle of NyQuil. Ryan’s eyes are red, and he is still sniffling just like the last time Brendon saw him.
He gives Brendon a sleazy smile and asks, “What brand of tissues do you recommend?”
Brendon tries to keep his professional face on because does he really need that many condoms? Brendon at the most bought two boxes in one go, but five? Five seems like a lot.
“Kleenex,” he mutters, and Ryan just walks away, completely oblivious to the three other customers behind him.
Brendon’s able to fill two people’s prescriptions, and ring up another three people before Ryan wanders back. He’s grinning and still sniffling, but pays nonetheless. And Brendon doesn’t ask him why he needs (wants?) so many boxes of condoms.
-
Mad as a hatter.
That quote makes sense later on in the month, when Ryan comes in with full-face makeup on. A thick red bar is painted across his eyes, and black tree like branches are rooting down his cheek.
Brendon only giggles a little when Ryan places makeup remover cream on the counter.
-
“You know you can pay at the front of the store, right?”
Ryan doesn’t smile. He just nods his head and pulls out his wallet.
-
Thin as a dime.
Brendon realizes how skinny Ryan is for the first time because he’s not hidden in a sweatshirt. He’s boney and small and petite. Brendon wants to offer to buy Ryan some lunch, or just food really. His cheeks are hollow, and his face is pale, except his nose. His nose is still red and raw.
He buys more NyQuil without a word.
-
Ryan is shivering when he comes in again. He’s shivering and crying, and Brendon notices goose bumps on his skinny arms. The t-shirt he is wearing has holes in the bottom the size of cigarettes.
Brendon notices his cheeks are still hallowed. It looks like Ryan still hasn’t had a proper meal in weeks. Ryan’s nails have black paint chips on them, and Brendon can see smudges of makeup from probably wiping his face on the tips of his fingers. His long fingers that are still cracked are dry.
“You guys got cigarettes?” he asks, his voice shaky from something. Something that Brendon wants to know. Something that’s making him cry. Brendon doesn’t ask what the something is.
“In the front,” Brendon replies, but Ryan doesn’t move. He stays where he is and doesn’t leave the counter.
“You want me to ring you up in the front?” Brendon finally asks, because he can leave his post for two minutes. Spencer can cover for him for two minutes.
Ryan nods his head no, much to Brendon’s dismay. “Just need some NyQuil. And band aids.”
Ryan ends up buying a box of condoms too.
-
Brendon doesn’t see Ryan for two weeks.
-
The last time Brendon sees Ryan is when a police officer comes into the store. He shows Brendon a wallet size photo of some guy with black hair and eyeliner to match.
“You ever seen him before?” the officer asks.
“No,” Brendon replies, because he hasn't. He also doesn’t know why the officer is here.
The officer pulls out another photo, and this guy Brendon knows. This guy Brendon knows.
“What about him?” the officer asks.
Brendon’s voice is raw when he replies yes. Yesyesyes.
“Did you ever notice anything weird about him?”
Yesyesyes. “No.”
The officer sighs, but asks, “Did you ever sell him medication? Cold pills? NyQuil?”
“Yeah,” Brendon says, because why did the officer want to know if Brendon sold Ryan NyQuil? Why was the officer here, asking Brendon these questions about the boy who was as mad as a hatter, and as thin as a dime? Brendon’s mind was racing with whywhywhy.
“Alright, well you’re going to have to come down to the station for questioning then,” the officer says, pocketing the two photos.
“Can I ask why?” Brendon stutters, and his throat is closing in on him, tightening and constricting his airways. It’s ridiculous he thinks. It’s ridiculous because he doesn’t really know anything about Ryan except that he buys lots of condoms, band aids, and NyQuil. And he never asked why, but now Brendon wants to know. Now Brendon wants to know why.
The officer eyes Brendon before looking behind him. There was no one else there. No other costumers, and Spencer was on his lunch break, but the office says in a low voice, “we found him and his friend in a Best Buy parking lot. Both of them OD’d. Both of them wrote suicide notes. This kid’s said: Thanks for never asking. Thanks for the NyQuil.”
-
The next time Brendon notices him is when Spencer’s ringing up a bottle of NyQuil for the guy. He has rings under his eyes, but Brendon can’t tell if they’re from black kohl or the lack of sleep. Probably both.
Brendon also notices that his fingers are long. Long and red, and cracked and dry. Brendon wonders if Spencer should recommend him some lotion. And Brendon then wonders if Spencer did recommend the guy lotion what he would buy, because he doesn’t look like the normal Aloe type. Maybe strawberry scented. Or vanilla.
-
“You guys sell cigarettes?” he asks.
Brendon blinks at him, because the guy just waited on line for ten minutes to ask him if they sold cigarettes in the pharmaceutical part of the store. Why? Brendon hasn’t a clue, so he says in a firm voice, “No.”
Brendon doesn’t see him again for another week.
-
“Is this it?” Brendon asks, already putting the Claritin in a plastic bag. The guy sniffles and nods, pulling out his wallet.
“License?” Brendon mentions when the guy pulls out the money to pay. Brendon gets a questioning look in return, so he clarifies, “It’s part of the law now. We have to make sure you’re old enough to buy it, and we have to keep track of who buys it when because of the drug-making-in-the-bathtub incident a while ago.”
Brendon doesn’t mention that he also wants to know his name.
-
Brendon first notices the tattoos on Ryan’s wrists when he comes to get a prescription for some sinus medication filled.
-
Ryan, as Brendon learned, dumps an armful of stuff onto the counter a few days later. There are five boxes of condoms, three bottles of lube, more band aids, a stick of gum, and another bottle of NyQuil. Ryan’s eyes are red, and he is still sniffling just like the last time Brendon saw him.
He gives Brendon a sleazy smile and asks, “What brand of tissues do you recommend?”
Brendon tries to keep his professional face on because does he really need that many condoms? Brendon at the most bought two boxes in one go, but five? Five seems like a lot.
“Kleenex,” he mutters, and Ryan just walks away, completely oblivious to the three other customers behind him.
Brendon’s able to fill two people’s prescriptions, and ring up another three people before Ryan wanders back. He’s grinning and still sniffling, but pays nonetheless. And Brendon doesn’t ask him why he needs (wants?) so many boxes of condoms.
-
Mad as a hatter.
That quote makes sense later on in the month, when Ryan comes in with full-face makeup on. A thick red bar is painted across his eyes, and black tree like branches are rooting down his cheek.
Brendon only giggles a little when Ryan places makeup remover cream on the counter.
-
“You know you can pay at the front of the store, right?”
Ryan doesn’t smile. He just nods his head and pulls out his wallet.
-
Thin as a dime.
Brendon realizes how skinny Ryan is for the first time because he’s not hidden in a sweatshirt. He’s boney and small and petite. Brendon wants to offer to buy Ryan some lunch, or just food really. His cheeks are hollow, and his face is pale, except his nose. His nose is still red and raw.
He buys more NyQuil without a word.
-
Ryan is shivering when he comes in again. He’s shivering and crying, and Brendon notices goose bumps on his skinny arms. The t-shirt he is wearing has holes in the bottom the size of cigarettes.
Brendon notices his cheeks are still hallowed. It looks like Ryan still hasn’t had a proper meal in weeks. Ryan’s nails have black paint chips on them, and Brendon can see smudges of makeup from probably wiping his face on the tips of his fingers. His long fingers that are still cracked are dry.
“You guys got cigarettes?” he asks, his voice shaky from something. Something that Brendon wants to know. Something that’s making him cry. Brendon doesn’t ask what the something is.
“In the front,” Brendon replies, but Ryan doesn’t move. He stays where he is and doesn’t leave the counter.
“You want me to ring you up in the front?” Brendon finally asks, because he can leave his post for two minutes. Spencer can cover for him for two minutes.
Ryan nods his head no, much to Brendon’s dismay. “Just need some NyQuil. And band aids.”
Ryan ends up buying a box of condoms too.
-
Brendon doesn’t see Ryan for two weeks.
-
The last time Brendon sees Ryan is when a police officer comes into the store. He shows Brendon a wallet size photo of some guy with black hair and eyeliner to match.
“You ever seen him before?” the officer asks.
“No,” Brendon replies, because he hasn't. He also doesn’t know why the officer is here.
The officer pulls out another photo, and this guy Brendon knows. This guy Brendon knows.
“What about him?” the officer asks.
Brendon’s voice is raw when he replies yes. Yesyesyes.
“Did you ever notice anything weird about him?”
Yesyesyes. “No.”
The officer sighs, but asks, “Did you ever sell him medication? Cold pills? NyQuil?”
“Yeah,” Brendon says, because why did the officer want to know if Brendon sold Ryan NyQuil? Why was the officer here, asking Brendon these questions about the boy who was as mad as a hatter, and as thin as a dime? Brendon’s mind was racing with whywhywhy.
“Alright, well you’re going to have to come down to the station for questioning then,” the officer says, pocketing the two photos.
“Can I ask why?” Brendon stutters, and his throat is closing in on him, tightening and constricting his airways. It’s ridiculous he thinks. It’s ridiculous because he doesn’t really know anything about Ryan except that he buys lots of condoms, band aids, and NyQuil. And he never asked why, but now Brendon wants to know. Now Brendon wants to know why.
The officer eyes Brendon before looking behind him. There was no one else there. No other costumers, and Spencer was on his lunch break, but the office says in a low voice, “we found him and his friend in a Best Buy parking lot. Both of them OD’d. Both of them wrote suicide notes. This kid’s said: Thanks for never asking. Thanks for the NyQuil.”