Chapter 3: Nothing left

It was hard to talk to Vince. Hell, it was impossible to talk to Vince. He just sat there with this vacant smile on his face and looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. It freaked Eric out even more when he noticed the casket in the room. He had been so intent on speaking to Vince that he hadn't seen Rita lying there. She looked peaceful; that was something at least.

That entire afternoon Eric helped out Johnny and Turtle. They had hired a catering company, which was wholly unnecessary because everyone who arrived at the door to pay their respects had something to eat with them. The fridge was stuffed with casseroles and meatloaves. Eric caught someone trying to pry a ring of Rita's fingers. It turned out to be one of the neighbourhood kids; a boy barely twelve years old whose friends had dared him to do it. He booted the boy unceremoniously from the house and decided not to tell Johnny. Johnny would kill the kid.

From time to time Eric checked on Vince, but he barely moved. Not once did Eric see his friend look into the general direction of the casket. Eric wasn't sure Vince was aware that it was there. A couple of times he urged Vince to eat, but to no avail. In the evening, as people got out of work, the house filled until Eric thought it might bursts at its seams. This sense of community was something they didn't have in Hollywood and Eric had to admit he had kind of missed it. Tables were set up in the backyard and even more food arrived. The catering people went home and the three friends put all the food from the fridge on the tables in an effort to get rid of it. Someone brought a turning table and started to play some music.

The music wasn't rock & roll or anything; it was mostly jazz and blues. It was appropriate. Yet, with everybody eating and occasionally laughing and the music, it didn't feel like someone had recently died. It was almost like a celebration. Eric had no idea where his parents where, but he was glad they hadn't shown up for the viewing. If they had, everyone would be sloshed by now. His parents insisted on getting pissed the Irish way instead of the American way: they enjoyed playing up their Irish heritage at funerals and wakes by getting completely wasted.

Around midnight Eric went inside and as he expected Vince was still sitting in the exact same spot he had been sitting an hour ago when Eric last checked on him. After saying goodnight to Turtle and Johnny, Eric took Vince upstairs. Turtle had put his suitcase in Vince's old room, so they would have to spend the night together.

Wordlessly, they changed into their pyjamas. Vince tried to make Eric accept his bed, but he steadfastly declined. As Vince got under the covers, Eric pulled the spare mattress out from under his bed and got some blankets from the hall closet. As he settled in Eric thought about the countless nights he has spend sleeping over at the Chase's when he was little. Or young, as Turtle would say, because har-har, he was still little.

Rita would occasionally come in to shush them when their laughing or wrestling got too loud. In the morning she would have orange juice or milk, whichever of the two they wanted, and Eric's favourite cornflakes ready for them. Those were two things he never got at home: breakfast and consideration. Suddenly Eric was glad it was dark, so Vince couldn't see the tears that sprung into his eyes.

'E?'

Oh fuck, had Vince heard some stupid sniffle coming from him?

'E, are you still awake?'

'Yeah.'

Vince sounded better, almost like a human being and not like a robot. No wonder Drama was barely able to keep himself from strangling Vince. His voice sounded tinny at the best of times, as if it had to travel through space or static phone lines to get to Eric. But there was life in it now and some emotion. Eric wasn't sure whether it was a good emotion, but any emotion was preferable to none.

'Do you remember how we used to tell Johnny he was a kid of the milkman?' Vince whispered and there was actual laughter in his voice. Eric chuckled. Yes, he did remember. They were usually able to make Drama doubt and he would beg Rita to make them stop. Sometimes he tried to turn it around on them, but neither Eric nor Vince was impressed by his attempts. Even as a child Drama was so insecure that they could tease him with practically everything, but the milkman-father had been a particularly easy one.

'Yes,' Eric responded, but before he could anything Vince continued.

'And how mom always tried to make us drink milk? I used to nag her about lemonade and cola and she'd just shake her head and slide a glass of milk my way,' Vince said. This time he didn't sound amused. It was because Rita had cared; she had tried to protect him and keep him healthy and who would do that now? Johnny? A brother can't replace a mother.

'I'm sensing a theme here,' Eric whispered back. Or was he imagining this? It was difficult to talk to Vince when he was so emotionally unavailable, but in the past they had hardly ever needed that sort of communication. Mostly, Eric could tell what Vince was feeling or thinking by just looking at him. In the dark this was obviously not an option, but Eric liked to think that even when Vince was going through something so horrible that their connection would still be there.

'The other day it was on the radio. No milk today. That's what I keep thinking. 'No milk today, my love has gone away.' It's fucking stupid, I know. I've always hated that song,' Vince admitted and Eric tried to stifle a laugh.

'It's not stupid if that's how you feel,' he finally replied and he meant every word of it. His eyes were starting to adapt to the dark and he could see Vince's head on the pillow, close to the edge of the mattress. His friend inhaled and exhaled loudly, as if he needed to gather courage before he could say more. One hand dangled over the edge of the bed and seemed to be directing an orchestra with slow, steady strokes.

'What I feel is like I have nothing left,' Vince admitted and Eric felt an overwhelming desire to get in bed with Vince and hug the hell out of him. It occurred to him that he had hugged Turtle and Drama and several virtual strangers over the course of the day, but not Vince. On the other hand, that was some melodramatic statement if he had ever heard one.

'Well, I'm sorry, but that is stupid. You've got me, you've got Turtle and Drama, and you've got Lloyd. You've even got Ari,' Eric protested and Vince sighed. The hand stopped moving and hung there like an invitation.

'Have I got you?' Vince softly asked and in response Eric grabbed his hand. They both squeezed and Eric was relieved to feel that Vince's grip was still strong. Tomorrow he would try to get Vince to eat something. Then they would tackle the funeral together and after that they'd see. Eric would make it so that Vince would say that he was feeling fine and mean it. If it was the last thing he ever did, he would make it alright.

'You'll always have me.'

(***)

No milk today is a song by Herman's Hermits.