Boys of Summer

by keelan august

There's a new kid in town and Shinobu's having none of his guff...

10. Chapter 10 - Ryan's story

Chapter 10

song lyrics: staind – it's been awhile

"Yes, I'm fine. No. No need. No. No, Rufus! Don't you dare call my dad! He doesn't need this shit…I know. No. You're right. Fine, I will. Whatever. Just don't call Dad. Yeah. I promise. Look, I gotta motor."

Ryan flung himself back on the bed and stared at the paper cranes that slowly spun in the slight summer breeze. His hand clutched the phone spasmodically and he took deep, calming breaths to ease the tension that seemed always just a whisper away these days.

Damn Rufus! And damn those doctors for calling him and worrying him for nothing! I guess "emancipated minor" doesn't mean squat in Japan!

Fuming was doing him no good; Ryan could feel his blood pressure escalating with each irate thought. He fixated on the origami above him and methodically started counting. It was a mindless activity and it did nothing to distract him from his internal tirade.

And what the fuck? It was no big deal! So I forgot to take my meds. So I passed out for a coupla minutes. You'd think I was trying to commit suicide or something, the way they fussed and lectured. For two days, even! Shit. Specialists, my ass! They just want Dad's money and a real, live guinea pig to test their "specialist" meds on. I'm surprised I haven't grown a third eye already with all this crap I've been taking. Ah, shit!

Disgusted with himself and his uncharacteristic haranguing, Ryan sat up abruptly then immediately regretted it as the world decided to tip on its axis. Aftereffects of the Plaquenil. The boy clutched at his forehead in a vain attempt at stilling the nausea.

Maybe Rufus was right. Maybe I do need an in-house nurse. Hell, I wouldn't even mind as long as she was stacked and had legs that went on for days…

Ryan smirked at the thought and decided he was feeling better if he could entertain such lascivious notions. Gingerly, he swung his legs off the bed and padded across the room to his stereo. He idly poked at the cds stacked haphazardly on the speakers.

Hmmmm…Fuel. Pennywise. Suicidal Tendencies. Offspring. Ah, Train! Bet Mitsuru would like this one. Gotta remember to loan it to him when I see him next. Wonder what he thinks of my being MIA these past few days?

Ryan paused in his riffling as another bout of nausea swept through him. He staggered to a nearby wall to steady himself, refusing to buckle to his knees. His palm came in contact with cold glass and he peered up at the reflection that stared back at him from the full-length mirror that hung on the back of his bedroom door.

He was clad in nothing but a pair of loose cotton pajamas, cinched tight at the waist by a frayed drawstring. He gazed, mesmerized, at the picture before him, as if analyzing a stranger. And it seemed a stranger did look back at him. Ryan grimaced as he counted the ribs that were painfully visible through pale, sere flesh. He was losing weight at an alarming rate and only his plethora of loose, baggy clothes saved him from having to reveal his gauntness to the world.

Not such a lady-killer now, eh, Sakata? Bet even Moon wouldn't jump your bones, looking like that!

Moon. Dammit. If it wasn't one thing, then it was another. Thoughts. Being alone with one's thoughts was definitely an unhealthy practice. Ryan needed something to drown them out. He snatched a random cd from the stack and popped it into the player.

His thoughts were probably the lesser of the two evils. Because, as the gentle plinking of strummed guitar strings cascaded achingly from the speakers, Ryan was suddenly crushed by an avalanche of memories. This song. God help me! He closed his eyes and succumbed helplessly to the soul-suffocating past that unreeled inexorably in his head like a bad B-movie.

It had been one hell of a year…

[it's been awhile since I could hold my head up high]
[it's been awhile since I first saw you]

"Hey, check out the new kid!"

"Yeah. Came in yesterday. He's supposed to be hot shit or something."

"Nah, I just heard his dad's famous, yo!"

"Big whoop. Everyone's dad's famous around here!"

That last was followed by complacent guffaws, loud enough to penetrate the Metallica blaring from my earphones. I knew they were talking about me. They always did. It was some sort of sick, sad ritual that every new kid had to go through. Next would come the sizing up, the measuring, the figurative sniffing of butts. Then the dreaded and potentially humiliating marking of territory. I was ready for it. Three schools in the past six months prepared you for just about anything.

I clenched my fists in my pockets but did not relinquish my outward calm. Dark shades and the ubiquitous earphones helped maintain my aura of indifferent aloofness. But inside, I was shaking with apprehension. Get it over with already!

"…and then Taggert said: We'll trade you that Fender for your --- oops!"

A blonde whirlwind rammed into me, sending my shades flying from my face. It was an attack from an unexpected quarter, but my reflexes took over. Before the shades could shatter on the concrete, I stretched out my arm and caught them in mid-air. Unfortunately, this sudden and abrupt action shifted my center of gravity and I felt myself listing to the right.

"Whoa! Hey, now! Steady on the starboard side!"

My accidental attacker proved to be my timely savior, saving me from an embarrassing spill by catching me by the biceps and righting me to a less precarious position.

I heard hooting behind me, the same hecklers I'd been studiously ignoring. This time, however, their derision was aimed at the newcomer on the scene. I couldn't be sure, my eardrums still pounding with the heavy staccato of Lars' drums, but by the look on their faces, I guessed that they had tormented this boy before.

I continued to ignore them; blood could stain my new Docs. Instead, I grinned at the boy in front of me. Anyone on those monkeys' bad side warranted at least a temporary alliance. The boy's worried brow unfurrowed when he saw my smile, and he grinned back, sticking out his hand.

"Hey. I'm Moon."

I grasped the hand gratefully, simultaneously yanking my earphones off.

"Ryan."

[it's been awhile since I could stand on my own two feet again]

[it's been awhile since I could call you]

"Ry?"

"Yo."

"You comin' to rehearsal or what?"

"Am I still your lead guitar or what?"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't give me 'tude, man! It's just that, the last couple of times..."

"I'll be there."

"You sure?"

"Hey, get off my tip, Moon! I said I'd be there so I'll be there."

An uncomfortable silence settled over the line. I knew I was being an asshole, but the guy had been on my case about my supposed "condition" for weeks now. I was about to hang up, thinking he'd already done so, when Moon's concerned treble erupted and started nattering at my conscience.

"You're getting those headaches again, aren't you?"

My best friend was accurately, painfully correct. But admitting to it would be admitting to the other thing as well. I didn't want the aggravation of what was sure to come next.

"Ry?"

"I'll be there."

"You said that already." Moon's fretfulness was tinged with suspicion.

"Uh, yeah. Right. Listen, I gotta motor. Rufus wants me. See you at Tag's, right?"

"Ry, wait...!"

I hung up before Moon's nagging and the accusations that were sure to follow could transmit themselves over the fiber optics. I hated how Moon kept stressing. So I'd been feeling like crap recently. And I'd been popping those pills of Tag's at an increasingly regular rate. It had to be the weather – cold and bone-achy and very atypical of October in Southern California. I kept telling myself that the aches and the depression and the weariness were due to the weather. I refused to admit that there was anything more to it than that.

And I refused to think about the fever that had plagued me on and off for the past six months but which had become a constant in my life since I moved back to L.A.

Thank god for Tag and his life-saving white pills! Without them, I would probably have fallen asleep in chem class and failed that test, not to mention the other five exams I had to take that week. Moon was not happy with me. I couldn't really blame him. He knew how my mom had died. In a fit of sincerity one night, while we were hanging out at the golf course and dodging the sprinklers, I was stupid and told him about Deirdre's fascination with all things narcotic and her subsequent overdose two years ago.

Ever since then, Moon tried to keep me from getting sucked into that lifestyle. But could I really help it? Could any of us? We were all spoiled rich kids living off Mommy and Daddy's money and set up with guardians while Mommy and Daddy entertained fat cats everywhere else but at home. No discipline or parental supervision, especially if our chosen guardians were prone to indulging too. And we lived in L.A., for fuck's sake! Drugs were status quo.

It was a losing battle, especially since Taggert – our band manager – was resident dealer at Brentwood High. How Moon escaped with virgin veins was totally beyond me; he'd been with the guys longer than I had. But he just ignored Tag and Stiv when they left rehearsals for "trips to the bathroom". Me, though, he kept on a tight leash. That was all cool with me; I didn't want to get hooked on the scene myself.

But that was before the headaches started again. I got scared; the attacks were more painful and sudden than they'd been before. And I was running a temperature of a hundred and ten for a week and it didn't look like it was letting up. I knew I'd get no help from Rufus; he'd just go to my dad and rat me out. I needed something to distract me. So when Tag asked me if I wanted some of his "happies", that time I didn't say no.

Moon was really ticked off when he accidentally found the pills in my jacket pocket two weeks ago. I passed them off as medication, but that opened up another can of worms. I had the guy hounding me to go to the doctor after that confession. It seemed easier to play cool and admit to the drugs the next time he found them. I did try to soften the blow and told him they were only caffeine pills that time, but Moon's not stupid.

I think that was our first fight.

We haven't fully recovered from it since.

~

I fucked up the last part. It was a simple chord, descanting into my solo. And I'd written the damned song so it should have been a simple thing. But my hand slipped, my concentration was off, and I felt, even before I saw, the wince on Moon's face. Stiv, eyes closed, cigarette in mouth and head bobbing to the beat of his snare, was oblivious as usual. But Moon, on rhythm guitar, caught it and stopped in mid-song.

"What the fuck ---?"

"Ryan was off."

"So?"

"So, this is our demo tape and if that's the shit we're gonna be putting out, we might as well call it quits right now and tell Simon the deal is off!"

"Shit, Moon, agro much? So the guy's having an off day. Cut him some slack, okay?"

"Not okay! We only have the room for one more hour and this is only the third song we've done. And I don't think I even like the first two very much either."

"Dude, who died and made you manager? Tag? You okay with the last two songs?"

"Yeah, man. Whatever you say."

"See? Tag says all is well."

"Tag's so high right now he'd think Poison was cool."

I listened to the guys argue and decided it wasn't worth interjecting. Moon and Stiv seemed to be doing fine on their own. I sidled up next to Taggert, who was crashed out on the couch, and nudged him. He shrugged in negation. I tensed; if I didn't get a fix soon, I'd crash and Moon would know I'd been popping and then he would really be pissed.

"Yo!"

"What?" Stiv and Moon chorused angrily, turning to me. I grinned abashedly.

"Me and Taggert are going on a food run. You guys want anything?"

"Food run?" Stiv quirked an eyebrow knowingly. Moon frowned.

"No drugs."

"What?"

"Ry, I said no drugs."

"Whaddaya mean? I'm not going…" I trailed off at the look on Moon's face; the look that said "Do you think I'm stupid?" and that always made me feel like a shit.

"No, Ry."

Moon gave me another one of his patented looks. This one I wasn't so sure about. I'd caught him eyeing me like that once or twice, ever since we first hooked up, and it never failed to make me feel all weird inside. When I'd complained about it once, he'd just laughed it off but I guess he filed it away as ammunition to use against me when he wanted me to do something I didn't exactly want to do. It was a very effective look.

But I was jonesing. And I could feel the migraine slashing at my temples. And if I didn't take shit from Rufus or my dad, then I sure as hell wasn't gonna take it from my best friend. Moon could go to hell.

"Come on, Tag. Let's go."

Abruptly, I untangled myself from my Fender strap and the amp cords and hauled our manager from the couch. Before Moon could say another word, Tag and I were out the door.

[but everything I can't remember, as fucked up as it all may seem]

[the consequences that I've rendered; I've stretched myself beyond my means]

"So you're going away again."

"Son, we've been through this before…"

"Is she going with you?"

"Anna? Of course. She is my assistant, after all."

"In more ways than one, right?"

My dad looked at me in that half-angry, half-helpless way that seemed to be the norm these days. Ever since Deirdre had bit the big one, Dad's life had been a series of overseas trips and work, work, work. Anything to get rid of the loneliness, I guess. Never mind that he left behind a thirteen-year-old kid at the tender mercies of Rufus, Russian bodyguard and faithful servant. Never mind that said thirteen-year-old probably needed a father more than he needed state-of-the-art electronic gadgets and money to burn. Never mind that said thirteen-year-old missed the mother as much as his dad missed the wife.

But at least I was back in L.A. That year in that English boarding school was hell. Fish and chips, my ass! It was always grey and miserable and everyone talked with those stuffy accents and cared more about their pedigrees than they did about important things like rock and roll. My dad's status was right at the same level as the local barrister's: tolerated but not really respected. And that's how I was treated: tolerably but disdainfully.

I pitched a fit regularly throughout that year and it got to the point that even the impassive headmasters couldn't control me anymore. That's a bonus of being half-Norwegian: it kinda cancels out the stoic Japanese in me and lets me go berserk when I call forth my mad Viking-ness.

So my dad had to pay up the remainder of the fees and haul my sorry ass back to America. I thought for sure we were gonna do that bonding thing then. How wrong I was! Enter Rufus, the crazy Russian, who had a well-meaning heart but knew next to nothing about kids. Vodka and women were more his gig. He'd had plenty of both as bodyguard to Pantera before that group fired him and my dad picked him up from the agency. Dad deposited me in his care before I even got over my jetlag then took off to France to go sign the latest Eurotrash band. He did remember to shove fistfuls of hundreds in my pocket, though, before he left.

I've been alternately spending his cash and getting kicked out of schools ever since. Like he gave a damn, of course. He just sent more money, lectured Rufus over the phone about my lack of discipline, and periodically planned his business trips so they'd give him a lay-over in L.A. and he could play the good father to his associates.

That's why he was here right now; he had to kowtow to Arista suits. He had been too busy to pay attention to me. Unless, of course, he was throwing a party at the house. Then he'd trot me out like a little show pony, pat me on the head then shoo me off to my room when things looked like it was gonna get boozy and rowdy. It was no wonder he didn't have a clue about my worsening condition or my growing dependency on the same thing that had killed my mom.

And now he was leaving again. Right before Christmas. With Anna, the blond whore assistant. I loved my life. I loved my life so much, I knew it was time to be master of it once and for all. I set my plan in motion.

"Listen, Dad. I'm sorry I said that, okay? Anna's cool. I like her. You kiddies have fun in Amsterdam. Rufus and I'll man the fort!" I gave him a jaunty two-fingered salute and grinned, even as the wheels in my head churned calculatingly. I had to do this just right, or he'd take off again and I'd be stuck with the vodka-swilling Russian for another lonely Christmas.

"And you're sure you'll be fine here? You could come with us if you wanted?"

It was the way he made that last bit more of a question than a request that really pissed me off. From his tone, I knew he didn't want me to be around but he felt he had to offer anyway. He was treating me like one of his clients. All my plans and speeches flew out the window and I blurted out my carefully crafted gambit with the finesse of a two-bit whore:

"I want to be an emancipated minor."

Dad blinked once. Then he looked past my shoulder as if hoping someone else could deal with this bomb I threw in his lap. Sadly, it was Rufus's day off and Anna had gone home to pack. Just you and me, Dad. What's it gonna be? Paying attention to me now, aren't you?

"I'll call Daniel and have him draw up the paperwork. I should be back in town next month and we can go before the judge then. Is that soon enough for you?"

No ranting. No raving. No pleas for me to change my mind. Just resigned acceptance. And…relief?

I knew I should have been more excited. It was what I'd wanted, wasn't it? Freedom to do whatever I wanted? And knowing my dad, he'd set me up with a hefty bank account so I wouldn't even have to worry about the financial burden of emancipation. So why was I feeling a sick sense of emptiness and betrayal in my gut?

Later that night, Rufus and I dropped him and Anna off at LAX. Then I made the Russian drop me off at Tag's. I was on my way to shit-faced when Moon came by. He looked at me, disgusted, and was about to walk away when he hesitated. I guess the hurt and loneliness that I'd been trying to drown in amphetamines and alcohol was still evident in my eyes. I dunno. Moon always said I had a poet's eyes: all soulful and apparent, whatever the hell that meant.

He gave me that look again, the one that made me queasy. And I think he asked me what was wrong. I probably would have broken down and cried if Tag hadn't been around; there was so much affection and – something else? – in Moon's face that poked at my heart. But because Tag was there and because I wasn't ready to admit to myself that thing about Moon that I guess I had always suspected, I played the asshole again.

"Wrong? Nothing's wrong, dude! I just became my own man today. Emancipated fucking minor. Tag and I are gonna go out and find us some honies to celebrate. I'd ask you to come along but we're still not sure what way you swing, huh, Tag?"

The stricken look on Moon's face will forever be branded in my memory. As Tag started laughing, my best friend and possibly the only good thing in my life turned around and left me.

Just like my dad had done.

[it's been awhile since I could say that I wasn't addicted]
[it's been awhile since I could say I love myself as well]

The migraines were back. Accompanied by the fever and the fatigue and the depression. No big. Only this time, I noticed I had to add bleeding gums and hair loss to my list. I was seriously fucked up but I had kept my secret for so long that I couldn't break down and ask for help now. The Japanese in me was kicking in – impassive to the end. I would've made a damned good samurai.

Besides, I had other things to worry about. Namely, my birthday. I was finally turning sixteen. Not that it made much of a difference. Being an emancipated minor kinda sucked the joy out of milestones like that. But sixteen was supposed to be one of those monumental things in one's life and, having access to Dad's money, I knew I had to throw a big bash. It was a prime directive.

And it gave me an excuse to talk to Moon. The band had pretty much broken up after that time at Tag's. I still played my guitar and wrote songs. I started carrying around a little notebook to jot down random bits that popped into my head. I'd been getting a lot of those ever since Moon went MIA on my ass. Before, I'd just talk his ear off and he'd remember it all and transcribe my ramblings into lyrics. But since he'd abandoned me and had taken his photographic memory with him, the notebook was the next best thing.

Without the band as an excuse, though, Moon and I had pretty much drifted. After Christmas break, school went on as usual. Only Moon managed to switch his schedule so that we didn't have any classes together. And he started hanging out with a different crowd. Drama geeks. The kind of people we all used to make fun of back when we were cool rocker dudes. If we did happen to pass by each other in the halls, he would turn away and mutter something incomprehensible then hurry away as if I had leprosy or something.

Maybe I did have leprosy. Or something. I was progressively getting worse and I needed to take twice the amount of pills I'd originally started with just to dull the pain. I didn't know what was worse: my mysterious illness or the withdrawals I'd get if I didn't have my fix. Tag was a good friend, though. He happily kept me supplied with the stuff and cut me a break on payments. Not that I needed to budget; as I said, Dad left me with scads of cash. I just knew that I had to watch the spending or Rufus would get suspicious and rat me out.

Yeah, Rufus. Still with me. There seemed no reason to get rid of him. He was pretty handy with eggs. Plus, I still didn't have my driver's license and I needed wheels to get around. Nobody walked in L.A., especially not in my condition.

The phone rang and I snatched it up eagerly. I had left a couple of messages on Moon's answering machine and somehow, I knew it would be him. I wasn't mistaken.

"Ry?"

The way he still used my nickname, even after three months of absence, gave me a glimmer of hope. But I knew I had to be really careful in handling this situation. One wrong move and I would probably go Moon-less forever.

"Hey. You got my message. So, you coming or what?" Smooth, Sakata! Why was it that everything out of my mouth these days sounded either sarcastic or belligerent? I held my breath, expecting the "decline" but hoping for the "accept"

There was a pregnant pause and I could hear him breathing softly. I could almost imagine his forehead wrinkling and his eyes squinting like he always did right before he made a decision. Normally, I would think this hilarious as hell; he looked like a little blond Elmo when he did that. Now, though, the wait was killing me. Say something already, dammit!

I was concentrating so hard that I missed his answer the first time around.

"What? What was that again?" I asked and cringed at the desperate eagerness I heard in my voice.

"Yes. I'll come."

[it's been awhile since I've gone and fucked things up just like I always do]
[but all that shit seems to disappear when I'm with you]

"Dude, this party rocks!"

"Fully righteous, man!"

"Hey, whose party is this anyway?"

"I don't know, dude. But there's a shitload of booze out by the pool!"

"Dude, there's a pool?"

I shook my head as a couple of nimrods I didn't even know swept past me in their hurry to get to the backyard. "Pool" in L.A. always meant girls in bikinis and tonight was no exception. There were some major fly honies, compliments of Taggert, lazing about poolside and I was also on my way to go mingle when I got waylaid by a couple of yahoos puking in the hallway.

"Ewww! Gross!" A fairly decent-looking girl – I think her name was Belinda, from French – wrinkled her nose at the mess then looked expectantly at me.

"I suppose you want me to clean it up?" Again with the sarcasm. Nice, Sakata!

"Well, it is your house, right? You wouldn't want that to stain or smell or anything." She gave me a disparaging glare, upset at my snarky tone, then flounced off to refill her plastic cup.

I sighed. It was my party and I had to end up with puke detail. Joy. And to top it all off, the thrumming in my head was getting stronger and I knew it wasn't from the fifteen-inch woofers pounding Kidd Rock from the living room. I needed to find Tag; my stash was empty.

But Tag was nowhere to be found. And as the night wore on and my headache turned into a full-blown migraine and more people kept coming and the party got louder and rowdier with all the free-flowing alcohol, I began second-guessing the merits of having the bash during Rufus's day off.

If anything, Rufus could have stopped that guy from using the second-story balcony as a diving board into the pool. I don't think he needed stitches but the pool ran red a bit from the bloody gash on his forehead. And Rufus could have made sure that girl hadn't gone into one of the bedrooms with that drunk asshole, only to run out moments later, half-naked and crying her eyes out. And Rufus could have cleaned up the presents of puke that people seemed to want to leave me all over the backyard.

I should've stopped the party a long time ago. That, or stopped the alcohol. But I was just a tad bit fucked up myself. Hell, I had to do something to forget about the war going on inside my body. What with the withdrawals on one front and the migraines on the other, alcohol seemed the best way to defeat them both.

By my fifth shot of tequila and uncountable beers, the pain was almost nonexistent. Still, there was that little responsible part of me that screamed in my drunken mind. I think it said something like: "Get up, asshole! Before the cops show up!" I wanted to ignore the vicious little monster but it kept at me and at me and I felt like I was going insane.

Then, around midnight, Moon showed up. And I knew it would be all good.

[but everything I can't remember, as fucked up as it may seem,]
[the consequences that I've rendered; I've gone and fucked things up again.]

"Hey, Moon! What took you?"

"Are you drunk?"

"Maybe."

"Shit! And what's that smell?"

"Oh, puke."

"Puke?!"

"It's not mine, if that's what you're thinking. I've just been cleaning up everyone else's. You know I can hold my liquor."

"No, I don't know."

"Oh, that's right. You haven't been around to know."

I don't know why I said that. I was the one in the wrong here. I was the one who needed to apologize for all the shit that happened between us. He had already made an effort by coming. But, as I mentioned before, I just couldn't control my mouth. Moon looked at me appraisingly. He'd let his hair grow, I noticed. It was flopping over his forehead and half-hiding his eyes. I was grateful for that. I didn't think I could have handled the censure in those eyes. Not right then. Not when I needed him to be my friend. Not when I was so vulnerable.

"We should get you some clean clothes."

"Why?"

"Coz I can't talk to you while you smell like some wino on Hollywood and Vine."

I let him drag me to my bedroom and I sat on the bed as he pulled random shirts out of my closet. It was getting difficult to concentrate. I could still hear the faint noises from the party through the closed door, but that wasn't what was distracting me. It was the pounding in my head, the shafts of pain lancing at my temples. Focusing was painful. Even watching Moon as he tried to separate clean clothes from dirty in his quest to clean me up proved an exhausting task.

Thank god he stopped moving around. Then it hit me: he'd stopped for a reason. His back was to me but I could sense his anger by the tenseness of his shoulders and the harsh rasping of his breath. He was holding a pair of jeans. The black ones. The ones I'd had on yesterday when I was out with Tag and we had…oh, shit.

"You're still taking these." It wasn't a question.

"Look, Moon, I can explain…"

"I don't think I want to hear it."

His self-righteousness zapped away any guilt or remorse I had been feeling. Or maybe it was the effects of the alcohol kicking in. Whatever the case, I felt myself getting really pissed off. This was my house, my party! How dare he come and pass judgment on me, the puritanical bastard!

"What the hell do you care what I do anyway? It's not like you stuck around when I needed you the most!"

"How was I supposed to know that?"

"If you'd stayed at Taggert's that night, I would have told you."

"And if you weren't so hyped up on these that night at Taggert's, then maybe you wouldn't have said what you did and maybe I would have stuck around!" He finally turned around to face me, throwing my little plastic baggie at me. I didn't have the strength to stop it from hitting my face.

And I didn't have the strength to deny what he'd accused me of. He was right. In the months when we were still a band, I'd discovered that those jerks from my first day at Brentwood High weren't the only ones who'd had it out for Moon. Other people on campus picked on him too. And for what? The very thing I'd made fun of that night at Tag's. Everyone picked on Moon because everyone thought he was gay.

"I'm surprised you even let yourself be alone here with me. And the door's closed too. Wonder what they're all thinking downstairs? Think you're rep's ruined now? Coz, you know, you're here with "that faggot" Moon!"

"Don't say that!" Coming from his mouth, the slur sounded ten times more obscene. I shook my head in denial and instantly regretted it as the pounding escalated to monumental proportions.

"Why not? It's what everyone's thinking! It's what you were thinking that night at Tag's. I think the only reason you even hung out with me for that long was because I was part of the band. I bet you and Tag and Stiv couldn't wait to get rid of me. I know those two only tolerated me coz my cousin was a DJ at KROQ. But with you and your dad on the scene, I bet you decided you didn't need me anymore!"

"No! I never thought…I never said…" It was getting harder to breathe.

"But you wanna know a little secret, Ryan? A little secret that I was willing to tell you back then because you seemed so different and so understanding? Remember that night you told me about your mom? At the golf course? I knew then that we'd be best friends. And best friends don't keep secrets from each other, right? And that was going to be my Christmas present to you. My secret."

What the hell was he babbling about? Blood was drumming at my temples, my lungs felt like a punctured balloon that couldn't hold any air. I felt flushed; the alcohol must have aggravated the fever. What was Moon saying? He'd walked toward me as he spoke and was now crouched in front of me. Since he was so much shorter than I was, he didn't have to crouch very much. We were now eye to eye, and for the life of me, I couldn't turn away from the sturm and drang burning in his. What was Moon saying?

"I am gay, Ryan. And damned proud of it. And I think I love you."

Holy shit.

Then the pain and the alcohol and the withdrawals and the fever all came crashing down around me like a jostled beer can pyramid at a frat party and I passed out.

[why must I feel this way? Just make this go away. Just one more peaceful day.]

FAX DESTINATION: The Plaza Hotel, London, England. March 30, 2001

TO: Mr. Harohito Sakata

FROM: Dr. Andrew Keynes

RE: Ryan Sakata

Lupus is an autoimmune disease, a type of self-allergy, whereby the patient's immune system creates antibodies which, instead of protecting the body from bacteria & viruses, attack the person's own body tissues. This causes symptoms of extreme fatigue, joint pain, muscle aches, anaemia, general malaise, and can result in the destruction of vital organs. It is a disease with many manifestations, and each person's profile or list of symptoms is different. Lupus can mimic other diseases, such as multiple sclerosis & rheumatoid arthritis, making it difficult to diagnose.

Systemic lupus attacks multiple systems in the body which may include the skin, joints, blood, lungs, kidneys, heart, brain & nervous system.

Currently there is no single test that can definitely say whether a person has lupus or not. Only by comprehensive examination and consideration of symptoms and history can a diagnosis be achieved.

Lupus is neither infectious or contagious.

At present there is no cure for lupus, but research is being carried out the world over, to find new treatments for lupus and to find out what causes lupus to develop, so there is hope for the future. However, lupus can be controlled using medications.

We recommend further observation of your son and will keep you updated as to his progress. We also recommend you look into the Tokyo chapter of the Lupus Multiplex Registry & Repository (LMRR). They have top specialists currently working on radical new treatments that have yet to be approved here in America.

Should you have any further questions, please do not hesitate to contact us. As your son is an emancipated minor, please be aware that we are under no obligation to inform you of his progress unless requested by him or initiated by you.

[it's been awhile since I could look at myself straight]
[it's been awhile since I said I'm sorry]

"Hey."

"Hey right back at ya."

"You look like shit."

"I feel like shit."

I smiled feebly at Moon from my hospital bed. It had been a week since my collapse. And in that week, I'd been stuck in a private wing at the UCLA Medical Center with nary a well-wisher unless one counted Rufus who'd been hovering over me like a mad mother hen, all penitent and guilty for not having been around when the shit hit the fan. Today marked the sixth day of my forced bed rest. And my first real visitor.

"But you're okay now, right?"

I shrugged. "The doctors tell me I am."

"I tried to come by earlier but they said it was family only and that scared me coz they only say "family only" when it's serious and I didn't know if that was the case in your case and, well, here I am. They finally let me in. So I guess I was worried over nothing." Moon finished his incoherent speech, the words limping out of his mouth like a one-legged pirate.

I shrugged again. "It's no big."

"Heh. I thought I'd killed you with my little secret." Moon fidgeted nervously by the foot of my bed but there was a look of determination on his face.

Good old Moon. He was anything if not brave. I would have taken a lot longer to bring up the subject. Hell, I would've tried to pass it off as a drunken confession if it had been me. But it wasn't me. It was Moon. And he always faced his problems head on. It was why I liked him in the first place.

But now he was putting me in a tough spot. How was I supposed to react to this? Moon was gay. Openly and admittedly. And didn't he say he loved me? Shit. Come on, Sakata! Think! What would Oprah say?

"It takes more than a homo to off me, dude." Oh, Oprah would be sooo proud!

Moon's face twisted in a grimace but I guess the lack of animosity in my voice stopped him from taking offense. And I guess he'd gotten far worse than I dished out because he still stayed where he was. He drew a deep breath and exhaled loudly, his eyes never leaving my face. We stared at each other for a long while, both of us unsure of what to say.

I took the opportunity to memorize him. Something told me that this would probably be the last time we would get to be this close for a long time. Moon. My best friend. My only friend. Just shy of five foot four but with enough energy to rival Kobe Bryant. Blond hair cropped close to the sides but hanging haphazardly over his forehead, obscuring eyes that gleamed bright hazel. High cheekbones, sharp jaw, a pointy nose. (I'd always teased him about looking like an elf from Lodoss). An expressive mouth that could smile with wild abandon one moment then purse in fierce concentration the next. Thin frame, almost fragile, but long, capable fingers that fixed carburetors as easily as they strummed guitar.

I realized that, had I been gay myself, I would be all over Moon in a heartbeat. I'd never paid attention before coz guys just don't check out other guys, you know? But I had to admit that my best friend was a hottie. And I would never say that out loud even if sharpened bamboo sticks were shoved down my pee hole.

But if Moon wanted me to say it out loud, I decided I would do it. He was my best friend. And he loved me. Whether that love was fraternal or erotic was beside the point. Love is love, right? So many people go through life without experiencing it at all, in any form, and I should count myself lucky to be the recipient to both kinds. After all, I wasn't getting it from my dad; I shouldn't be so picky.

The problem was I knew I could never reciprocate the type of love he had for me. I wasn't gay and I could never give him what he wanted. But the part of me that wanted – no, needed! – his friendship whispered that maybe I could let him have a little bit of what he craved if only to keep him by my side forever.

"It's okay, you know. It's not contagious."

As if reading my mind, Moon broke the silence with this wry, self-deprecating statement. I knew he was trying to break through the awkwardness but the way he said it – so sad and wistful – made his attempt at lightening the mood fall flat. He looked so unhappy and shy all of a sudden, all the bravado gone from his face. I guess the silence had gotten to him. And it didn't help that I had been staring at him so intently, taking snapshots of him with the camera in my brain. He was waiting for me to say something. Anything. So I blurted out the first thing that came to mind:

"Moon. I'm sorry."

It was all I knew to say. But I meant it with all my heart. And I guess it was enough. Because he looked at me for a moment to make sure I was sincere then the sadness left his eyes and he smiled.

[it's been awhile since I've seen the way the candle lights your face]
[but I can still remember just the way you taste]

This is the part that tears me up inside. What happened that last day of my stay at the hospital.

I'd been told that there were specialists in Tokyo that could help me with my condition, and my dad was pulling rank and forcing me to go. Of course, legally, he couldn't make me do anything. I felt like saying "A day late and a dollar short, Pops!" but at the time, I was still too drugged up to put up a fight. Plus, I figured it was his way of showing he cared. I decided I'd give him a hard time later.

Ironic, that. The drugged-up part, I mean. I'd spent the better part of the year taking drugs to help me get rid of the sickness and had gotten in trouble for doing so, but when I'd decided that they weren't the answer, I was back on them again. At least they were legal this time. And the morphine injections for the pain gave me a really good buzz. But the rest of the meds just made me want to puke. All the aftereffects without the high. Life sucks.

Dad had Anna make arrangements at Komagome Hospital to register me as an outpatient. He even made her find me an apartment close to the hospital. And he made her enroll me at Greenwood. That last bit pissed me off. I knew by the time the arrangements would be processed that it would be July and I was not about to go to school in the middle of my summer. But my father the Nazi was firm. I ranted and raved, Viking style, but inside I was just happy that he was finally acting like the father I needed him to be.

Moon wasn't exactly thrilled when he heard what was planned for me. I guess it did kinda suck, being that we'd just recently rediscovered our friendship. But we both knew it was for the best and we tried to make the most of the remaining time we had together.

Moon visited me everyday, keeping me up with gossip from school and helping me turn all the notes from notebook into actual songs. We never spoke of his being gay after that first visit. It wasn't that we were ashamed or anything. Quite the opposite. Having it out in the open between us made our friendship that much stronger. Real friendships, as anyone who's ever had one knows, don't need long, soul-searching talks to make them stronger. The mutual acceptance – his of my apology and mine of his homosexuality – eased any awkwardness that could have developed.

My last day at the hospital changed all that.

I was supposed to have been checked out late that afternoon but I had another migraine attack and the doctors wanted me to stay one last night for observation. I didn't mind. There was this fine honey of a nurse who constantly checked in on me and I would miss her when I left. I called Moon to let him know. We had planned to check out his new ride that night – he'd gotten it as an early birthday present and couldn't stop talking about it – but that plan had to be ix-nayed. He told me no problem and said he'd stop by to see me instead.

He said he had a surprise.

It was nine o'clock when he finally showed up. After visiting hours. But it was Moon and he could be really charming when he wanted to be. So I wasn't surprised when I heard his voice calling from the door. I was already woozy from the drugs the docs had given me, but I really wanted to see my surprise so I made myself wake up. I didn't have the energy to turn on the lights, though.

But it was all good. Because I didn't need to. The candles were bright enough to light his way to me.

"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, you sorry-ass, lupus-having sonuvabitch! Happy birthday to you!"

Moon grinned wickedly as he set the cake, sixteen candles and all, on the side table. Chocolate. My favorite. You gotta love the kid!

"Dude, sorry to burst your delusion bubble, but my birthday was, like, three weeks ago."

"I know, stupid. I was there, remember?" Moon retorted, plopping himself down next to me on the bed and shoving my legs over with his scrawny ass. "But I didn't see a cake then and, you know, what's a birthday without a cake?"

"This is my surprise?"

"What were you expecting? A Mercedes SL600?"

"Smart ass!"

"Ingrate!"

We smiled at each other in the flickering candlelight. Again I was hit by that feeling that we would never see each other again. I didn't really pay much attention to it this time, though. I mean, I had the same feeling that first time he came by and he'd been around me like the plague ever since. Couldn't get rid of him even if I wanted to!

Moon must have had a similar premonition though, because he got all serious all of a sudden. Then he leaned toward me as if to whisper something in my ear.

I was high on meds. Later on, this was what I'd tell myself over and over to excuse my actions. It never really worked; I was never convinced. But I kept lying to myself anyway. Anything to keep me from remembering how I felt that night when Moon leaned over me and looked deep into my drug-hazed eyes and kissed me. On the mouth.

I let him do it. Hell, I even opened my arms and pulled him closer. The part of me that had told me to give Moon what he wanted - the selfish little beast in me - shoved aside all reason and kissed my best friend back. It was no different from kissing a girl. Especially with your eyes closed. In fact, with my eyes closed, I was actually enjoying the whole thing. I had to hand it to him – the guy knew his stuff. I almost forgot who was in my arms as the kiss deepened. Almost.

"Shit! Oh, shit! Oh my god! I'm so sorry!"

That was me, remembering that Moon wasn't a girl and shoving him away from me in confusion.

"Me too."

That was Moon, remembering I was a boy but not gay and hurting because I rejected him so sharply.

Before I could say anything else, he stood up and started walking out the room. Total déjà vu. I didn't want to lose him again, but what choice did we have? We had crossed the line and I knew things could never be the same between us. I would always remember the kiss and think of the what would have been and he would always remember the kiss and wish for the what could have been.

So I let him walk away from me again, knowing that it would be the last time.

"Don't forget to make a wish before you blow out your candles," he said without looking back.

Then the door snicked shut behind him.

[but everything I can't remember; as fucked up as it all may seem to be; I know it's me]

[I cannot blame this on my father; he did the best he could for me]

Ryan let the film unreel to its anticlimactic conclusion.

After that night, everything had been a hazy blur. The doctors had increased his pill count because he had not responded well to the other meds he'd been given and they wanted him to be chipper and pseudo-healthy before they shipped him off to the Tokyo specialists. Wouldn't want foreigners thinking they couldn't take care of their own.

The house in Malibu had been packed up, white sheets thrown over furniture like ghostly blankets. Rufus had been retained only because he really had no other place to go. He'd been taking care of Ryan for only a year and a half, but he admitted to growing soft within that time and said he'd be of no use as a bodyguard. Currently, Rufus was doing the odd job here and there for his dad in L.A., one of which was keeping the lines of communication open between father and son.

The electronics had been shipped, along with the obscene amount of cds and clothes Ryan had amassed. Passports were obtained, the apartment in Tokyo closed escrow, the admittance forms from Greenwood had been duly noted and filed.

And in the three months of flurry and bustle, Moon had not contacted Ryan personally.

He'd sent him an email, though. A picture of his new car. A Mercedes SL600. Ryan had smiled when he'd seen it, finally understanding the joke. But the photo had not been accompanied by anything else. And Ryan had known that it was Moon's way of saying good-bye.

His dad had actually spent some time with him in Tokyo. At least two weeks, but leaving right before Ryan's first day at Greenwood. Of course. It had been too much to expect his father to stick around for something as petty as a first day of school. Ryan hadn't bothered to unpack after that. It was his fruitless attempt at snubbing the arrangements his father – no, his father's assistant! – had set up for him.

Moon would laugh. He'd say I was being an ungrateful shit. And he'd be right. Ah, dammit! I miss him!

Ryan gave in to the sorrow then. He stumbled back toward his bed and lay down, numb and spent. Tears snailed down his cheeks and he didn't bother to brush them away. He tasted the salt on his lips and listened as the song trailed off to its conclusion. Above him, the paper cranes twirled.

One thousand paper cranes. One thousand and I get to make a wish. Just like birthday candles. I wish…I wish…

[it's been awhile since I could hold my head up high]
[and it's been awhile since I said I'm sorry]