Disclaimers: Don't own 'em, not a single ruddy one. Not that I wouldn't
love too, mind you. Agh well, too late for that now. As for the songs,
the first one is Amy Grant (don't laugh please, I have a fragile ego) and
the second is Flogging Molly (which is this great Irish-punk band. Listen
to them if you get the chance)
Richie stared blankly out the rain-streaked window at the people passing by on the street below him. A wordless melody played through his mind. Normally rainy days (which were a constant in Seacouver) brought his creativity out in full force making it almost impossible to concentrate on anything else; but today was different, no matter how hard he tried he couldn't put any thoughts on paper. He looked down at the blank page of the notebook in his lap. It frustrated him just to look at it. Blank was not what he wanted to see. On any other rainy day he could lug boxes around while writing page after page in his head. Then the second he could he would run up to his room, lock the door, turn up the radio, and write it all down. Richie looked back out the window. The rain was coming down in sheets splattering nosily against the glass. The melody persisted in his head, but there were still no words. He leaned his head against the cool glass and closed his eyes. The tune got louder and the tempo quickened. Richie smiled; he liked it better fast. He began drumming his fingers on the notebook and humming along.
"Richie?" A voice called.
"Yeah?" he called back, slightly surprised. Tessa and Mac weren't supposed to be back until later that night.
"Where are you?"
"Out here!" He closed the book in his lap. Tessa opened the door that separated her workshop from the antique store.
"Can you come help us." she stopped and looked around. "Richie?"
"Up here." He prompted.
"How did you get up there?" she asked looking up at Richie, who was perched in a window high above her head.
"The same way I'll get down. What did you need?" he asked.
"Can you come help us with the tree?"
"Uh, yeah." He shifted slightly in the windowsill, then looked at the notebook and pen in his hands. "Just a second." He shifted again and looked down.
"Are you okay?" Tessa asked.
"Yeah, just hang on a sec." He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.
"I thought you said you knew how to get down."
"I do. I just . give me a sec.it's just a matter of." he shifted a couple of times and stopped staring at his full hands.
"Duncan, come help Richie!" Tessa called over her shoulder.
"No, I got it, Mac!" Richie insisted.
"What did he do?" Duncan asked appearing beside Tessa.
"He's stuck." Tessa explained gesturing up to Richie.
"I'm not stuck." He said, "I'm just.I'm not stuck."
"How did you get up there?" Duncan asked laughing.
"I flew." Richie scowled down at him. "How do you think I got up here?"
"If I new I wouldn't have asked. Are you coming down by yourself, or do I have to come up there and get you?"
"Duncan, stop teasing and help." Tessa scolded caught somewhere between amusement and worry at the situation.
"Well, if I knew how he got up there I would."
"Don't bother, Mac, I've got it handled." Richie mumbled. "Heads up." He warned dropping his notebook to the floor. He considered throwing his pen at Duncan and claiming it slipped, but thought better of it and tucked it behind his ear.
"What are you doing?" Duncan asked still laughing.
"I'm gonna jump." Richie replied, annoyed that his predicament seemed so amusing to Duncan.
"Don't!" Tessa yelled in a slight panic.
"I'm not, I was just joking." He assured her lowering himself to the top of a shelving unit. It groaned in protest and bent slightly under his weight.
"Richie, be careful."
"I got it Tessa." He walked across the shelf and climbed down the edge until he could stand on the air compressor. From there he stepped tentatively on a rolling toolbox, half fell/half jumped onto her workbench and dropped to the ground. "See? I told you I had it handled." He grinned.
"That's how you got up there?" Tessa asked.
"Give or take yeah." He said looking up to the window.
"Are you okay?" She asked putting a motherly hand on his cheek. He blushed lightly and pulled away.
"I'm fine." He bent down and pick up his notebook grateful it hadn't opened itself. "So what's this I hear about a tree?"
. . . . . .
Richie looked around the room. "Where is it?"
"Right over there." Duncan gestured behind the couch. Richie knelt on the couch and peered behind it.
"It's a box." He sounded disappointed.
"If you have a problem with it, talk to Tessa."
Richie cleared his throat and studied the box carefully. "I don't care. You just seem like 'live tree' people to me, that's all."
"Do you want a drink?" Duncan asked smiling at the boy's attempt to suppress his excitement about Christmas.
"Nah."
"Okay, I'll be right back. See if you can find the instructions." He turned toward the kitchen.
"It's a tree, Mac, how complicated can it be?" Richie called after him.
Duncan closed the refrigerator and stopped as his gaze fell on the green notebook sitting on the counter. His curiosity getting the better of him, he flipped it open and thumbed through the pages. Many were filled with Richie's familiar scrawling handwriting. Casting a glance to the other room; where Richie was pulling branches from the box; to make sure the coast was clear he picked a page and read.
All of my friends Are happy to stay Here in this yard Day after day
But something inside me Has called me away I don't understand But I know I can't stay
I'm gonna fly No one knows where But I'm gonna fly Soar through the air
'Cause all my life seems I've waited For the time to start Being this person inside of me Unafraid of being me No more face to hide behind Just a smile And a dream that's mine Even if I am the only one Who wants to fly
"MAC!" Duncan's head snapped up. He hadn't noticed Richie enter the kitchen.
"Uh, Richie, I was just."
"Reading my stuff?" He finished taking the book from Duncan's hands.
"It's really good." Duncan offered lamely, but sincerely.
"It's really private!" Richie shot back.
"It was just sitting out and I got curious."
"So you read it? Mac, you had no right!"
"No, I didn't and I'm sorry. But Richie, you never tell us anything, and I guess I thought that I'd learn something about you if I ."
"Read my stuff?" Richie interrupted.
"Yeah. You're so mysterious all the time." Duncan tried to defend his position.
"Let me get this strait, I'm 18 your 400 and I'm the mysterious one?"
"Yes you are. Your name's Richard Ryan and your 18, that pretty much all I know about you."
"That's pretty much all there is to know."
"There's more than that."
"No, there's not." Richie insisted. Duncan took the notebook and waived it in the air between them.
"Someone who writes like this has depth, dreams, aspirations.real character. Something more to his past then running form the cops." He stared into Richie's eyes and watched as Richie considered his response.
"Okay, Mac." He said slowly. "You win, what do you want to know?" Duncan paused before answering; he hadn't expected it to be so easy to get Richie talking.
"What got you to write this? It seems." he searched for the word. "sad." He finished.
"Which one?"
"This one." Duncan handed him the notebook. Richie scanned the page and shifted uncomfortably on his feet.
"You had to read the corny one." He mumbled. "Nothing in particular. I just felt like it." He answered.
"Why did you feel like it?"
"I don't know, I guess I was in a 'I'm better then this crap' mood." He shrugged not looking up. Duncan put his hand on Richie's shoulder.
"When?" He asked.
"When?" Richie repeated looking up.
"When did you write it?"
"A couple months ago, I guess." He mumbled. "I wasn't here if that's what you're wondering." He added softly staring at a point over Duncan's shoulder.
"What type of things do you write now?"
"I don't really like my stuff. It's just something I do." Richie said, visibly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going.
"What else do you do?" Tessa asked from the doorway. She had been lured to the kitchen by their argument, but had become as curious as Duncan. Richie turned and looked at her before slouching defeated into a chair.
"How in depth are you trying to get here?" He finally asked.
"We'll start small." Duncan assured him looking into the boy's apprehensive eyes. Richie nodded slightly and looked at his hands.
"What's your favorite food?" Tessa asked sitting across from him.
"Chili dogs, cheeseburgers, pizza, spaghetti.food in general really."
"Favorite sport?"
"Basketball."
"Favorite team?"
"Seattle Super Sonics."
"How many girlfriends?" Duncan asked. Richie looked up at him and smirked.
"None of your business. And you'll get the same answer with any question that falls under that category."
Duncan returned his smile. "Oh really? So if I were to ask how many times you've."
"Mac, if you finish that question I'm out of here. And I'm never answering any of your questions again."
"I was just going to ask if."
"Mac!"
"Just if you've."
"Mac, I'm leaving."
"Richie sit down. Duncan behave." Tessa ordered with a laugh. "What prompted all this? I want to read it." She added reaching across the table and putting her hands on the notebook. Richie allowed her to take it and watched closely as she read it. After she finished she turned the page and looked at Richie. He stared blankly at her but made no move to stop her, so she continued. Slowly she and Duncan read page after page until there was nothing left to read. "Richie, you write beautifully." Tessa said softly breaking the silence.
"I wouldn't say they're beautiful. They mostly suck." Richie replied in attempted nonchalant-ness.
"This poetry doesn't 'suck'" Tessa assured him.
"Fine, it might be okay, but it's not poetry." Richie defended.
"Then what is it?" Duncan asked.
"Lyrics. I write songs." He answered softly standing up. "Are we done?" He asked extending his hand for the notebook.
"Yes." Tessa answered handing it to him. Richie took in and went into his room, closing the door behind him.
. . . . . .
Richie sat on his bed and stared across the room. He took a deep breath and tried to clam his embarrassment. It always embarrassed him when they tried to get him to open up. And everytime it worked, it seemed to be about something he never really wanted to openly talk about. He would have just taken his book and run when he had the chance, but all that would have done was make Duncan more persistent until he found out what he wanted to know. And that would have led to a rather anti-climatic and disappointing ending for Duncan, and even more embarrassment for Richie. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes: this had not turned out to be his day.
Richie's eyes flew open. He wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep or what had woken him, but he was glad. His dream had been a little too strange for his liking. The handle to his door rattled.
"Richie, open the door." Duncan's rather annoyed voice demanded from the other side.
"Sorry, Mac, guess I fell asleep." He explained as he unlocked the door.
"Too tired to eat?" Duncan asked.
"I'm never too anything to eat." Richie said leading the way to the kitchen. He stopped short and stared at the table. "Not funny." He declared.
"We took a chance that you liked meatballs, too." Duncan smiled sitting down. Richie rolled his eyes and grabbed some garlic bread before going to the refrigerator for a soda. "Richie, can I ask you a question?" Duncan asked when he sat down.
"No, you've asked me enough for today." Richie answered flatly.
"Just one more, then I'll let it go. I promise."
"I don't believe you, but fine."
"Do you sing?"
Richie choked on a mouthful of noodles. "Excuse me?" He finally managed to get out.
"You head me."
"I know, I was hoping I might have heard you wrong."
"Quit stalling. Either you sing or you don't. Which one is it?"
"I don't know, Mac. Which do you think it is?" Richie asked with a smile.
"I don't know."
"Then I guess that makes two of you." He said grinning at Tessa. " 'Cause I'm not saying."
"Why not?"
"I've embarrassed myself enough for one day, that's why."
"So is that a yes?"
. . . . . .
Richie groaned and rolled over in bed. His dreams were getting very weird.
'Maybe I ate something.' He thought sitting up. 'Speaking of eating.'
He slid out from the sheets and walked to the kitchen. He rummaged through the refrigerator and emerged with leftover garlic bread and orange juice. He sat down and tried to remember what he had been dreaming about. He remembered swords.and Duncan.then.. gunshots. Someone had shot him, that's why he had woken up. He shook his head, the more he remembered, the more confused he became. Idly he wondered what had caused him to have such strange dreams. He hadn't eaten anything strange that day: eggs for breakfast, burger at lunch, ice cream and cookies for a snack, spaghetti for dinner and the sushi he had found in the refrigerator before bed. The sushi hadn't tasted that good, but it was just fish and rice so that couldn't have been it. He shrugged to himself, finished the juice and took the rest of the bread with him to his room. His dreams had given him an idea.
Richie stared blankly out the rain-streaked window at the people passing by on the street below him. A wordless melody played through his mind. Normally rainy days (which were a constant in Seacouver) brought his creativity out in full force making it almost impossible to concentrate on anything else; but today was different, no matter how hard he tried he couldn't put any thoughts on paper. He looked down at the blank page of the notebook in his lap. It frustrated him just to look at it. Blank was not what he wanted to see. On any other rainy day he could lug boxes around while writing page after page in his head. Then the second he could he would run up to his room, lock the door, turn up the radio, and write it all down. Richie looked back out the window. The rain was coming down in sheets splattering nosily against the glass. The melody persisted in his head, but there were still no words. He leaned his head against the cool glass and closed his eyes. The tune got louder and the tempo quickened. Richie smiled; he liked it better fast. He began drumming his fingers on the notebook and humming along.
"Richie?" A voice called.
"Yeah?" he called back, slightly surprised. Tessa and Mac weren't supposed to be back until later that night.
"Where are you?"
"Out here!" He closed the book in his lap. Tessa opened the door that separated her workshop from the antique store.
"Can you come help us." she stopped and looked around. "Richie?"
"Up here." He prompted.
"How did you get up there?" she asked looking up at Richie, who was perched in a window high above her head.
"The same way I'll get down. What did you need?" he asked.
"Can you come help us with the tree?"
"Uh, yeah." He shifted slightly in the windowsill, then looked at the notebook and pen in his hands. "Just a second." He shifted again and looked down.
"Are you okay?" Tessa asked.
"Yeah, just hang on a sec." He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.
"I thought you said you knew how to get down."
"I do. I just . give me a sec.it's just a matter of." he shifted a couple of times and stopped staring at his full hands.
"Duncan, come help Richie!" Tessa called over her shoulder.
"No, I got it, Mac!" Richie insisted.
"What did he do?" Duncan asked appearing beside Tessa.
"He's stuck." Tessa explained gesturing up to Richie.
"I'm not stuck." He said, "I'm just.I'm not stuck."
"How did you get up there?" Duncan asked laughing.
"I flew." Richie scowled down at him. "How do you think I got up here?"
"If I new I wouldn't have asked. Are you coming down by yourself, or do I have to come up there and get you?"
"Duncan, stop teasing and help." Tessa scolded caught somewhere between amusement and worry at the situation.
"Well, if I knew how he got up there I would."
"Don't bother, Mac, I've got it handled." Richie mumbled. "Heads up." He warned dropping his notebook to the floor. He considered throwing his pen at Duncan and claiming it slipped, but thought better of it and tucked it behind his ear.
"What are you doing?" Duncan asked still laughing.
"I'm gonna jump." Richie replied, annoyed that his predicament seemed so amusing to Duncan.
"Don't!" Tessa yelled in a slight panic.
"I'm not, I was just joking." He assured her lowering himself to the top of a shelving unit. It groaned in protest and bent slightly under his weight.
"Richie, be careful."
"I got it Tessa." He walked across the shelf and climbed down the edge until he could stand on the air compressor. From there he stepped tentatively on a rolling toolbox, half fell/half jumped onto her workbench and dropped to the ground. "See? I told you I had it handled." He grinned.
"That's how you got up there?" Tessa asked.
"Give or take yeah." He said looking up to the window.
"Are you okay?" She asked putting a motherly hand on his cheek. He blushed lightly and pulled away.
"I'm fine." He bent down and pick up his notebook grateful it hadn't opened itself. "So what's this I hear about a tree?"
. . . . . .
Richie looked around the room. "Where is it?"
"Right over there." Duncan gestured behind the couch. Richie knelt on the couch and peered behind it.
"It's a box." He sounded disappointed.
"If you have a problem with it, talk to Tessa."
Richie cleared his throat and studied the box carefully. "I don't care. You just seem like 'live tree' people to me, that's all."
"Do you want a drink?" Duncan asked smiling at the boy's attempt to suppress his excitement about Christmas.
"Nah."
"Okay, I'll be right back. See if you can find the instructions." He turned toward the kitchen.
"It's a tree, Mac, how complicated can it be?" Richie called after him.
Duncan closed the refrigerator and stopped as his gaze fell on the green notebook sitting on the counter. His curiosity getting the better of him, he flipped it open and thumbed through the pages. Many were filled with Richie's familiar scrawling handwriting. Casting a glance to the other room; where Richie was pulling branches from the box; to make sure the coast was clear he picked a page and read.
All of my friends Are happy to stay Here in this yard Day after day
But something inside me Has called me away I don't understand But I know I can't stay
I'm gonna fly No one knows where But I'm gonna fly Soar through the air
'Cause all my life seems I've waited For the time to start Being this person inside of me Unafraid of being me No more face to hide behind Just a smile And a dream that's mine Even if I am the only one Who wants to fly
"MAC!" Duncan's head snapped up. He hadn't noticed Richie enter the kitchen.
"Uh, Richie, I was just."
"Reading my stuff?" He finished taking the book from Duncan's hands.
"It's really good." Duncan offered lamely, but sincerely.
"It's really private!" Richie shot back.
"It was just sitting out and I got curious."
"So you read it? Mac, you had no right!"
"No, I didn't and I'm sorry. But Richie, you never tell us anything, and I guess I thought that I'd learn something about you if I ."
"Read my stuff?" Richie interrupted.
"Yeah. You're so mysterious all the time." Duncan tried to defend his position.
"Let me get this strait, I'm 18 your 400 and I'm the mysterious one?"
"Yes you are. Your name's Richard Ryan and your 18, that pretty much all I know about you."
"That's pretty much all there is to know."
"There's more than that."
"No, there's not." Richie insisted. Duncan took the notebook and waived it in the air between them.
"Someone who writes like this has depth, dreams, aspirations.real character. Something more to his past then running form the cops." He stared into Richie's eyes and watched as Richie considered his response.
"Okay, Mac." He said slowly. "You win, what do you want to know?" Duncan paused before answering; he hadn't expected it to be so easy to get Richie talking.
"What got you to write this? It seems." he searched for the word. "sad." He finished.
"Which one?"
"This one." Duncan handed him the notebook. Richie scanned the page and shifted uncomfortably on his feet.
"You had to read the corny one." He mumbled. "Nothing in particular. I just felt like it." He answered.
"Why did you feel like it?"
"I don't know, I guess I was in a 'I'm better then this crap' mood." He shrugged not looking up. Duncan put his hand on Richie's shoulder.
"When?" He asked.
"When?" Richie repeated looking up.
"When did you write it?"
"A couple months ago, I guess." He mumbled. "I wasn't here if that's what you're wondering." He added softly staring at a point over Duncan's shoulder.
"What type of things do you write now?"
"I don't really like my stuff. It's just something I do." Richie said, visibly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going.
"What else do you do?" Tessa asked from the doorway. She had been lured to the kitchen by their argument, but had become as curious as Duncan. Richie turned and looked at her before slouching defeated into a chair.
"How in depth are you trying to get here?" He finally asked.
"We'll start small." Duncan assured him looking into the boy's apprehensive eyes. Richie nodded slightly and looked at his hands.
"What's your favorite food?" Tessa asked sitting across from him.
"Chili dogs, cheeseburgers, pizza, spaghetti.food in general really."
"Favorite sport?"
"Basketball."
"Favorite team?"
"Seattle Super Sonics."
"How many girlfriends?" Duncan asked. Richie looked up at him and smirked.
"None of your business. And you'll get the same answer with any question that falls under that category."
Duncan returned his smile. "Oh really? So if I were to ask how many times you've."
"Mac, if you finish that question I'm out of here. And I'm never answering any of your questions again."
"I was just going to ask if."
"Mac!"
"Just if you've."
"Mac, I'm leaving."
"Richie sit down. Duncan behave." Tessa ordered with a laugh. "What prompted all this? I want to read it." She added reaching across the table and putting her hands on the notebook. Richie allowed her to take it and watched closely as she read it. After she finished she turned the page and looked at Richie. He stared blankly at her but made no move to stop her, so she continued. Slowly she and Duncan read page after page until there was nothing left to read. "Richie, you write beautifully." Tessa said softly breaking the silence.
"I wouldn't say they're beautiful. They mostly suck." Richie replied in attempted nonchalant-ness.
"This poetry doesn't 'suck'" Tessa assured him.
"Fine, it might be okay, but it's not poetry." Richie defended.
"Then what is it?" Duncan asked.
"Lyrics. I write songs." He answered softly standing up. "Are we done?" He asked extending his hand for the notebook.
"Yes." Tessa answered handing it to him. Richie took in and went into his room, closing the door behind him.
. . . . . .
Richie sat on his bed and stared across the room. He took a deep breath and tried to clam his embarrassment. It always embarrassed him when they tried to get him to open up. And everytime it worked, it seemed to be about something he never really wanted to openly talk about. He would have just taken his book and run when he had the chance, but all that would have done was make Duncan more persistent until he found out what he wanted to know. And that would have led to a rather anti-climatic and disappointing ending for Duncan, and even more embarrassment for Richie. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes: this had not turned out to be his day.
Richie's eyes flew open. He wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep or what had woken him, but he was glad. His dream had been a little too strange for his liking. The handle to his door rattled.
"Richie, open the door." Duncan's rather annoyed voice demanded from the other side.
"Sorry, Mac, guess I fell asleep." He explained as he unlocked the door.
"Too tired to eat?" Duncan asked.
"I'm never too anything to eat." Richie said leading the way to the kitchen. He stopped short and stared at the table. "Not funny." He declared.
"We took a chance that you liked meatballs, too." Duncan smiled sitting down. Richie rolled his eyes and grabbed some garlic bread before going to the refrigerator for a soda. "Richie, can I ask you a question?" Duncan asked when he sat down.
"No, you've asked me enough for today." Richie answered flatly.
"Just one more, then I'll let it go. I promise."
"I don't believe you, but fine."
"Do you sing?"
Richie choked on a mouthful of noodles. "Excuse me?" He finally managed to get out.
"You head me."
"I know, I was hoping I might have heard you wrong."
"Quit stalling. Either you sing or you don't. Which one is it?"
"I don't know, Mac. Which do you think it is?" Richie asked with a smile.
"I don't know."
"Then I guess that makes two of you." He said grinning at Tessa. " 'Cause I'm not saying."
"Why not?"
"I've embarrassed myself enough for one day, that's why."
"So is that a yes?"
. . . . . .
Richie groaned and rolled over in bed. His dreams were getting very weird.
'Maybe I ate something.' He thought sitting up. 'Speaking of eating.'
He slid out from the sheets and walked to the kitchen. He rummaged through the refrigerator and emerged with leftover garlic bread and orange juice. He sat down and tried to remember what he had been dreaming about. He remembered swords.and Duncan.then.. gunshots. Someone had shot him, that's why he had woken up. He shook his head, the more he remembered, the more confused he became. Idly he wondered what had caused him to have such strange dreams. He hadn't eaten anything strange that day: eggs for breakfast, burger at lunch, ice cream and cookies for a snack, spaghetti for dinner and the sushi he had found in the refrigerator before bed. The sushi hadn't tasted that good, but it was just fish and rice so that couldn't have been it. He shrugged to himself, finished the juice and took the rest of the bread with him to his room. His dreams had given him an idea.