Disclaimer: Characters and references belonging to 'Roswell' are property of Melinda Metz and Jason Katims productions. The lyrics and title are taken from Sheryl Crow's fantastic song, 'Crash and Burn' from her 'Globe sessions' album. No copyright infringement intended.
I watched the sun come up on Portland
I waved goodbye to all my friends
I packed my car and headed to LA
I gave away all my loose ends
April the twenty-seventh, 2010.
Four AM, Tuesday morning.
He looked around the room, empty, bare.
It had been that way for three hours; everything packed in boxes, sealed up tight in the u-haul. Ready for him to leave.
Seven years of his life wasted, moving--weaving--in and out of the world.
Seven years of his life trying to hide from something that didn't exist.
He kept in touch with Maria. She was the only one who cared anymore.
Nobody had spoken much since Liz had died. It hurt too much to think about it.
Liz had been his first love. Maybe his only love, he didn't know anymore.
He let the wasted cigarette tumble to the floor, sparks scattering forlornly across the cement, trying to find purchase, trying to catch, to spread their heat and flame outwards and upwards. They flickered out on the cold floor and the toe of his boot crushed out the heat rock and the room was immersed in darkness.
Somebody said you gotta get away
To wanna go back home again
I left my universe standing there
Holding the hand of my best friend
May the fourteenth, 2010.
Six AM, Friday morning.
The wind ran through his hair.
The top was down on the convertible. He'd left the u-haul behind two days ago.
What a waste it was.
His life, then, now, forever.
Wasted, everything wasted.
He took a sip from the bottle.
Absolut. Last week it was Stoli.
It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Not anymore.
He thought back to the day he left. It was right after the funeral, he had given the eulogy. He had said a great many things, but had meant very few of them.
That was what death is about; lying about the people you lost so that it doesn't hurt as much.
When he had said goodbye to her, and laid a single black rose on her grave, he got in his car and just drove. He went to Arizona, California, St. Louis, New Orleans…
Every place was the same. All the faces, the places, the people he met, the people he didn't get to meet, they were all the same.
Nothing mattered, because when it came down to it, he had still been the one who found her. And that would never change.
Neither would the fact the he still carried a small jar of earth from Liz Parker's grave with him wherever he chose to be.
And it's laughter that I feel when I think of you
It's one more dusty rose about to turn
I'll see you when I reach New Mexico
If I'm in the mood to crash and burn
June the twenty-third, 2010.
Five pm. Wednesday afternoon.
He was heading back across the country, towards his memories, towards nostalgia, and hatred, and pain. Towards Liz.
He had been running for a long time, seven years time.
It was almost an anniversary, it seemed like an eternity, but it was only seven years.
It sounded odd when you said it like that.
Only seven years.
Only two-thousand, four hundred and seventy nine days.
Only fifty-nine thousand, four-hundred and seventy-two hours.
Only three million, five-hundred, sixty eight thousand and twenty minutes.
Only his life…
Only wasted.
It didn't matter, it was all the same to him.
He would feel better when he told her so.
Because that's what death is…
Feeling guilty and telling lies, and pain…
But life is pain, so that one doesn't really count.
I wrote a letter that I never mailed
I rehearsed a dialogue in my head
In case you ever wanted to track me down
I'll take my cell phone to bed
July the sixth, 2010.
Three am Tuesday morning.
He sat on the hood of his car, parked in the middle of the desert.
It was still cool out, and the breeze was soft against his skin. He looked at his hands; they held the small piece of paper that he kept with him at all times.
What he had wanted to say at her funeral, what he had wanted to share with everyone who had loved her.
What he had been too selfish to say.
He had wanted to say that he loved her. He had wanted to say that he didn't care if she had turned her back on him, that she had found someone else. He had wanted to say something that would make it better, that would wipe the hurt out of her parent's eyes.
But he hadn't.
He had lied, and said that she was a kind girl, and that she would be missed, and Sic transit gloria mundi and dum spiro, spero…
He had lied, and he had run, and he had kept what he was really going to say a secret, just for him.
He looked up at the sky. The stars were still out, dimmer than before, but still bright enough to force retrospection.
Did they ever make it home? Did it matter where they were? What they were?
Liz had loved them, and not him, and that was what mattered.
But Maria had told him that they hadn't left New Mexico, save for their ventures into the great beyond in search of answers. Maria called him whenever the need hit her, and she had bought him a cell for that purpose alone.
That was the one thing he kept.
It was the only thing that tied him to his past, and the only thing he couldn't leave behind him.
Because then he really would be lost, and being lost was not something he was used to.
And it's laughter that I hear when I close my eyes
And it's one more punchline I forgot to learn
I call you up when my bottle's dry
I'm on my way to crash and burn
July the twenty-second, 2010.
Twelve noon, Thursday.
He stood on the side of the road, looking at the sign.
'Welcome to Roswell, New Mexico,' it read. ' Please enjoy your stay.'
He closed his eyes, laughing bitterly at the mundane greeting. He slipped back into his car and pulled back onto the highway.
He had promised that he would come for this, promised that he would say goodbye to someone else.
He had made a promise, and this time, he would keep it.
So he drove on, and when the town became clearer to him, he pressed on, determined to not let Maria down this time.
He approached the small cemetery where he knew she would be, and sighed as he stepped out of his car. Closing his eyes he moved carefully up the walkway, measuring each step with meticulous caution.
He forced back emotion as he saw the fresh grave that stood next to the long overgrown one, and closed the distance quickly. He set a white lily on the newly turned earth, and an ebony rose atop the wild grass.
He realized then why exactly it was that he never kept any promises.
Antigone laid across the road
And let a mack truck leave her there for dead
Just because her lover split the scene
Well love might be great but why lose your head
July the twenty-second, 2010.
One pm, Thursday afternoon.
He had been looking at the words, carved in stone, on the two headstones for over an hour and his heart was starting to hurt.
He looked from the new to the old and let a single tear slip free from his eye.
He'd outlived one of them, he couldn't even pretend to deny that. The look in her eyes when he'd found her, lying alone in her room, not breathing, not moving, had engraved that fact into his mind.
He still remembered that chilling, vacant stare and the words scrawled on the paper in her hands.
'I'm sorry,' they read, 'I hope that's enough.'
But he knew her writing, and those words were not hers.
He never found out what had really happened, couldn't bring himself to look for answers.
He had let it slide, told them it was suicide, and they had believed him.
So the truth was his secret to keep, and his burden to bear.
And that was fine, most days…
But when he saw the tortured look on her lover's face, and the tears that flowed freely from her best friend's eyes, it was harder to ignore his secret truth and pretend.
Harder, but not impossible.
He looked up at the sky.
Yes, he had outlived one of them, but to outlive the other as well?
It burned him to think that his wasted shell had lasted longer than both their vivacious young hearts.
He crouched down and looked at the weathered stone.
"Hey," he murmured, reaching out to play with some of the overlong grass. His fingers trembled slightly at the wave of memories that were flooding over him. "It's been a long time…"
Well, it's laughter that comes up when I cry for you
And my heart may break again before it learns
And I might be stupid enough to want to fall again
Cause I've gotten use to the crash and burn
July the twenty-second, 2010.
One-thirty pm Thursday afternoon.
"I know I've been away for a while," he said, trying to keep his eyes off the names that glared out at him from their stone beds. "I haven't been doing much of anything, and I guess I shouldn't have stayed away for quite so long, but it's been hard, you know?"
He stopped, choking on his own tears, and noticed the warm wetness on his face.
He set down the blade of grass and sat back on his heels.
"I've missed you," he said softly, not bothering to hide his tears away. "Both of you, my girls…"
He laughed. It was bitter and harsh sounding, and it seemed to echo in the afternoon heat.
"I wish I had something to say that would make everything better; some lie that would stop the hurt…" he looked up at the sky, absently wondering what else was up there aside from the clouds. "I've got nothing to say for myself, except that I'm sorry."
He moved to stand up, but paused, realizing something.
"I loved you," he said, "I love you," he looked at the ground, new tears springing up from his eyes. "Maybe that's enough."
He let his finger run over the first, and then the second name, before rising to his full height.
"I guess this is goodbye," he murmured.
"Liz," he said softly, "Maria," he sighed, looking at the two headstones. "I'll miss you."
He walked away slowly, his steps as slow and measured as before, and when he reached his car, he looked over his shoulder at the two small headstones.
"I guess home seems closer when you're far away," he said, and slipped into the driver's seat.
I say I've gotten use to the crash and burn
July the twenty-second, 2010.
Two pm Thursday afternoon.
He cast one final look at the hill where his friends lay, a tears falling down his cheek.
He revved the engine and turned out onto the road.
With that, Kyle Valenti drove out of Roswell, New Mexico for the second time in his life, and prayed that, this time, he wouldn't have to come back.