TITLE: Scenes from an Unplanned Life
SPOILERS: Anything from the series is fair game here.
DISCLAIMER: I neither own nor claim to own anything relating to the show Drake & Josh. The powers that be from Nickelodeon and Schneider's Bakery own all. I am not making a profit except for the satisfaction of being able to play with words for a little while.
Chapter 7: Hallmark Doesn't Make a Card for This
POV: Josh/Drake, 24 years old
All the bickering was giving Josh a headache.
"I'm telling you, the light saber is way better than the phaser. Without question," Rashid was saying, tapping the table vehemently with the tip of his right index finger, causing the ice in everyone's glasses to clink brightly. Apparently, Jamie's assertion that the Star Trek weapons were far superior to those in Star Wars had offended Rashid's delicate sensibilities. Rashid considered himself an expert on all weapons of the science-fiction variety and took it personally when someone contradicted him – especially Jamie, whom Rashid considered a mere amateur on the subject.
Jamie snorted derisively. "You wish. Captain Kirk could shoot Obi Wan Kenobi dead with his phaser before the old man even unhooked his light saber from his bathrobe." If truth be told, Jamie could care less about the argument, but he just liked to watch Rashid squirm.
"That…is…" Rashid spluttered. "I can't believe you just said that." He was silently shaking his head as he chewed the inside of his cheek in annoyance.
Jamie just smiled. "And I'll tell you another thing about your precious Jedi knights," he began, and Josh could tell he was thoroughly enjoying himself.
That made one of them. "Enough already," he muttered mournfully, rubbing his left temple with his fingertips. "Please. Just shut up."
"Then you settle it," Rashid said, his black eyes focusing on Josh. "Go on. Tell this idiot that there is no greater fighter in the entire history of science fiction than the Jedi." He nudged Josh. "Go on. Tell him."
Josh sighed wearily. "Does it really matter?" He exchanged a look with Jamie, who was still grinning.
"Yes it matters!" Rashid said, slamming his palm against the table. A fork bounced to the floor. "It matters," he continued more quietly, "that our seemingly brilliant mathematician friend here has sadly proven himself to be such a moron in every other aspect of life."
Josh absorbed the words in silence, then turned his eyes towards Jamie. "The Jedi are the greatest fighters in the entire history of science fiction," he said in monotone. "And you're both idiots," he added with more inflection.
"Yes, but I'm a vindicated idiot," Rashid said, holding up one finger in triumph.
"All hail the Über Dork," Jamie quipped from across the table. "Let us bask in the glow of his nerditude."
"Hello pot. Meet kettle," Rashid shot back acidly, his caramel-colored skin starting to redden.
Josh sensed another argument coming on. "Shut the fuck up," he said through his teeth. "Both of you."
His companions looked at him in stunned silence. They couldn't remember the last time, if ever, they had heard Josh curse. Sure, he got angry. But he would always steer away from the bad words by making up his own at the last second. Their personal favorite was "fudge nugget."
"Jeesh. What crawled up your butt and died?" Jamie asked, scanning Josh's face. Frankly, ever since they met up that morning, Josh had been copping an attitude.
Josh closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. "Nothing," he said quietly, looking at his friends. "I'm just in a bad mood." He turned his attention to the condensation sliding down the side of his glass of raspberry iced tea, catching a drop with the tip of his finger and drawing a pattern on the table with it.
"If you're still upset about the microcontroller," Rashid began. On their three-man team, he was the mechanical engineering student.
"No," Josh, the electrical-engineering-slash-computer-science student, said. "You were right about that." He shrugged. "Like I said, it's nothing important." Except that six years ago today, my brother and best friend walked out and never looked back, leaving a hole in his family. He hated that it still bothered him so much. Obviously, Drake wasn't bothered by it; why should he be?
"I'm nervous," Jamie, physics student and mathematician extraordinaire, said suddenly, placing Josh and his bad mood on the back burner. He rubbed his palms together rapidly, like he was trying to warm his hands – a nervous habit both Josh and Rashid had learned to ignore. "I just wish it was over."
The three were competing in the Collegiate Robotics Challenge's Southern Regional. This year's host was the University of Florida and teams from colleges and universities around the south had converged on the city of Gainesville for the three-day event. The first heat was later that evening and the three Ph.D. students from Duke University's Pratt School of Engineering were currently ensconced at The Swamp – a local restaurant on the corner of University Avenue and 16th Street, across from campus – nursing iced teas in the late June humidity.
Josh positioned his chair in the shade of the table umbrella, slouching in it until his head rested along the back. He closed his eyes and listened to the bustling traffic on University Avenue and the snippets of conversation that passed by on the sidewalk. His head hurt and his heart ached and both, in some way, could be attributed to the memory that haunted him this time every year.
It was always the same one – waking up and finding him gone. Not just "in the shower" gone, but gone gone – bureau hanging open, guitar missing, no note kind of gone. The kind of gone that had taken up residence inside Josh's chest and built a fortress there, protecting the empty feeling that accompanied the realization that Drake hadn't even cared enough to say goodbye.
Josh had known Drake was angry with their parents, but they were just being parents. They wanted what was best for him and they didn't happen to think that that was wandering the country without a plan at the age of eighteen. He wanted to see the world (at least the world outside the confines of San Diego) and play his music; they wanted him to learn a trade, what they called a "marketable skill," something that he could fall back on when the real-life strains of adulthood came knocking on his door.
But he had shown them all, hadn't he? He had had his precious last word, punctuated by a year of silence that had slid seamlessly into two, then into six. But he was the giant 700-pound gorilla in the room at every school break, every holiday, every birthday celebration or special occasion. Megan had even filled out a graduation announcement for him before realizing that she didn't know where to send it. Their mom had kept their room the same, as if the familiar arrangement of furniture and the collection of rock 'n roll posters would conjure him up out of thin air. If the rest of the house seemed empty, at least his room would still carry the specter of him.
Josh slept in the guest room when he went home to visit.
He didn't come up in conversation very much anymore. When Josh had big news, good or bad, he didn't automatically think about telling Drake first. But that had taken a while, his brain unaccustomed to a life without his brother in it – the person who had consciously risked ruining his reputation to plead with Josh to forgive him in front of the entire class, not caring that he was soaked to the skin and on the verge of tears.
I need you way more than you need me. Sure. Obviously.
"Hey, Josh," Rashid said softly. "You still with us?"
Josh opened his eyes, blinking in the late afternoon sunlight. He looked at his friend and tried to smile. "Yeah," he said, sitting up. "I kinda zoned out there. Sorry."
"You ready to go? I wanna make a couple last-minute adjustments to Sally before the competition starts," Jamie said. "Sally" was what he called their robot – after the girl he had an unrequited crush on in the fourth grade.
"Sally's perfect the way she is," Rashid said. "Don't mess with her."
"Besides," Josh began, returning his attention to the reason why they were in Florida in the first place. He picked up his glass and slurped out the last of his tea. Absently he watched as a city bus pulled to the curb three blocks away, a stream of backpack-toting undergraduates disembarking. "If we start changing things last minute, we run the risk of –"
He stopped suddenly, his fingers gripping his glass reflexively. It couldn't be. The cluster of people who had gotten off the bus had dispersed, most of them heading towards campus. One person remained at the bus stop, his back to Josh. There was something familiar about the outline of the body, the way the clothes fit.
"Drake," he whispered, setting his glass down with a trembling hand, ignoring the stares of his friends who were thinking he had lost his mind. Josh stood up, his chair scraping across the deck, and gripped the edge of the table, his vision pulsing with the pounding of his heart.
"Drake!" he screamed, even though logic told him that it couldn't be him. He used to see Drake everywhere, all the time. And every time, it hadn't been him. You're seeing what you want to see.
But he couldn't help himself. No matter how much time had passed, a glimmer of hope still stubbornly survived. "Drake!" he yelled again, pushing past Jamie's chair and up against the white picket fence that enclosed the outside dining area – gripped the wood so tightly, his knuckles turned white. But the sound was carried away by the high-pitched wail of a fire truck's siren.
When the truck passed, he had disappeared from view.
It wasn't him. It wasn't. His brain forced him to take a breath, then another.
"Who's Drake?" Jamie asked from behind him. He and Rashid were still sitting at the table, watching Josh closely.
Josh's fingers flexed convulsively around the fence posts; he didn't know how to answer that anymore. Six years ago, the answer would have been simple – my brother, my best friend, the person who knows me better than anyone. Now, all Josh knew about Drake was that he was gone. A sudden sadness gripped him and it took him a moment to find his voice. When he finally did, he simply said, "Just someone I used to know."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Drake heaved a heavy sigh as he punched his employee code into the time clock, his fingers automatically reaching for the knot in his tie and pulling it loose. The top button of his shirt followed closely behind.
It was finally the end of a very long day. His lower back ached and there was a blister forming along the back of his right heel where his new work shoes had been rubbing. He shuffled to the employee locker room and sagged onto a bench, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, his head drooping down.
"Hey, man. What're you still doing here?" Mike's voice.
Drake spoke to his shoes. "Mid-shift was short-staffed, so I volunteered to stay."
"And George let you?" George Silverman supervised the hotel wait staff. He ruled his tiny kingdom with an iron fist, priding himself on doing his part to increase the hotel's profit margin – and thus his salary – by banning overtime of any kind.
Smirking, Drake looked over at Mike, who was leaning up against his locker, arms crossed over his chest. Mike worked in building maintenance and loved to tell stories about all the strange things he would find clogging up toilets, sinks, and bathtubs. He was just starting his shift and was still in his street clothes. "George doesn't know yet," Drake said. "He was off today. Valerie authorized it." Valerie Montoya supervised the kitchen staff and, at least in terms of position, equaled George. In all other areas – competence and personality, most notably – she was far superior.
Mike laughed. "George is gonna have a shit fit."
"Oh well. I'm gettin' paid," Drake said, smiling. He pulled off his shoes and stood up, spinning the combination lock on his locker door and tugging it open.
"I hear ya," Mike said, opening his own locker.
The two dressed in silence – Drake into his street clothes, Mike into his uniform. "How's the kid?" Mike asked into his locker as he buttoned his shirt.
Drake smiled, as he always did when someone asked about Jack. "He's good. His birthday's next week."
"Yeah? How old's he gonna be?" Mike asked, closing his locker and setting his tool belt on the bench with a loud thump.
"Five," Drake said. He couldn't believe it himself.
"No way."
"That's why I volunteered to work a double. I wanna do something special for his birthday." He had already bought two tickets to see the Butterfly Rainforest at the Florida Museum of Natural History, but he was planning something more. He just hadn't decided on what yet.
A high-pitched chirping emanated from Drake's locker – his cell phone. It was a prepaid phone without a lot of bells and whistles – bells and whistles cost money he couldn't spare – but it made and received calls and that, he discovered, was all he really needed. He reached in and pulled it out, flipping it open. "Hello?" he asked, pressing it to his ear.
"Hi, Drake. It's Jen. I just wanted to let you know that we're at Library West. So don't come looking for us at the coffee shop." Jen worked the morning shift at the hotel's reception desk.
When Mrs. Delfino dropped Jack off at the hotel that morning at the end of Drake's regular shift – as was her routine – Drake hadn't yet volunteered to work the next shift. When word got out that servers were needed to help with a huge luncheon for the Pfizer conference taking place at the hotel, Drake had jumped at the chance. After all, time and half was time and a half. Jen had recognized his dilemma and had come to his rescue. Besides, she didn't have any classes and she adored Jack.
"Library West, huh?" Drake asked suspiciously.
"I have some research to do for a paper due next week," she answered a bit sheepishly.
"Uh-huh." Drake was sure Jack had conned her into it. The kid loved books. He would walk up and down the aisles of libraries and bookstores, trailing his fingers along the spines, mesmerized.
"I really do have a paper," she asserted. "But I've already done the research for it." She laughed, knowing Drake knew the real reason for their library visit.
"Let me talk to Jack," Drake said, shaking his head.
"Hi, Dad," Jack said cheerfully through the phone.
"I see you talked Jen into taking you to the library," Drake replied, smiling.
"It was her idea," Jack insisted and Drake heard Jen laugh in the background.
"I'm sure."
"We're gonna go to the map room!" Jack said excitedly.
"Stay there so I know where to find you, okay?"
"Okay."
"I'll be there as soon as I can. I'm leaving work now."
"Okay, Dad," Jack said impatiently, and Drake could tell that the boy was wishing he would stop talking so he and Jen could go inside.
"Have fun. Be good. I'll see you in a little while."
"Bye!" Jack said and ended the call before Drake could even respond. He chuckled to himself as he flipped his phone closed and slipped it into his jeans pocket.
Twenty minutes later, Drake was sitting in the back of a city bus that would take him down University Avenue and drop him off a block from the library. Fatigue tugged at him and he leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes.
The significance of the day was finally starting to sink in. He had recognized the date immediately when he had opened the refrigerator that morning to get the milk – Jack had carefully drawn an 'X' through the previous day on the magnetic calendar, leaving the current date prominently displayed. It had niggled in the back of his mind for the entire morning, but he had been able to focus on other things. Then work had provided enough distraction to keep the unwanted thoughts at bay. But now, his mind was too tired to put up much resistance and the thoughts he'd been avoiding all day slithered into his consciousness.
Six years ago, he left his life in San Diego and never looked back.
He tried not to think about it at all and when he did, it was never for long. What was the use in dwelling on it? He couldn't change it. He couldn't turn back the clock and do things differently.
Not that he wanted his life to be different. Sure, he wasn't the famous singer he had wanted to be when he was a kid. And when he had visualized his future back in San Diego, being a waiter at a posh hotel – schlepping iced tea and decaffeinated coffee to business bigwigs – had never been on his list of possibilities. But it paid the bills. And he was good at it.
And he still had his music, albeit not in the way he had envisioned. But that was okay; he hadn't envisioned Jack either and he wouldn't change the fact of his existence for all the million-dollar recording contracts on the planet.
He opened his eyes; the bus was full of students making their way to evening classes and study sessions. Maybe they were even going home. Glancing out the window, he saw that he was almost to his stop. He reached up to pull the cord to signal the bus driver to stop, but someone beat him to it.
The bus pulled up next to the curb and Drake stood wearily as the students pushed towards the exits, hanging back until the mass exodus was over. Following the last student out the back door, he stepped down onto the sidewalk. The crowd of students dispersed in all directions; Drake stopped for a moment and looked around, getting his bearings as he suppressed a yawn.
Evening was fast approaching, although you couldn't tell by the temperature. June in Gainesville was steamy nearly 24 hours a day and it was only going to get worse over the next three months. He looked to his right; he could see the library through the trees and started walking towards it, turning his head at what sounded like someone calling his name. His eyes scanned the street around him quickly, but when he didn't see anyone he recognized, he turned back towards the library. The loud blare of a siren cut the air as a huge fire truck sped past, lights flashing.
By the time the siren faded away, he had forgotten all about it.
Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story so far. The end is in sight (at least in my head!), so stay tuned!
Please review. It is very much appreciated.