"Welcome to Paradise"
I couldn't sleep last night, so I drove over to paradise cove. I sat on some rocks looking down at the water below. Sometimes I wondered why I was even alive. What was the point of my existence? Life seemed to be nothing but pain and heartbreak, and then more pain. I didn't know how much more I could take. I watched as the sun rose over the water like some kind of planet. A hot burning one that lit the earth up like a furnace of chaos. I wondered if the sun had risen from hell, the way it jutted out of the water seemingly out of nowhere, disrupting the still waters below it. I wish the sun wouldn't rise sometimes. I wish it would let me sleep and never bother me again. The water began to sparkle, and crest as the morning breeze sloshed it back and forth. I squinted my eyes until I could see far out to the end. I wish I could get to the very end of the ocean, and just float. I would just float leaving behind all the pain and heartache. All the roads not taken, and people who didn't give a fuck. As I'd float I would need nothing, and nothing would need me. I'd just be there, floating until I turned back into Earth myself.
My mind wouldn't shut up and give me any peace. As I hugged my knees to myself, I began to think of Ryan Fuller out of nowhere. Ryan Fuller was this dude who used to live next door to me up in the hills with Jack. We were about the same age. He was a pretty cool dude, who enjoyed his lifestyle. He always had some killer one-liners and was pretty damn funny for a kid from Beverly Hills. We'd catch each other on the way to school sometimes, and share some banter. I remember he was so excited when he'd gotten this shiny little red corvette for his birthday. I used to hear him gunning the engine in the morning when I'd still be up in my room. When I'd wake up and head out to my car, I could see the tread marks his tires would leave against the pavement. He used to ask me to go driving with him, but I'd always turned him down. "Come on McKay, you're from Beverly Hills aren't you," he'd always say right before he'd take off down the winding road. I never knew what the fuck he meant by that until maybe right now. I think he was trying to tell me that we were given this life so we might as well ride it out until the bitter end. The bitter end did come for Ryan sadly. He got into a wreck down the highway, and veered over the edge of the hill and died instantly. I remember Jack and I knocking on the door of his house to offer our condolences to his parents. While we sat there in the living room watching his hysterical grief-stricken parents cry and sob in agony, I wondered why it wasn't me. Why wasn't I the one that got taken out? What the fuck was I still doing here? I wished I could join him right now. I wished I never had to sit on this rock and feel anything ever again just like him. I didn't have the guts though. Plus I still had hope. I still had hope, I guess that something could save me from my life. Maybe I wouldn't go over the edge, but you know how hope is. It can blind you into being a fool, and I was definitely that. I remember all the times I tried to tell myself that Jack was just busy with work. That he wanted me in his life. I wanted to believe that I wasn't cursed to know him, but I was. He didn't love me and never did. It didn't matter if it was Kiara or something else. Long before her, he never gave a fuck about me even then. You don't want to believe the worst of people sometimes, but when things are right in your face, the truth feels worse than tumbling down these rocks would right now. The truth is its own death. Truth is the death of hope. I was already pretty much dead inside.
At this point I wanted a drink so bad, I thought I was going to scratch my face off. Reluctantly, I picked myself up and hopped in the Porsche. I could see Ryan Fuller in my head as I gunned the engine and took off for the last place in the world I wanted to deal with, West Beverly High.
In spite of the burning inside me, later on, I was walking through the halls as if I wasn't screaming inside. As if I wasn't on my last level of tolerance for the joke that is my life. All I could see and taste on the tip of my tongue was that brown liquid going down my throat, and burning me to that spot where things get all floaty and calm. Things definitely weren't all floaty now. They were tense, painful and very uncomfortable, and not just physically.
I actually made it to tech class today. I've been ditching for weeks so I don't know where the hell the class is at or what I'm supposed to be doing. Mr. Balmer gave me a dirty look when I walked in after not showing up for weeks. I could tell he wanted to tell me something but the look on my face must have made him back off. I'm sure I look like hell. It doesn't help that every human body I see looks like a bottle of something. I'm a hallucinating fucking mess.
Tech class was a good place to hide in actually, to nurse my very bad desire for a drink. The room was lit dark as we could be looking for sparks, in the batteries we were supposed to be charging. I didn't have a battery or give two fucks what should be doing what, so I just sat to the back fiddling around with some wires but mostly trying to not think about booze.
I had no idea who anyone was in this class, I just faced the back and kept my head down.
Mr. Balmer was shouting out some directions to the class, and then he let us do our own thing. I fiddled with the wires in my hand, and they actually sparked a bit. I was so caught up in watching the lights flare as I connected them I didn't hear what was causing the scuffle going on toward the side of the room.
"Hey hey hey take it easy guy!" I heard some dude shout.
I turned around and immediately assessed the situation. Two dudes who looked like inbred ass sniffers were harassing a little freshman working on his computer.
Before even thinking I was out of my seat telling the two nut stains where to go. I mentioned some shit about "feeling hostile" today which was the truth. Without the liquor in my system right now I felt like I could literally rip these two limp-dicked jocks heads off and send them rolling down the hallway. After I sent them on their way, I grabbed my Byron the Collective Works book and headed out of class. The bell for lunch was about to ring anyway.
I headed down the hall stuffing my hands in my pocket. I could feel the shakes coming, and I didn't want to give in. I hightailed it over to some stairs to sit and read. When I reached my spot I took a deep breath, and let the work of Byron calm my hands and mind.
I was lost in the poetry when some dude was calling up to me from the bottom of the stairs. I looked down and saw a guy who looked my age. He had sandy-colored hair and was wearing his pants a little too tight. He didn't look like he was from around here. In fact, I didn't know him at all. I'd never seen him before in my life. He was complimenting me on how I dealt with those two assholes before.
"I just don't believe in winning through intimidation," I called down. "That is unless I'm doing the intimidating," I added ready to go back to my book.
"My name's Brandon, Brandon Walsh." The dude called up to me.
I squinted down at this kid. He sure was being "friendly" and had a lot to say.
Against my better judgment, I called back down, "Brandon Walsh... Scotch or Irish?"
"Both actually, by way of Minnesota," he yelled up.
I peered down at the kid. He seemed sincere. Nobody usually introduces themselves around here, unless they want to get ignored, but this dude seemed different. Like he already knew the rules but just didn't care anymore.
Absurdly, Brandon asked me if I wanted to go grab a burger.
"Yeah let's do lunch," I said back a little too snidely, but I gave him a half-grin, kind of charmed by his persistence. "Don't see much water in Minnesota..." I called down after a moment.
"A lot of lakes no oceans..." he called up undefeated.
"My sympathies." I felt bad for Brandon Walsh from Minnesota. Not only was he from no man's land, but he didn't know an ocean from the back of his hand.
I stood up ready to get the hell out of here.
"Come on," I said bounding down the stairs quickly.
"Where we going?" he asked
"Field trip..." I answered vaguely. As far as I was concerned school was done for the day. If I didn't get the hell out of here now, I'd go home later and drink myself into a huge stupor that I might not wake up from.
Brandon followed me out to the parking lot. I made sure to walk a ways ahead of him since I don't know this kid. He followed quickly trying to catch up.
"So you mean you're just going to leave school for lunch?" he asked concerned.
I hopped into the Porsche without opening the door. "Why not?" I asked back.
Brandon stammered a minute as he took in the Speedster. I could tell he was worried about getting busted, but smartly he walked around the car and got in the passenger side.
I took off too quickly to show off, and Walsh strapped himself in.
We took off through the streets of Beverly Hills. It felt funny to have a "lunch date" if you want to call it that. I didn't know this kid from the gel in my head but he wasn't from around here, and that made him alright by me actually. It was a breath of fresh air to be in the company of someone I could tell wasn't a Beverly Hills bitch boy with a trust fund unlike myself. Walsh seemed like he had been dropped down from the farm into my car, but it was alright.
We didn't say much on the ride to our destination until Walsh asked, "We're not going back to school today are we?"
I glared at him as we stopped at a red light not willing to dignify that with a response. He got the hint.
"Hey, it's cool. I could use a tan anyway," he said lamely motioning to the Speedster top being down.
"Yeah that and then some..." I mentioned hoping he'd shut up, but he didn't.
As we drove down the winding Topanga Canyon roads toward PCH, Walsh unleashed a biography into the car. He told me all about how his family had just moved here from Minnesota, and how Beverly Hills and California were like foreign dimensions. He had a twin sister and didn't know what he was doing here.
I listened to him without interrupting. I could tell he had a lot on his mind, so I let him run the conversation.
Finally, we reached our destination. I was back at Paradise Cove. I looked out at the ocean, hoping it would look different from my gloomy morning and it did a little bit. I watched as the farm boy took it all in.
"Man, I've been dreaming about this place," he exclaimed.
"Welcome to paradise man welcome to your dream come true," I said taking it in with him. I've seen the ocean a zillion times, but those first few moments of looking out at the wild blue always get to me too.
We didn't say much for a minute, but I could sense what he was feeling. California is a special place unlike any other, and I've traveled the world. There's a feeling here, that if you had to die somewhere this would be it. The water, and the sun together along with the mountains and palm trees create this intoxicating blend of something. It's something I knew Walsh hadn't experienced in Minnesota or probably ever. There's a sense of magic here that makes it feel heaven could be just around the corner. I guess it's that California dream I always hear about. No matter how bad it gets I don't think I'd want to be anywhere else but next to the pacific honestly. The ocean and California would always find me no matter where I'd go.
We got out of the car and I grabbed my couple of surfboards from the back, and my wet suit. I eyed Walsh though who had his hands on his hips staring out into the blue yonder sniffing to himself and grabbed an old boogie board from the trunk that I hadn't used in ages.
We headed down towards the sand from the lookout I was parked on. When we got close enough to the water I spotted Eric, Dwayne, and Sarah. They were heading toward us and they were giving Walsh the stink eye.
I chirpily introduced everyone, and Eric and Dwayne seemed to relax
"Come on Dylan let's catch some waves," Sarah called out. Before we knew it we were all out in the surf having a blast. I forgot about my dark thoughts and just focused on riding the waves letting them tell me where I needed to go. Walsh tried to stand up, but he wiped out fast, pretty bad actually. He wound up with a face full of sand.
"Yo Minnesota you alright?" I called out.
He wiped the hair out of his face and shouted back. "I love this!"
"Wipeout!" I called as everyone cheered for the surfing farm boy. Walsh was a good sport and seemed like a good dude. I was ready to give him the benefit of the doubt as we surfed around, and Walsh ended up putting the big board down and using the boogie board for the rest of the day. Later on, he took a break from the waves, and I saw on land talking to Sarah. They seemed deep in conversation and I wasn't about to interrupt. Besides, it takes a lot to pull me out of the ocean. Possibly the whole world.
I drove Brandon home later. He lived on Hillcrest drive in Beverly Hills. His family owned a modest by Beverly Hills standards Spanish style bungalow. It looked nice and wholesome kind of like Walsh himself.
"Thanks Dylan, this was an amazing day. Actually probably the best since I've moved here." Brandon mentioned.
"Anytime man," I said sincerely. It had been a good day. The morning had been full of morbid thoughts but now here I was actually feeling like I had made a friend. It was strange actually the way the day had turned around.
"And thanks for thinking I could handle the big board at first."
"Hey, it just takes time like anything else."
Walsh seemed okay with that and I gave him a sort of snappy handshake and watched him go.
Who knew a farm boy and a Beverly Hills punk like myself could get on so well.
#
Brandon and I did become good friends. He had a sense of realness about him, I didn't get from anyone else in school. I could tell he didn't care if you had famous parents, and he wasn't looking for connections, or to be invited to the hottest parties to hang with the trendies. Brandon cared about people. He was a good person. Not being from Beverly Hills was what I liked about him. I hadn't had a real friend in a long time, and Brandon was becoming that for me.
One night we were hanging out on the "sunset strip" as Brandon kept calling it. We were looking for some kind of scene to get into, but there wasn't shit going on. Finally, we just hopped back in the Porsche after bumping into Eric, Dwayne, and Sarah again. We agreed to peel out of there. As we hopped int the car Brandon ended up spotting my Byron the Collective Works poetry book.
"What's this?" he asked
"Ahh a little leisure reading," I said quickly. I felt a bit unmasked that he found my book but I played it off.
"Byron the Collective Works" Brandon said surprised.
I phrased what I said next carefully."Bad, mad and dangerous to know... That was him and that's me," I told him straight up.
"Do your surfer buddies know you read poetry?" Brandon asked dumbfounded.
"Ahh, those boneheads wouldn't know a poem if it walked up and bit 'em..." I mentioned.
We ended up getting into a squabble that night. Brandon found out I was living alone at the Bel Age after I pretended to sneak him, Eric Dwayne and Sarah into my suite for fun. Sometimes I liked living up to my reputation and playing into it, and I could fool the others but not Minnesota. It seemed like he could see right through me. I told him how my parents weren't exactly into "parenting."Days later he told me I should steer clear of Eric and Dwayne after they ended up letting Sarah surf drunk. She had to get her stomach pumped and almost od'd surfing drunk. If it hadn't been for Minnesota pulling her out of the water she would have died. I felt bad for Sarah. That could easily have been me passed out in the waves, but I'd been managing my sobriety better since meeting Brandon. It's funny how a friend can make your world feel a little more purposeful. I still had my temptations but I was actually doing a little better. Maybe there was a little boy scout left somewhere deep down inside just like Walsh.
I felt excited for him because his girlfriend Cheryl from Minneapolis was in town. I ended up meeting her and Brandon for lunch at the Bel Age. Cheryl seemed nice enough. She seemed to be into all that LA tourist shit though and wanted to meet movie stars. For Brandon's sake, I offered to take them out to this club for the night. We weren't 21 but I could get us in easy. I know the scene, and when I show up I get in no matter what. That's just how it goes when you know the LA scene like I do. Not that that's anything to be proud of, but I wanted to help Brandon have a good night with his girl.
I honked pulling into the Walsh parking lot and then got out of my car waiting for him and Cheryl. Cheryl peeled out of the house quickly with Brandon following behind her.
"Great car," she told me. She was eyeing the Porsche like a thirsty animal. I could tell she maybe wanted more than just a ride in it. I hoped Brandon was catching onto her. She was acting way to into me, and I felt bad for him. It was embarrassing how she didn't want to ride in his car. Brandon's car turned out to be that old piece of shit I had seen in the West Beverly parking lot that day. He called it Mondale, and it was an eyesore, and Cheryl was obviously not into it, but she was making it a little too obvious.
Cheryl started in about wanting to ride with me, and how she'd never get a chance to ride in a Porsche again and blah blah blah. I felt uncomfortable as fuck for Brandon, but he seemed to want Cheryl to be happy and to go with me. While they decided back and forth something happened. Something amazing that I had not been expecting.
"Brandon could you possibly move any slower." I looked over to the voice on the other end of the driveway and standing there was that beautiful brunette from the bench. The one who had been catching me off guard every time I spotted her. It was her, she was Brandon's sister. What the fuck. I couldn't even believe she was just standing here right now a few feet away from me. I wanted to say something but my mouth just gawked. That wasn't like me. We caught eyes for a brief moment, but she seemed totally unaware and bored by me. She mentioned some shit about having to get to her babysitting job to Brandon, and then like that she disappeared inside Mondale before Brandon got a chance to introduce us.
"I'll drop Brenda off, and meet you guys there," Brandon told Cheryl and me a little reluctantly.
I was still looking in Brenda's direction and didn't even want to go to some fucking club now. I wanted to follow Brenda to wherever the hell she was going. Brenda. She was Brandon's twin sister, and if he knew what was running through my mind right now he'd fucking kill me.
Dear Readers,
Thank you so much for your patience. I hope you're still with me. The last few months have been a blur of stuff so I haven't gotten the chance to update. I was wanting to write the whole time, though. I hate when I'm not writing. I'm going to try to keep updating as much as possible because I need this story. It helps me in so many ways. So, Dylan finally meets Brandon in this chapter yay! He also had that epic-ally understated first meeting with Brenda sort of on the Walsh's driveway. I always loved that scene because it's actually the first scene between Dylan and Brenda even though they don't acknowledge each other. You could tell they noticed each other though. I always loved how Dylan's gaze hangs on her a moment longer than normal there. Great stuff. So I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I didn't put in a lot of the scenes from the Green Room episode because I want to get to the meat of the story. I felt that was a great episode to introduce Dylan, so I tried to put in the important parts. I hope you're with me. We are so close to the 90210 reboot, but Luke is not here. It still hurts. Writing this story is helping though and I'm not going to stop.