Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

*I*

Ryan had just returned from the cremation. He wished he was still at the park, but as always happiness was only a quick visitor in Ryan’s life. He held the ashes in a jar in his hands. He was once again sitting on his bed, staring intently at the ashes. It was a small jar because only a portion of his mother’s body had made it. Ryan didn’t care, he just was happy to be holding his mom again.
Mother’s day was on the 13th; it was now the 10th. He was happy he had his mom to celebrate with, but he wished he could hug her. It wasn’t fair to him- why was his family dead? He already had a miserable life, but now it was filled with no family. He was choking back tears, and he succeeded. He figured that crying would only lead him to being even more upset, which is exactly what he wanted to avoid.
He glanced at his new digital clock. It was 11 am. He heard a rapping at his door. “Come in,” he said softly. The door swung open, to show Peter holding his pointer finger in front of his lips. He waved to Ryan, beckoning him out of bed. Curiously Ryan followed this odd command, and exited his room. There was a tray lying on the floor outside of his room. It had and assortment of breakfast food laid on it, which included toast, eggs, and a glass of orange juice.
“This is for ‘our’ mom; want to help me deliver it?” Peter said in a hushed voice. He was keeping quiet but the excitement in his voice could not be hidden. Ryan was surprised to hear ‘our’ mom, instead on my mom. It hit him hard, like a wooden plank smashing into his chest, knocking the air out of him. He enjoyed hearing that one word; ‘our’.
“Sure,” he responded, trying his very hardest to sound enthusiastic, even though secretly he was thrilled. They made their way down the hallway, which seemed a bit brighter to Ryan, even though the reason was unknown. How did his heart beat oh so fast, filled with pure joy. Why did this make him so giddy, he did not know, but he thoroughly enjoyed the sensation.
They tip-toed into Linda’s room, to find her sitting in her bed wide awake. There was a tear drop falling from her soft blue eyes, and it was running down her cheek, to rest bellow her lip. She sniffled and turned and seemed surprised to see the two young boys.
“What’s wrong mom, it’s your day!”
“Do you remember the year your father brought me the puppy for Mothers Day?”
“Why yes I do, God I loved that dog,” Peter replied. Ryan just stared in silence trying to piece the fragments of the conversation together to get something out of it, but he was unsuccessful, so he listened on. Peter continued, “But then that bloody idiot ran over the dog!”
“Yes, yes. I was just thinking of your father and how much we loved him,” she said, sounding as if her lips were holding back something that should be shared. Ryan’s growing curiosity caused him to yell out.
“What are you talking about?! Oh, I am so sorry, I didn’t think, God I feel awful.” There was an awkward silence that filled the room, but it was suddenly broken by Linda’s voice. It was soft and understanding.
“You know that Peter doesn’t have a dad, well of course you do. Well we aren’t really divorced. We wanted as little attention about his death as possible, so we lied and said we got divorced, and that he had moved to France. Well now that you are apart of the family you have the right to know the truth. I trust you not to tell anyone anything I am about to say.” Ryan simply nodded his head. She continued, “It was Easter Eve; we just got back from the beach and we were happy as ever. That Wednesday we were going to try to have a baby. Anyways, we were running late so Chris, my husband, dropped us off at the house and he ran out to get an Easter ham. On the way back he stopped to fill up at the gas station. Some of the gas had spilled underneath the car, and a smoker was next to him. The bloody bastard dropped his bloody cigarette into the gas. You can fill in the blanks.”
Ryan was shocked at the news. For one this is the longest time he had ever heard Ms. Stuart talk this long in one sitting. He allowed his eyes to wonder to Peter, whose eyes were holding back tears. Not knowing what to say he replied, “That was one bloody good cover up story. I thought the man who died was named John Ginsen.” He felt like a complete idiot.
“Yes, yes it was a good story,” Linda said. Ryan watched as a smile formed on her broken face, full of pain. Then the room burst into laughter. The boys cried happy Mother’s Day in unison, and the mood of the room lightened. They spent the next hour in Linda’s room, and during this time the two boys had also brought their own breakfast up. They were watching a television program called America’s Funniest Home Videos.
The program ended at 12:00, and Linda dismissed the boys from her room, so she could bathe. The boys complied with her command, and made their way to the kitchen where they cleaned the dishes. That’s when two things hit Ryan; Chris being the name of Peter’s dad was quite a coincidence, and he had completely forgotten about the items, and the final dream. He quickly finished the dishes and ran upstairs and into his room.
He reached his room and was ready to start looking for the spot he put the items, but something stopped him. It practically knocked the breath from him. It was the ashes, for they were the only thing sitting on the floor of the room. He felt a sudden sadness fall upon him, and he fell to his knees. He could hear the air move behind him, and he knew that Peter was standing there.
“Buddy, are you OK?” Peter asked sounding unsure of himself, and to be quite frank, he sounded unsure of Ryan as well. There was a brief silence, the silence that Ryan knew all too well, but it was broken by Ryan.
“Peter, I am in need of a friend who can listen to me, and not ask questions. I need to tell you something that is running my life right now, but no one will believe. I think that you can rise up, and be that hell of a friend!” Peter just nodded, letting a smile upon his face, and turned to shut the door. Then looking back he decided to lock it as well.

*II*

For the next half an hour Ryan took his time explaining every minute detail of every individual dream. He stopped and stared at Peter, half expecting him to point and laugh, but he was very wrong. Instead Peter nodded in agreement and said, “I went through the same freaking crap when my father died. I had weird dreams, and sometimes I thought I even saw him at school. It is your mind playing tricks. It wares off, and eventually you stop seeing that kind of stuff.”
“But, no! This is different, really different. These dreams match up exactly to the past; it can’t just be a coincidence.”
“I felt the same way, don’t scare yourself, everything is fine.” The way Peter said these words severely annoyed Ryan. He felt like he was being talked down on, disrespected.
“Oh, ok, I believe you. Thank you so much for the help. Not to be rude, but can you give me some time, just to you know, reflect.” Ryan was lying through his teeth, and he was beginning to wonder if Peter knew it, but this fear was abolished when Peter smiled and left the room, latching the door behind him.
Ryan held the jar of ashes in his arms, almost embracing it. He could no longer hold back the tears, and he saw them fall on the glass. He hugged the jar tighter and tighter, and then he begun to speak to it. “Mom, I know that I never told you this, but you are a great mom, and I love you. I am so happy I can finally tell you, or at least what is left. The bloody ashes; these are the only things I have left of you!”
Ryan did not know whether or not the rest of his “family” could hear him, but he did not care in the slightest. The tears were coming faster and faster, when finally he had none left. He had cried himself out, he was done. He tucked the ashes underneath his pillow, and turned to leave the room.
He sat in the den waiting for the return of Peter and Linda. They had left at 2:30, and had told him that they would be back in an hour or so. The only noise in the house was the ticking of the clock in the kitchen. The tick-tock had become catchy in Ryan’s ears, and he hummed along, not knowing what else to do. Then the garage door opened.
He leapt out of his seat and ran to greet the two. They opened the door, seeming surprised to see him standing there like that. Linda showed a big grin, ear to ear, and held out her hands, which held a puppy, not older then 8 weeks old.
“This is for you,” Peter said, also smiling. “It’s a Golden Retriever, we didn’t name him yet. We thought we would let you.”
Ryan didn’t even have to think. “Chris!” he shouted.
“What?” Linda said sounding confused.
“That’s his name, Chris, definitely.” Ryan repeated the name to himself several times before he finally fell silent.
“OK, I like that name, yes I really like that name,” Peter murmured.
“Chris it is then; Chris Stuart!” Linda shouted.
“Wait, we have to give it a middle name,” Ryan said.
“A middle name, for a dog?” Linda asked.
“Yes, yes, a middle name.”
This time it was Peter who spoke. “Mom, everything needs a middle name.”
“Well OK, I’ve just never given my dog a middle name before. So what is the middle name going to be Ryan?” Ryan stared at the ground for a moment, and then quietly spoke.
“M.L.; that is Chris’ middle name.”
“M.L., what type of name is that?” Linda asked, almost sounding scornful.
“Maggie Lucida, that is what it means mom,” Peter said, sounding uncomfortable and proud at the same time. There was an awkward silence, the one that seemed to follow Ryan around, waiting to strike at every awkward moment.
“Thank you Ms. Stuart, or ‘mom’,” Ryan said. They all dispersed to their own parts of the house, but this time Ryan had a friend, had Chris M.L. Stuart.