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Chapter 6: Old Things

I feel Aunt Vonda's eyes on me all morning. She hasn't said a word yet, she must be waiting for me to comment about last night. It's cruel of me not to say anything, but I really don't know what to say.

She finally broaches the topic over our quick lunch, hunched in the tiny staff room out back while I watch the empty front, one foot holding the door open.

"How was class?" She rushes on as though expecting a negative response. "I'm sure it's always hard the first time and all. Everyone has to start somewhere." Aunt Vonda stumbles to a halt, setting aside her sandwich and sighing over her bottle of water. "Was it awful?"

"It was wonderful," I say, smiling then, thinking of Piper and his pep talk.

Aunt Vonda beams before frowning. "I thought when you didn't say anything-"

I reach for her hand and squeeze it, the skin soft, her many gold rings digging into her flesh from years of wear. "I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't mean to keep you in the dark. It really was a lot of fun. I guess I'm just trying to decide if I want to go back."

The startled look she gives me makes me giggle. "Of course you're going back," she says. "Why wouldn't you?"

How can I tell her about my fear of leaving Ian behind? Of his sad face as I curled up last night, the soft sigh I felt against my cheek as I closed my eyes to sleep? I know what she'll say-beyond the obvious "you need a therapist and drugs."

That Ian's already gone.

I shrug instead, pick at my salad without trace of an appetite, wondering if I really wish it were true. That I could stop conjuring his memory into my own version of life. "It just seems silly, now," I say. Not meaning it at all. There was nothing silly about last night. "The teacher was a bit of a jerk." That much is true. "Maybe I'll look into going to acting school instead of college."

There, I said it out loud before my fear could stop me. Knowing Dad will have a fit. He wants me to be a teacher or a nurse or something "useful". He made it clear when I started acting in school and community theater, it was only a phase I was going through and I'd be moving on to a real career.

Aunt Vonda's little smile tells me she's not going to give me the same lecture. "I think it's a great idea, pet," she says.

So do I. And, finally smiling again, so does Ian where he stands, shoulder against the wall, watching me.

"You just promise me one thing." Aunt Vonda sets aside her sandwich, leaning toward me over the narrow table. "You won't ever let life knock you down. You'll get back up and keep going. Because you're the only one who matters."

She must think I'm focused on Dad, not the fuzzy image of Ian I've made up in my head. I smile and nod and continue to poke at my salad.

The bell rings, but before I can get up, Aunt Vonda rushes past me with a soft pat to my shoulder, her body barreling through Ian's shade, breaking apart my illusion. She leaves me to brood and try to make him come back, to reform the fantasy even as last night's memories do their best to win out over his fading ones.

So what am I brooding over, exactly? What is my problem? I had a brilliant time last night, met some actors just like me. Actually held my own, if I do say so myself. It was incredible and I'm sitting here like someone pulled my pigtails and called me names while I mope over the fact I had so much fun I can't hide in my imaginary boyfriend anymore.

I think of Piper and his fabulous ability. Of Aleah and Ruben. All the talented actors I met last night. I do my best not to think of Miller, though he appears in my mind more often than anyone else. Superimposing himself over Ian. And I shake myself loose of my melancholy.

I'm being an asshole. Now that I'm no longer moping, I smile into my greens, feeling a tingle of happiness race through me. Just because I'm having a little trouble keeping Ian front and center doesn't mean I don't love him anymore. And it's probably good for me to live a little. Besides, I still have our private moments. But the thought of having a life to live is nice, and I know the real Ian-not the construct I've use to guilt myself into hiding for the last year-would never want me to hold back.

Next class isn't until Monday, but that's okay. It gives me lots of time to work on my own. To dig out some of my old monologues, Google some more. Research theater schools here in New York.

And just like that, my path unwinds before me. I shiver a little, knowing Ian isn't at the end of it. But I'm excited to think I just might be able to make this work.

As for Miller... I can be his friend. That understanding makes me grin. God, I'm such a freak. Of course. Friends, how perfect. I can hang out with him and not date him or anything. If he's okay with that. And if he's not, I'll find some other actors to befriend and spend time with. I don't have to be afraid to lose Ian. Nothing-no one-will ever take him away from me.

His fantasy smiles at me as I dump the remains of my lunch and go back to work.

I help Aunt Vonda close up shop that night in a much better mood. We link arms for the walk home as I chatter to her about the three schools I've been reading about in Backstage. We're bouncy and giggling by the time we arrive at the apartment.

I leave her to her favorite cop show on TV and go up to the rooftop with the trade magazine and my laptop. It's a warm night, but not humid, perfect for looking out over the city, practicing characters, singing some show tunes I find on YouTube.

Ian's shade perches on the edge of the rooftop ledge, feet kicking like he loved to do, shoulders hunched forward, sweet smile on his face. Maybe I should feel lonely, being by myself up there on a Friday night. But I don't. I'm so wrapped up in what I'm doing, I barely notice time passing, performing for the make-believe Ian I've perfected. When I look up from a study on Shakespeare and modern theater, to tell him how cool this is, it's almost midnight.

Someone sings below me. I set down my computer and lean over the edge of the roof wall, looking down at the street. A small group of people are walking by. No, dancing by, laughing and talking and singing in harmony snatches of song.

It makes my heart ache to run down and join them, to be part of what they have. I think of my new acting friends and how, if I'd not been such a loser last night, I could have found a taste of the magic walking by my apartment building.

They are gone far too soon, three guys, three girls, their voices mingling like heaven's choir when they sing, laughter almost as beautiful. I heave a huge sigh when I finally stand back, the last echoes of their street party fading away.

Ian is still smiling at me.

I'm crying all of a sudden, my heart crushing into a tiny ball of hurt so powerful I can barely breathe. I used to experience these moments, but haven't had one for months. Way worse than my cry in the car on my way out of Clifton. Debilitating, crushing, the black pit of despair sucking me in. I'm aware of my aloneness then, of being one half of a whole that will never be again, our harmony-mine and Ian's-dead with him as his image just watches me.

It's terrible, and I feel guilt even as I dial, but I have to talk to someone. And I can only think of one person who will understand.

Susan answers on the first ring. From the coarseness of her voice, I'm not the only one who's been crying. Hearing the thickness when she says, "Rye," makes me burst into tears. I hear her sobbing on the other end and cling to the phone as I sink with my back against the roof wall, next to Ian's shadow, gravel digging into my skin through my jeans as I hug my knees to my chest. I feel him sink down next to me as I weep and grind my teeth and try not to fall into the despair I've embraced so many times in the last year.

We've done this before, Susan and me, but not for a while. When Ian first found out his cancer was back, I called his mother and heard her crying. Cried with her. Since then, any time one of us felt like bawling, we called.

I just wish I had the courage to tell her I keep him with me just in case she didn't answer the phone.

It's a long time before either of us speaks. Susan manages first. "Oh, Rye," she hiccups softly before drawing a shaking breath that hisses over the line. "Are you okay?"

"Are you?" I kick at some gravel with the toe of my sneaker. "You were crying before I called."

She's quiet a long moment. "Just going through some old things," she says. "Trying to sort out the last of Ian's stuff to send to charity."

Damn it, I was going to help her do that before I left. "I'm sorry," I start to say, but she cuts me off.

"Don't you even," she says with a laugh through the last of her tears. "You've done enough. Now, tell me how New York is so I can live vicariously."

I almost don't tell her about acting, even as Ian whispers at me to share everything. But Susan has been a mother to me since my own died, my best friend's-and then boyfriend's-amazing mom. I spill about the class, skim over Miller, focus on how cool it was.

When I ramble to a halt, Susan's excitement is clear when she answers.

"You have to tell us when you're doing a show," she says. "We want to be there."

I hear Dwight's voice agree with enthusiasm in the background, know he's up with her, at least, someone to hug her and take care of her now that our cry is over. A real person, not a shadow like I have.

It's the first time I wish I'd let Ian go in favor of a flesh and blood someone and wince at my betrayal.

"I will," I say. "Thanks. For being here for me."

Susan chokes even as I feel my chest tighten all over again.

"We will always be here for you," she says, voice loud and distorted. I picture her lips very close to the phone, probably clutching it with both hands. "Always."

I say goodbye, hugs for Dwight. Hang up and lean my head back, dropping my phone into my lap as I let my legs stretch out across the graveled surface of the roof.

School is a yes. I love acting too much not to give it a try. I'll spend the summer figuring out what I want, making money. Apply when I know which one I want to attend and keep my fingers crossed for the winter semester.

Meanwhile, I'm going to need more experience. And though I could go to another class, I like the people I've met in this one.

I wipe at my tears, stand and retrieve my laptop. Pause to see Ian's left me alone on the roof.

That I've left myself alone.

I think I'm finally done with that.

***