Hell And Back Again

CHAPTER 3:

“It’s not as easy as calling 411 and asking for her number, you know!” I snapped at Brendon when he and I were finally inside my house.

I invited him to spend the night at my place so that we can continue writing songs for the third album as soon as we were ready…whenever that would be. With the knowledge that Jess is back here in Las Vegas, I was spazzing more than someone having an epileptic attack. We both knew I will find it hard to focus on the task at hand until I find her or at least hear from her.

I glanced at Brendon and saw him shake his head and give me a stern look. “I know that, Ryan. And that’s what I’m trying to say! We need to take it a step at a time. We need to come up with a game plan. We can’t just go charging into anything without a single clue as to what we need to do and where we have to start searching. We will go down there and look for her, yes, but we need to schedule when. We absolutely cannot do it right now – oh, and there’s no use denying that you weren’t thinking that, George Ryan Ross the third! It’s written all over your face! Our week is practically full, remember? But your head is wrapped too tightly around this thing, you’re not thinking straight anymore. Chill, man. We’ll find her.”

I plopped down on the couch beside him and leaned my head against the back. I sighed and closed my eyes.

“I know…I’m sorry Bren. It’s just that this Jess thing has got me all anxious.”

Brendon placed a hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes to look at him. His eyes were gentle, like I was some fragile china doll. Normally, I hate it when he – or anyone else for that matter – looks at me that way, but right now, it offered some sort of comfort.

“We’ll find her. It may not be as easy as calling information, but it’s a start, right?”

I smiled sheepishly at him and bit my lower lip. Brendon slumped against the back of the couch and looked slightly outraged.

“You already called 411, didn’t you, you bastard!” He exclaimed, pushing me hard enough to have me fall against the armrest of the couch. He shook his head in disbelief.

I had the decency to blush with embarrassment. I ducked my head. “I did…she’s not listed. No address, no landline. It’s like she doesn’t exist anymore.”

Brendon placed an arm around my shoulder and gave me a firm shake. “You didn’t really expect it to be that easy, did you? It seems that she doesn’t want to be found. And like what Mrs. Katz said, she’ll do everything to avoid it.”

I must have looked completely depressed because Brendon immediately followed up his last statement. “I’ll help you find her. We all will. We know how important this is for you.” He looked at me seriously, concern etched all over his face. “Besides, I’m pretty sure you won’t be able to churn up any of your wonderful, masterful lyrics if we don’t find her, and we can’t have that, can we?”

I shook his arm off my shoulder gently and stood up, untangling the scarf from my neck and throwing it on the loveseat in front of the coffee table. “I know, and you know me, I won’t let that happen.”

Brendon stood and started walking towards the kitchen. “I’m sure you’ll try not to let this thing affect you, but it will. I know you well enough, Ryan. This,” he waved his left hand around to indicate the situation as if it weren’t an abstract concept, “will cause you to worry, and think, and wallow, and ponder, until you become unproductive. You’re borderline manic depressive. You can actually be worse than Pete when you get like this…and he’s diagnosed to have depression!”

He was right, and we both knew it. That was why Spencer decided not to come back here. It also explained why Jon decided to bunk with Spencer for the night. They were afraid I’d just rant and rave, or worse, burn my guitars like what I did before up at the cabins in Mount Charleston. Only Brendon was brave enough to stay with me. He knew exactly how to handle me and my situation. Spencer did as well, he just wasn’t as patient.

I watched Brendon as he fixed coffee in my kitchen. Coffee was a good calming potion for me, and he knew it. I walked over to him and sat on the stool by the counter. I watched as my best friend measured the ground coffee carefully and placed it in the coffeemaker. A few minutes later, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled my house. One whiff of the coffee’s aroma got the ideas oozing out of my brain.

“Get me a pen, Bren,” I blurted out. I pulled open a kitchen drawer and took out one of the notepads I always keep all around the house just for these kinds of situations. Brendon looked up and immediately reached into his pockets, fumbling for a pen. He drew it out and handed it to me, a satisfied smile gracing his lips.

I started writing words onto the paper. In less than five minutes, a whole page was filled with ideas, words, lines, notes, chords, and lyrics. But I wasn’t done yet. I ripped the page off the pad and continued writing on the next one, sipping the coffee that Brendon had poured for me earlier as he watched me work feverishly, an amused smile on his lips that I never even bothered to look at. I handed the page I ripped off the pad to him for review and structure, the way I always did whenever we were composing together.

My brain seemed to want to cooperate with me. It was churning out idea after idea, melody after melody, line after line. I pretty much had two albums worth of ideas laid out on the kitchen counter by the time I was done. It was way past midnight when I finished writing. Brendon and I would have to continue this tomorrow. I was wrung out and strung out and I didn’t think I’d be able to function any more by the time I woke up later today. That meant that if that was indeed the case, Brendon and the guys would just have agree to help me look for Jess for the rest of the day. And that made me sincerely smile for the first time that day.


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AN1: I was thinking of changing the title of this story, but I can't, for the life of me, come up with something better. Anyone out there with some good suggestions? I'd greatly appreciate it. =)

AN2: Please read and review!