Duncan Ryder
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Um...Keep reading? The whole story is in chapter 15. But actually, if you've read Everybody's Wounded, you know where Daniel is...
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Chapter 20 Joe was speaking again. Matt did his best to listen. The words seemed to wash over him in waves of pain. “He broke my heart,” Joe said. “He broke all our hearts. He was so young and so full of dreams, and we lost him.” “That’s why I’m here tonight, sharing this with you. I don’t want to lose any of you. If you feel alone, if you feel scared, I want you to know that you are not alone. You have family here. Look around you. Don’t let us lose you as we lost Jonathan.” Matt liste
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Trying too. Really. I am just hopeless.
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You are indeed very clever! Now if you could just tell me how to get it uploaded properly, lol. Oooooh Stevie. The things I could tell you about Stevie....
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Actually, just to make you even more curious (said Duncan grinning wickedly) I tried to make it clear that Matt did not know Jonathan. He arrived at St G the September following Jonathan's death. The only one who knew Jonathan at all (and only very slightly) was Joshua; they were freshmen together. Matt is a year younger than Joshua, and a year older than Brandon. Brandon is three years older than Scott and almost four years older than Luc... (Luc turned 19 in EW; Scott is about to turn 20 -- Joshua notes that at one point.) Trust me on this. I even made a chart!!!!
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How the Light Gets In Chapter 19 Lunch was late and long and playful. Brandon and Scott got a routine going, teasing Laura until reluctantly coaxed smiles finally gave way to spontaneous laughter. Matt did what he always did. He watched. He was happy to see what he hoped was the beginning of Laura’s recovery, and happier still to see his brother’s obvious joy. But mostly, Matt was happy just to be sitting there, next to Luc – sitting close enough to him that every now
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I always say I'm not really into musicals...but I always seem to enjoy them when I go, so maybe I'm wrong. As it happens I saw a wonderful revival of the Fantastics Friday night; knew nothing about it, had no idea what to expect, only went because it was part of our theatre subscription package...but I thought it was just lovely. Walked that fine line between sweet and schmaltzy really well. I was really touched by it. And I saw Next to Normal last summer on Broadway, and thought it was amazing. And I've also seen some Gilbert and Sullivan I just loved....
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We lost a friend last week. We don't know if the final act was deliberate or accidental, but he'd been deeply depressed and abusing various substances, killing himself slowly, for a long time. If it was "accidental" it was an "accident" he wanted, had prepared for. It's very hard and very sad. He was smart and funny and beautiful, and so full of pain. He and my partner were friends for a long time, and my partner is racked with guilt about what he didn't do, could have done, should have done. I don't really know how to comfort him. My heart goes out to all of you who have felt so much pain that ending it seems the only option.
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I was barely 16 that fall and looked even younger – a small, fine-boned slip of a boy, blonde, blue-eyed, in clothes my mother bought for me. Which was fine, because I never paid much attention to what I wore. Actually, I didn’t pay much attention to anything, except my studies. I was a scholarship kid in a posh college, two years younger than everyone else and away from home for the first time. I wasn’t so much shy as withdrawn. Self-contained. Out of my element in so many ways. If
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We are most fragile at the beginning. Gifts have their greatest power then -- both the gifts that are given, and the gifts that are lovingly withheld.
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Matt awoke slowly to a room grey and dim with early morning. He felt calm; there was no instant of surprise, of confusion. He knew exactly where he was, exactly why. He glanced at the bedside clock. 7:43. Luc was sleeping still, his face buried in the curve of Matt’s shoulder. The Québécois boy had drawn closer to Matt as he slept; now his left arm was bent across Matt’s chest, and the fingers of his wounded hand, no longer fisted in agony, were spread wide, and lay still and fragil
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It should have been pleasant, this late afternoon visit with friends. The coffee was good, the music classical, and the dull and fading light of the winter day had been banished with the flip of a switch. But for Luc, sitting quietly on the black leather sofa, it all seemed strained, forced, a little unreal. That he and Scott had walked in on something between Matt and Josh was obvious, but what it was, Luc had no idea. He had no map to where Josh and Matt seemed stranded, and there were no
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An achingly cold January drifted into an even more frigid February, and still Joshua hadn’t managed to get Matt alone. Not for lack of trying. “You saw what he was like just now in the elevator,” he said to Scott as they made their way through the underground parking lot. “He can hardly manage to say good morning.” It was true. Whenever they ran into Matt and Luc together, which one or the other of them did most days in the elevator or in the lobby of the condo, it was always Luc who
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Luc stood with his forehead pressed to the window and his back to the huge living room where he had spent the summers of his childhood. For him, this had always been a magical place, homey and constant, the sacred summer retreat where, for six weeks between school years, he could just be. This was, in many ways, the place where he’d grown from boy to man. He had been happy here once. His summers had overflowed with good times, happy times. The days were long and warm, caressed by ocean w
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Friday morning at 8:45, Matt pulled up in front of the Health Services Building. Luc’s appointment was at 9. “We’re a little early,” he said. “Wanna grab a fast coffee?” “I’m good,” said Luc. “I’ll just wait.” Matt looked at him in concern. Luc had had an hour-long session every morning that week, and now, hearing the weariness in his voice, Matt felt a swift and sudden empathy. Though the Quebecois boy hardly spoke of them and gave only the most oblique answers to his questions,
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The drive from the hospital had been a long and silent one, though at least the fog had lifted and the road was good. At first, Matt had tried to talk to Luc, hoping to distract him from the pain in his hand. He soon realized, however, that talk, even quiet talk, was more than the Quebecois boy could manage. Luc sat stiffly in the passenger seat, his splinted left hand pressed across his stomach. Though he clutched his silver iPod in his right fist, he did not turn it on. Every bump in t
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Even by 9 a.m., the sky was still dark and fog heavy, the road to the university treacherous with black ice. Luc, a calm and cautious driver despite his Montreal roots, started out nervous in the passenger seat of his red Civic, tensing as Matt negotiated the twists and curves. He soon realized, however, that Matt had noticed his nervousness, and was relieved that he responded by taking the slick road slowly and carefully. Twice the insipid tones of some horrible overproduced music emerged
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Luc awoke, as he always awoke, to a small surge of hope. New day. He breathed in those few precious seconds of it. And then the memories came back, as they always did. The memories and the pain. A new day, yes. But he was alone in it, as he would always be alone. Daniel was gone. It was his fault, and Daniel was gone. And beside that old, familiar pain was the newer pain. Scott. Who was gone, too. With someone else. And that was also his fault. If he had only been able to
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They left in a flurry of hugs, and cheek kisses from Laura on her tiptoes. Scott and Josh headed upstairs to Josh’s condo; Bran and Laura headed out into the frigid night to Matt’s car. Since Luc insisted Matt use Luc’s car to ferry him about, Matt was lending his to Brandon. “Beats waiting for a bus to get back to campus,” said Bran, accepting the keys. Now, he and Laura made their way across the outdoor guest parking lot. Bran knew her mittened hand in his was an act of faith, of tru
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Matt was just leaving the condo when his cell rang. Brandon. “Hey,” he said. “I’m just on my way.” “Can you give us another half hour?” Bran asked. “Laura’s practice is running a little late. There’s a Russian coach here who’s been working with her on a new dismount. They’re just about finished, but she still needs to shower.” “Sure. Scott said not to expect them until six. That still gives us lots of time to pick up what we need for dinner. Um…” “What?” “Laura’s still
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“Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened until the plane comes to a complete halt at the terminal.” Like his fellow passengers, Luc had already unfastened his seatbelt, though the plane was still a long way from the terminal. He was probably the last to do so; preparing as he was to be met by Scott and Josh, and the reality of seeing them together – together – had made him slow and reluctant. By the time he forced his fingers to release the latch, everyone around him had already p
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Luc, sitting alone in an otherwise empty row, dutifully checked that his seat was in the upright position. Then he leaned back and tried to relax as the Air Canada plane began its taxi down the runway for takeoff. He didn’t much like flying, especially not the takeoffs, the landings. He always felt that transitions were the dangerous times. He knew it was silly, but he always held his breath during those seconds in between land and air, air and land, as if holding the air in his lungs could
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After barely a week in the place – a week during which he’d spent most of his time escaping the noise of his floor mates – it took Matt less than an hour to pack up the stuff in his residence room. It wasn’t surprising, really. He hadn’t brought that much stuff with him from Ottawa: his lap top, speakers, clothes, books – and at Bran’s insistence his old hockey equipment, though he hadn’t been on the ice for years. All of it – along with Bran’s stuff and Bran himself – had fit nicely into the
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“I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” his mother said when Luc told his parents that Scott had found him a roommate. “You’ve never met this young man. He’s quite a bit older than you. What if you don’t get along?” “We’ll get along,” Luc told her, smiling the small, calm smile he’d perfected over the last few weeks. “He needs a quiet place, and I’m a quiet person. He’s just going to be my roommate, after all. And the condo’s large. There is plenty of privacy for both of us.” Bu
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Nine o’clock. Luc paced his bedroom, clutching his cell phone. The distance between Montreal and Nova Scotia seemed to grow with every passing second. Nine oh one. Nine oh two. Nine oh three. He was pacing a Bermuda triangle – bed to desk, desk to chair, chair to bed – and it threatened to swallow his dreams. Nine oh four. Nine oh five. He counted out the minutes. Waiting. Hoping. By nine fifteen his hope was running out. And then, when it finally did ring,
