After what felt like the longest movie ever, the clock finally struck eight. It was time for me to meet Richie and help him unpack. I jumped off Nat’s couch, a bit overexcitedly, and wished the guys a good night. It was a fast walk over to Richie’s granted the fact that I was practically sprinting. My anticipation was getting the best of me. When I finally got there, Richie was getting out of the taxicab and he gave me a small smile.
I practically tackled him.
But as soon as he threw his arms around me, I knew something was wrong. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin pale. He looked exhausted and weak, as if hugging me took all of his effort to do.
“Are you alright?” I asked him.
He shook his head. “Seattle hates me. It was pouring yesterday and I had to usher the crowd out. What band schedules an outdoor concert in the middle of a passing storm?”
I brought my head to his face and quickly pulled back. He was definitely sick. “You’re burning up. Let me take your bags in for you.”
Normally, he would have objected and taken them all in just to spite me, but he seemed to weary to care. After obediently shrugging off his backpack, Richie dragged his feet towards his door and fumbled with his keys until we was inside. Fortunately, for me, Richie hadn’t packed much and it wasn’t long before I was inside with him.
It was a sad sight, indeed. In the few minutes it had taken me to settle in the house, Richie had managed to throw on a sweatshirt and pajama pants, leaving his other clothes in a heap on the floor. I found him splayed out on the couch.
For the most part.
Half of him was hanging off the couch as if he had tried to get back up but had given up midway through the struggle.
I couldn’t help but crack a smile at him. “How are you feeling over there?”
He raised his arm and gave me a pitiful thumbs-up.
“I’ll be back in a second. I have to make a call.”
A muffled grunt was his only reply.
I shook my head and flipped open my phone; there were two calls that I had to make. First, I called my dad, telling him that I would be out all night and won’t be there when he got back. No problem there. Then, there was that other call.
My finger wavered over the green call button for a moment. I then cleared Nat’s number from the screen and dialed Cooper’s instead. He picked up surprisingly quickly; that’s Cooper for you.
“Hey, Rosalina.”
“Hi, Coop. How’s the sleepover going?”
“Fine. What’s up?”
“I don’t think I can make it to rehearsal tomorrow morning. Richie’s sick and I’m going to stay with him tonight. Can you just tell Nat for me?”
There was a slight pause; I knew there was a question biting at his tongue. He wanted to know why I didn’t just tell Nat myself, but Cooper was never one to ask unnecessary questions. “No problem. I hope he feels better.”
“Thanks, Coop. Goodnight.”
“Bye.”
I breathed a sigh of relief when he hung up. Later, I would probably regret not telling Nat directly, but I was more concerned with Richie for now. The poor, sickly thing had been patiently awaiting my return. While I had been on the phone, he had won the fight against gravity and sat comfortably upright by the time I got to him.
“You know,” he mumbled feebly. “Whenever a race horse got injured or sick, they use to just shoot it. End its misery, you know?”
My mouth twitched in amusement. “Are you saying you want me to shoot you?”
“I used to want a pony when I was little,” he said, having completely forgotten the last thing he had said.
I suddenly felt as if I was talking to a child with the attention span of a doorstop. “Uh-huh.”
“I found a turtle on the road once.”
“Uh-huh.” I giggled as I moved to sit beside him on the couch.
“I named him Donatello.”
“Uh-huh.” I threw three blankets over the rambling fool and pulled his head onto my lap.
“He ran away.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I didn’t know he could do that.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Because he was a turtle.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And turtles don’t run.”
I began to worry that his babbling would wear him out or he would harm himself trying to say something coherent. It was time for him to get some rest, so I decided to do what my dad used to do when I was a kid. With Richie’s head resting on my lap, I fiddled with his fluffy, not-gelled hair, and sang the first song that came to mind.
I don't believe it,
That I could be so deceiving
And bringing you down to feel this lack of loyalty.
'Cause you were a song in my head,
The warmth of the sheets in my bed.
A story forever told, but never old,
A warm arrival never left so cold.
Don't blink, don't close your eyes,
But most of all don't apologize.
It's me who's got the demons to wrestle now.
There's a patch of blue in the stormy sky,
A memory of a brighter time.
When everything was new, and less watered down,
Before the summer turned to brown…
And it wasn’t long before both of us were sound asleep.
