Twelve months.

Twelve months before Brian’s life seemed to be a painting almost finished: it hadn’t been perfect, there had been some stains here and there but it hadn’t really mattered because all the other colors made it so bright and much more than Brian had ever thought it could be. But then all it took was just a tear, a bigger and deeper stain than the others, and all left was only an empty frame.

A year later, Brian still found it difficult and hard to remember that fateful day: images came all vague and blurry, disturbed as if they were a tape already ruined while the audio had been completely turned off. Brian only could recall the emotions from that day or, perhaps, it was better saying the totally lack of those, as if a part of himself had died in that accident along with Nick. Brian had felt that way for a long time. He had built his life around Nick, he had designed projects that always included the two of them and, suddenly, he had found himself thrown in the river without a direction or something to hold onto. Getting up, during those twelve months, hadn’t been easy. He had fallen so many times that, at certain points, he had seriously wondered if it was still worth getting back on his feet since he had already lost the compass that had always lead him through the waves of life.

Still, in the end, he had made it through.
Still, twelve months later, he was standing there with a new life ahead of him and just one last thread to cut off from his past.

There he was, now, returning to the place where everything had begun. Nothing had changed on that road, the crosswalks had faded out since that far day and only a bunch of flowers reminded that someone had lost his life in that particular section. Brian didn’t know what made him stop there, for he wasn’t able to find any sort of consolation or a meaning but, maybe, it was just another way to remind him that it really happened. Another metaphor about how everything, sooner or later, had to start all over again and let behind its past.
The cemetery wasn’t that far from that place so Brian left his car in the parking lot of a supermarket, the same one where he and Nick were used to go, and started to walk in the chilly air. Autumn, perfect companion and brother of summer, had decided to change team and go over the winning one of the winter, changing his appearance into a cold partner that loved to make joke of the whole world. It was still too soon for the snow, the air still hadn’t that smell that foresaw those white snowflakes but soon fields and roads, roofs and sidewalks would change their looks while the city and the people would get ready for Christmas. Last Christmas Brian had asked only one thing, though knowing that his desire could never be fulfilled: he had been in that phase, which probably had lasted more than it should had been, where he was so sure and convinced that it had been all a nightmare, a terrible prank made by Nick. He had just wanted Nick by his side, he had wanted him back as much as someone could desire back that lost part of him so much to go crazy. Brian had never taken off that ring, that wedding band that Nick had gifted him after his own death, although now it was hidden and closer to that place where Nick’s memory would never be erased from: a simple keychain, a golden keychain that ended exactly upon his chest: now there were two scars, one physical and the other much more emotional and spiritual, that had met and were keeping each other company.

Brian had never been there, except for the day of the funeral. He would never be able to forget where Nick rested, even if that day and all the formalities were still a blur. But there was his gravestone, in a hidden corner and with still flowers and notes brought by all those fans who still were mourning Nick’s absence.

Brian had brought flowers too. Only three, for that he had always believed that three was the perfect number and because it had always appeared in each and every important date of their love story. Three flowers and three different meaning, linked and intertwined together. The first was a pale pink rose to remember that Nick had been his best friend.

“Do you remember? – Brian asked directly to the gravestone. It was useless calling that phone number that had given him comfort and security during those twelve months. Nick was there, even if he could only hear him. And that was all that mattered. – When I joined the band, you didn’t even speak to me. You were so shy and didn’t know how to act around someone who you only heard stories about. But then it only took me to teach you how to make a shoot from a distance to win over your shyness. I was shy too. Strange, don’t you think? I was in a place that I’ve never been, with three strangers that I had to convince so that I could be part of a group already tight. We were so similar, outsiders in two different ways but that had been what brought us together and made us allies, pals and, in the end, best friend. I’ve never been able to understand how you, a little boy of only thirteen years, could be able to get past my defenses and see what was hidden being the masquerade of an eternal happy face. You’ve always seen through my smiles, my jokes and laughs; you’ve always been able to notice when I was so fed up and just come to me asking about playing together. You knew that sports had always been my only outlet. You were so frustrating, though! Don’t doubt that there hadn’t been moments when I had been angry with you, especially for your habit to want to know everything at every cost. And there had been always something that I could never tell you about. There had been always one secret I couldn’t reveal because I had always been so scared about ruining our friendship. I was so petrified about losing you. Even if now it’s kinda ironic, don’t you think?”

Kneeling down, Brian placed the rose upon the headstone along with the other two flowers: a red rose and a sunflower. He caressed with his index the letters engraved in the marble, stopping when it reached that date that made everything so painful real.

“You were my world. My sun. I’ve followed you everywhere, even when I was still trying to resist those feelings I had for you. I’ve fought you because you didn’t give a damn about what people would think about us. You just loved me and that was all that mattered. I was scared, terrified by the intensity of my need and desire of just being with you. You’ve... you used to say that it was because of me that you learned how to love but I can’t really take that credit. Love was something that had always been inside you, you had just hidden it because no one really taught you how not to turn into something toxic and poisoning like your parents, But you... Nick, you taught me how to be loved, how to accept that I was worth of being covered with attentions and care as much as I loved and took care of others. I’ve never been able to depend on someone else, life had always made him be the strongest I could be and never let my weakness show. I didn’t have to force myself with you, I could be weak with you and I’ve never been ashamed or less.
It’s going to be hard now. It’s going to be hard opening my heart to someone else. And not only because your name is still written all over it. It’s because I don’t want to find myself once again in this condition, I don’t want to find myself again with my life shattered in pieces that I have to put together again. One day it’s going to happen. I won’t lose hope, I’ve never lost it. Even when I screamed, even when desperation had been the loudest voice inside my mind, I still had this small flame of hope to protect and to grow.”

Words died without another breath or air. During those twelve months Brian had confided in Nick just like had always done, putting into an answering machine all of his tears and screams, each breath caught inside his throat and those first laughs that had lead Brian to the other side of the sun, the part that shone and warmed up even when it was winter. It was going to be strange and weird not calling anymore that number; it was going to be weird not leaning to that last brick that still smelled like Nick’s. It was going to be strange but it was the last step Brian had to take to finally welcome his new spring and, as much as he was scared and terrified, he was also ready to move on. There wasn’t happiness, joy or enthusiasm for they couldn’t exist when someone was about to say goodbye to the most important person in his life; there was only a melancholic acceptance of how present and future were going to be and the realization that he had to face obstacles and battles counting on his own strength.
No one could prepare himself for that moment. Saying goodbye felt like definitive, much heavier than that gravestone. Fingers were trembling hidden inside the coat but it wasn’t for the cold: the hand kept opening and closing into a fit around the cell phone, slipping upon the surface and touching the buttons without really pressing any number. Brian had already decided that that was the way he was going to put an end of a year full of messages left to an answering machine without getting any reply. He was going to leave a last message, a last word and then he was going to end that story, disconnecting definitely a number that no one was going to use anymore.

“I love you Nick. Even if you’re gone, even if I’m about to start a new life, I will always love you. Not like I did before because there isn’t your love giving flame to mine anymore. But I will always do and, maybe, one day we will be together again somewhere up in the sky.”
Brian got up to his feet, finally having found the courage to take the phone out of his hiding spot inside his coat. With a breath, exhaled more to let the tension and apprehension out, and then phoned that number, ready to hear the metallic beep and then the voice...

Drin.
Drin.

Forced by the instinct, Brian ended the call.
He had called the wrong number. He had called the wrong number, that was what Brian kept telling himself while his heart started to beat furiously against the chest. It couldn’t be, otherwise. It couldn’t ring as if someone had turned on the cell phone after a whole year.
He dialed the number again, this time careful to every single digit. A second of hesitation, an instant of fear and apprehension as he pressed the last button.
The metallic beep didn’t come.

That automatic message, which had been the only ear who had received and heard his tears and prayers in those twelve months, didn’t come.

Drin.
Drin.

The phone was ringing. One, two, three rings that said that the line was connected and they were only waiting for someone to pick up and answer. Time around Brian seemed to stand still, wanting to be a witness of what could have only been a bad prank. Perhaps Brian was still sleeping, perhaps he was only imagining that scene when he was still protected by the blanket of dreams.
The ringing suddenly stopped. Someone had picked up and answered.

“Bri.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t an exclamation. Just one syllable. His name. That nickname that only a person, only a voice, had always pronounced in that way. But that voice couldn’t exist anymore, that voice should had been suffocated by flames and dirt. How could that voice still exist if its body had ceased to breathe life a year before?

Brian could only hear his heartbeat, a beating that followed time along with that syllable.

Thum. Bri. Thum. Bri.

He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move his lips and make out a simple syllable too. His throat seemed to have turned into a dry desert and even air couldn’t seem to find a way out because it only hit a wall made of terror, anxiety and hope.

Yes, hope.

That hope that Brian had always pretended to hide under a fake new security and acceptance. Hope that had turned into comfort when pain had been still a too much bigger and powerful to even try to talk with. Hope that everyone, from family and friends up to even strangers, had tried to defeat with words of compassion and pity, shaking and putting Brian in front of the image of false illusion.

There weren’t any doubt there. No doubt that it wasn’t a joke, no doubt about the fact that it wasn’t a mere and pale illusion. That voice that had said his name, Bri, could only belong to only one person. Brian would had been able to recognize it through hundred and more voices more or less similar, Brian would always been able to recognize that curve of sweetness within the last vowel.

“Nick?”

His question was broken by a cry. In the silence it echoed like as if it had been screamed but it would only took another sound, even that heart that was beating and refusing to believe, to hide and steal it away. Waiting for an answer, Brian kept telling himself that he was a fool, he was crazy just to hold onto that hope. Nick was dead and couldn’t answer him after twelve months of longing silence.

“Turn around.”

Brian didn’t move. Fear had literally paralyzed him. Logic kept screaming at him that, if he would turn around, he would realized the truth and that was that he was all alone in that place. There wasn’t anyone around there and, most important, there wasn’t that person whose gravestone Brian had placed those flowers and cried over his loss. And yet he had to turn around. He had to do it, he just had to realize that he had reached the bottom.

“Congrats - He said to himself mentally. – You’ve finally gone mad.”

But. There was a small and little but that was slowly starting to yell and shout against the cage it was being held prisoner.

What if hadn’t he gone mad?
What if hadn’t he reached the bottom?
What if had Nick been really there, behind his back?
Nick was dead and, yet, he was there. Somehow, in some twisted and weird way, Nick had to be physically there because the voice that answered Brian at the phone belonged to him. No doubt.

So he did it. Brian turned around, slowly and conscious of every sound surrounding him. Brian turned around and there, even before realizing where – or more exactly who – his gaze had fallen on, he felt like he was about to faint. Each color had been sucked away, every shape and frame had become a blurry and faded combination of lines and points. Trees, paths and gravestones were just one big thing and, between that haze, only a figure stood out. A figure that was standing in front of him.
He had changed. Nick. Nick had changed. He was thinner, wearing clothes that Brian had never seen or had never bought him as a gift. His hair was different, short, almost shaved and much darker that the blond Brian had always loved. Yes, he had loved that color even when Nick would get the dye wrong and ended up looking more like a cartoon. But even with that dark blonde, more like brown, there was no doubt that the figure was Nick. Because Brian would had recognize him everywhere, wearing every kind of masquerade or make up. He would recognize Nick even if now the blue of his eyes had turned into a shade of light green.

It was Nick. Alive. Breathing, so that meant that he couldn’t be dead. Though he should have been dead, he should have been resting inside that coffin covered by dirt and earth.
No. Nick was very much alive.
Nick was alive and standing in front of him.

“Yes, Brian. I’ve come back.”