Cold Lamb Sandwich

He smiled at me, his face tipped down but his eyes glancing shyly up at me. His expression was soft, not the harsh view I had seen in my mind numerous times waiting for this day. No, he seemed almost chipper with me, even if he was starting to turn red for some unknown reason. His stance was welcoming, as was his warm tone that wrapped me with every word he said, each sound making me forget the time we'd been apart, making me want to remember the days when we were so close as friends you couldn't have pulled us apart.

His new house was spectacular, summing him up with all of its contents placed so neatly. He had planned it all himself, and spent a small fortune towards it, making it absolutely perfect in every way. He had even gone so far as to build a room solely for the purpose of holding his growing guitar collection. That was one of the first rooms he showed me, sitting quietly with a Parker Fly in his lap, lovingly stroking the strings. I hoped at that moment whoever told him in his youth that he would never amount to anything, never make it anywhere, much less to his dreams, would be rotting away. He was built to play, built to create the music in a way that would touch everyone, even myself.

What I missed most of all about him were the dark and chilly nights where he would sit at his keyboards and just tap out some unnamed tune that popped into his head. We wouldn't speak, wouldn't make a sound as if it was going on its own with its beautiful stories. I wondered offhandedly if he still did that, or if he only did it for me because he knew how much I enjoyed it. I felt that it was still too early to ask some questions, so I chose to let it drop and simmer in the back of my mind, like any of my ponderings that I lose sight of so easily.

He led me into his main gallery, his living room of sorts where he had his couches and television at one end, a grand piano at the other. I never knew he had finally gotten one of his own, apart from the numerous keyboards he owned and loved. I brushed my hand absently over the keys, glancing at how shiny and inviting they seemed.

"Do you ever play anymore?"

"Every once in a while. I've been working on a few pieces that I really like."

"Would you let me hear them?"

"Sometime maybe, but I've got to work on dinner. You can stay in here if you like."

I nodded to him, walking around to look at the walls as he wandered off towards the kitchen. He had done well for himself, even if he was a little mixed about the spotlight and fame. He had asked for comfort, and that is what the entire stretch of the house was. The carpets were plush, the kind you'd want to run your toes through. The furniture all screamed to be tested and tried, and once you sat down you never wanted to get back up again. Yes, he got what he wanted, as far as what he openly wanted and what everyone saw.

I owned three houses, and none of them ever were lived in enough to be called 'home'. I could never let go of some things, and certain towns and cities caught me the same way as say a photograph or memory. Brisbane, Sausalito, London; all mine to a certain extent, but never as much as I would have liked. I was torn with fame, both loving and hating it in the same moment, a personal feud with my mind. I loved the attention, the fans and performances, but I loathed the traveling, having to leave my family and the knowledge that I would probably never stay in one place ever again. At least he had gained some of his peace back from where I had led him.

I heard him chopping away at some unsuspecting vegetable as he stepped into the shoes of a master chef if only for a few minutes. So many names, so many job titles he had earned through his time, it was no wonder that I wanted to look up to him so badly, even if he was younger. Age didn't matter when the mind was so much stronger in so many ways. His passion for life was enough for anyone to fall in love with him.

He was still alone in his home, though, sake for the three dogs that ran rampant wherever they could. Many times I imagined them being the closest thing that he would ever come to children, but in a way, they were enough to handle all on their own. Two black labs and one golden retriever to keep him company was all he seemed to need anymore, though I couldn't really blame him. Love was a double-sided blade to most, a bloodied one to him and I.

I poked my head in the door as he lit up the burners on the stove, setting the pans down to heat. His entire form seemed to flow around the room, knowing what was needed from where at a moment's notice, ignoring the fact that it was because he forgot half of the things needed in the first place. That was normal though, so no real worries were to be had unless he torched something too badly or added something that shouldn't have been.

"Chicken or pork?"

He turned quickly, shooting me another cheeky grin. I never understood how he knew where I was, but it never failed him, whatever it was. It was like wearing a beacon that only he could pick up on.

"Chicken if you don't mind."

"No worries mate. I had both ready to go in the pan."

No wonder he was so in control all the time. I smiled as he slid two chicken breasts into one of the frying pans, crisping the skin before he popped them into the oven. Moving on to the next pan, he emptied a cup of brown sugar and a bowl of sliced apples into some melted butter. I watched over his shoulder as he let the sugar melt and coat the apples, covering them in the caramel mixture.

"Dessert?"

"Nope, goes on the chicken. Don't worry, I promise you'll like it, or I'll take you out to that little pasta place down on Bexton."

Obviously, he was taking this seriously because 'that little pasta place down on Bexton' was one of the most expensive restaurants in town. Not that I was complaining, but I was sure that he had planned this dinner for me as well as he could have. He knew I had a thing for apples, and I was glad he had remembered me so well.

He had sent me away as soon as he began to prepare for the presentation, knowing that I would be buzzing around him like any good pest would. He had set out the silver, a set that I hadn't seen since the last day of our first tour, and it touched me that he thought as much of the visit as he did. It seemed that every detail had been taken good care of, crystal glasses and linen napkins folded carefully beneath the edge of the plate. He could never set a table in the conventional way, but for once in my life, I didn't mind it. I knew he cared enough to take the time, and that was all that was needed.

In good fashion, he brought the plates out covered so I couldn't see exactly what he had done. I guess I couldn't really blame him, I knew it was something spectacular. He sat down, getting comfortable before meeting my eyes.

"I know I usually don't to things like this, but would it alright if I said a little something before we eat?"

"You made it, and I would be happy to hear anything from you if you feel it is that important."

He cleared his throat, bowing his head slightly before starting, his voice soft but strong.

"I pray you'll be alright

And watch us where we go

And help us to be wise

In times when we don't know

Let this be our prayer

When we lose our way

Lead us to a place

Guide us with your grace

To a place where we'll be safe

I pray we'll find your light

And hold it in our hearts

When stars go out each night

Remind us where you are

Let this be our prayer

When shadows fill our day

Lead us to a place

Guide us with your grace

Give us faith so we'll be safe

A world where pain and sorrow

Will be ended

And every heart that's broken

Will be mended

And we'll remember we

Are all God's children

Reaching out to touch you

Reaching to the sky

We ask that life be kind

And watch us from above

We hope that soon we'll find

Another soul to love

Let this be our prayer

Just like every child

Lead to find a place

Guide us with your grace

Give us faith so we'll be safe..."

I wished he could have sung it in Italian like it was originally written, but his quoting was powerful enough to me, leaving me to wipe quietly at my eyes.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah...That was really touching."

"You know it?"

"Yes, in Italian."

"Teach me sometime maybe?"

"I'd never refuse..."

He chuckled slightly, reaching for the cover on his plate, pulling it away with flare. I did the same, settling on the sight. He had made bowls out of pastry to hold the chicken and apples, some of which he had blended down into a sauce to spread around the plate. I was amazed, and I think I showed it.

We ate almost in silence, just letting time take its hold on the room and on us. I couldn't help but glance at him every once in a while, watch him as he moved in the normal actions, cutting and swallowing. I don't think I ever really thought about how much I missed him, because I really did, even if I didn't want to admit it. His old habits didn't even bother me, the fact that he had an ashtray on the living room table, or that his dogs were probably going to chew through my boxers by the time I got to bed, or that he had to be doing something with his hands all the time. Just being able to spend time with him was a much-needed break from the stress of my reality.

I picked up my plate, helping him take everything out to the kitchen to get washed. He set to his task at the speed of light almost, giving them all a quick rinse before sorting them into the washer. I really was not needed for the task, but I wiped down the counters for him, and tried my best with the stove, which was already mostly clean. As I was ringing out the rag, I felt his arms wrap around me in a loose embrace, resting his chin on my shoulder. He sighed in my ear.

"I never did thank you for coming."

"You know you just had to ask, and I would have been here ages ago..."

His arms tightened slightly, that hug he used to give me before the shows when we would stand and look at each other in the mirror. It was always his way of saying that he would always be there when I needed it, and I had taken that for granted.

"Still, I think it was very nice of you to take some time out to come see me. Lord knows how long it's been."

"I know, but I missed us being the way we were, hate the fact that the media played it out so badly that we looked like we were at each other's throats. That was what wasn't fair. Not fair to try to break something that had lasted almost a decade..."

"It's hard to imagine it had really been that long..."

"Why is it so hard?"

"Because it feels like it went by in a heartbeat. I can still remember the kid that came in and tried so damn hard to empress that he screwed up, but it didn't stop him, and it didn't stop us. I hold it all close to my heart because I'm afraid that it will leave if I loosen my grip. I was scared that it was over, I didn't think I could handle it."

I could feel him crying on my shirt, his tears leaving the fabric damp against my skin. I patted him gently, running my hand across his neck before he backed up a step and let go. We would always be brothers, at least, and that was something worth fighting for.

Movie night didn't amount to very much as I fell asleep halfway through Meet Joe Black. And it wasn't because it was a bad movie, it was just because it was an extremely long one. He gave me another quick hug before I trudged up the stairs and into my room for the night, falling in a heap on the soft bed. I didn't even bother to change because I was out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

Something brought me out of my slumber a short four hours later, pulling lightly at my fog-muddled mind. I groaned as I looked towards the clock on the nightstand, but then it occurred to me what had brought me around, and what was still going on softly. Quiet chords from the piano drifted through the air and through my door, just like they used to.

I crept down the stairs as silently as I could so he wouldn't notice me, and I sat in the doorway watching him play. He had his back to me, but that was how it always was. The music was honest and from his heart when he didn't think anyone else was listening. He ran through a couple classical pieces, stretching his fingers before starting in on some more recent radio tunes. I still wasn't awake enough to remember what most of them were, but I was startled when he not only began to hum with one song, he began to sing softly, almost trying to keep it under his breath though he couldn't.

"I don't want to run away

But I can't take it, I don't understand

If I'm not made for you, then

Why does my heart tell me that I am?

Is there any way I could stay in your arms?

Cause I miss you body and soul

So strong that it takes my breath away

And I breathe you into my heart

And pray for the strength to stand today

Cause I love you whether it's wrong or right

And though I can't be with you tonight

You know my heart is by your side..."

I always knew he could sing, no matter what he said. It came naturally to his family, and I'd always wondered why he shied from it so quickly when anyone asked him about it.

He stopped for a second, grabbing what looked like a sandwich off the top of the piano, taking a bite before putting it back. He settled his hands on the keys again, sighing slightly as he started playing another song, beautifully sad but strangely familiar. After a while, the melody just kept repeating as he played it time and time again, weaving slowly on his bench as he played. I tapped my foot along, trying again to keep my tears in check as he stopped again, turning slightly to look at me. Damn homing device...

He came to me, sitting beside me and pulling me into his arms like he used to when I was broken down and sobbing. He laid my head on his chest, rocking me back and forth slowly as he mumbled quiet nothings to me under his breath. He was what I marked the rest of my friends by, not because I could call them at 3am, but because they were there for me when I really needed them, no matter the circumstance. He kissed the top of my head lightly before leaning me back so he could look at me.

"What's the matter?"

"That's what I missed the most about being away."

"What?"

"Your playing when you think no one is around, the way you always make things right again. The way you always cared when your talent made me cry. What was that last song from?"

"Silly, you would have known if you could have stayed awake. It's called 'Cold Lamb Sandwich' from Meet Joe Black, and it was one of the songs I was telling you about. I love all the music from that film, just most of it wasn't written for piano, so I make do with what I can."

"It was wonderful..."

"Thank you. You know, that means a lot to me, knowing that you still like it."

"Would you think that I didn't?"

"I never know anymore. Can't say that I know you as well as I used to."

"Maybe it's time to change that..."

"True. Shall we start now? You know, never any better time than the present..."

"Sure. My name is Darren Hayes, and I'd like to be your best friend again if that is possible?"

He smiled at me, the big one, that million watt toothy one that would shut down Broadway for a month.

"I'm Daniel Jones, I'm currently eating a cold chicken and apple sandwich. Would Darren Hayes, my best buddy in the whole wide world like one?"

"That would be very nice Danny. Thank you for offering."

"No worries, Dazza. I have a feeling things are going to be all right from now on...."