No snappy snafoos, no extras, just this.
It's self explanitory once you start reading.
I'll post all of the chapters here on this post.
Please enjoy, I worked hard, and I could have easily changed the names in the first chapter and made this into a novel insted of a fan fic, but I wanted to honnor such a great band that has meant so much to me.
Chapter 1: Part 1
Chapter 1: Part 2
It's self explanitory once you start reading.
I'll post all of the chapters here on this post.
Please enjoy, I worked hard, and I could have easily changed the names in the first chapter and made this into a novel insted of a fan fic, but I wanted to honnor such a great band that has meant so much to me.
Chapter 1: Part 1
Chapter 1: Part 2
:Change:
I am sorry, my dear, and anyone else who has deviant art blocked.
I have below Chapter 1 through 3 together here,
But I suggest that if you do not have Deviant Art blocked that you read my story there.
The background at DA is more pleasant to stare at for long periods of time then the white background here.
ALSO
I shall only post chapters 1-5 here and then I'm opening another page, because I fear the sheer size that this post is reaching. No worries, all the links to DA will be posted here and the next thread when the time comes. All shall read who want to read and I'll try and label things as much as I have too but I'll avoid epic proportions. ^_^, it's all good!
The Day I Felt Okay
CHAPTER ONE
The day my life changed was December 10th, 1994. I was sixteen back then, and I was really alive. It was very different back then than things are today, back when I used to live. These days, I don’t live. To rephrase, I don’t go places; I don’t breathe; I don’t wear fun outfits. I don’t live anymore. I’m the hollow shell of what used to be. In some ways, I’m quite content with that, but sometimes when I look back, I do miss some things. That December 10th…. I met the one person I miss the most. I met “him.”
It was another day, and like all those days back then with drama girls and brainless guys, every morning I’d wake up screaming “********! I’M LATE!” I never got up on time in the morning, but that wasn’t a normal day. I laugh now, but I was upset as hell that morning because things already didn’t seem normal. Every normal, average morning, I would get up, grab the cup of coffee my mom, Janice, left on my night stand, throw my cat Michelangelo off my bed, and pull my hair straight with my warrior head brush. I’d busy myself with a few pieces of clothing from the pile on the floor, throw something on, kiss my dad, Benjamin’s, urn morning, and while I shoved some toast down my throat, I’d avoid butting head on with my mom who was rushing to work. But that morning, it didn’t work like it was supposed to.
That morning, it was hell. When I woke up, I felt my long, beautiful brown hair super glued to my face. I flew up in bed from shock; my hair remaining incapacitated and stuck to my face, and my left arm striking my night table. By hitting the table at just the right speed, velocity and force, a most unconceivable event happened; my coffee was launched head on with my only pile of wearable clothing.
I flipped my legs over the side of my bed and ran to check to see if any clothing was fine, but I didn’t see Michelangelo curled two feet away on the floor, so when I made the wrong step, BAM! Floor one, Girl zero. I had a pile of sticky, coffee stained clothing in my face. There were no survivors. I heard my mom one room away lightly chuckling as I pulled my head out of the warm, sticky mess.
That morning, I leapt out the door, down the steps and into the street, running for the bus as it drove away from my apartment. Bus one, Girl zero. I took off down the street, hoping I could make the few blocks to Belleville High School before I missed class and missed the first bell anyway. First period was already half over when I finally got inside the building, and in my precarious state of emotions between upset and anger, I decided it would be by far safer to skip first period altogether and hide in the library. I clicked those ridiculous hooker heels on the tile and made for those two, inviting, warm wooden doors.
I sneaked past that unjustifiably perky librarian and her too clean tan wooden desk and went into hiding within the gray metal shelving in the back of the long, brightly lit, white room. Row after row, I moved scrunched down looking at all the various books, all of the bright binding, the thick sheets, and huge encyclopedias looking for a safe row to hide until first period was over. I kept looking, every isle having holes big enough to see through and make any hiding student visible from isles away, but I finally gave up when the holes were several encyclopedia series apart.
I sat on the carpet stolen straight from the worst doctor’s office in town, that gritty, plastic feel of the tiny carpet fibers sticking up were enough to make me wish I wore something else other then that black mini skirt. After the morning’s coffee fiasco, I only had one, small cotton tank top and one extra small black mini skirt, aka, hooker clothing. Both my shirt and skirt were far too small on me and were about to break at the seems, but I had no option that day.
I pulled a random book off the shelf and glanced at various things on the pages, pictures, text, colors, and odd letters. I started to daze off, pulling my black mini skirt down every so often to stop it from riding up and leaving me totally exposed.
I must have been really dazed that day from being upset for him to sneak up on me, but he got me none the less. He stood there with his large jacket, band shirt and loose jeans, all entirely black, looking down on me. I failed to realize the huge black spot in my vision until he bent down and started to read off the page I was looking at. I glanced for a second to see what exactly this black spot was and when my sensors felt the presence of a male human being, I yelped. I ended up falling backwards in panic, my legs flying out and pushing him over and my arms falling pathetically behind me to save me from falling on my back.
My skirt ripped from the bottom up until my underwear was showing and my shirt tore downwards, not stopping until my entire bra was cast out. My mouth hung open staring at him, as he was now on his a** staring at me. He kept staring as I was still stuck frozen, the awkwardness of being “nude” in public still striking me. I still remember the underwear I was wearing that day, the pink lace seemed to reflect back at me from his eyes. I was so mortified, I couldn’t even scream. I was so up-heaved; I was left to choke on my own air.
In this awkward moment, as I pulled myself up to my knees, trying to compose my appearance and fractured dignity, he decided to speak. I still remember his exact words… That stupid, stupid question most people find more than necessary to ask me.
“Are you okay?”
My hands became uselessly clumsy, my fingers unable to pull or prod at my clothes. I couldn’t see the carpet, all the color dots blurring together to make mock of me in a dark blue, the itchy feel of it now becoming unbearable to my numb legs. I could feel my hair pulling at my face and falling away, the unmanageable mess now clogging my breathing. The light shined down on me from industrialized heaven as I tried to look him in the eyes and speak.
I could only say those four words; I couldn’t even feel my tongue as it flicked the syllables out.
“I’m… not… okay…”
I must have looked like a miserable lost puppy that morning, holding my face in my hands in an isle of the school library utterly revealed. Huge wet tears fell from my eyes into my hands as he seemed to stare right into me. He didn’t say much then, he just pulled his thick black jacket off and wrapped it around my shoulders, placing it around me to become a hiding place I could stay in. I drew heavy breaths and tried to quiet my tears, feeling the smells of smoke and a bitter stinging taste, but it felt so nice. I felt him place a heavy arm around my back and draw me in to his comforting chest. Breathing became a little easier but in the distance, I could hear a bell. I felt him chuckle through the comforting warmth as I pulled back from the fabric to look at his face.
He had the biggest smile I’d ever seen, teeth and all showing as if he wasn’t afraid. His lips seemed pulled and set as if he’d grinned a million times. His eyes swam in his face, a pretty brown under-casted by locks of black hair and eye brows. I kept looking until he stared back at me inquisitively. He kept his grin held and laughed again as the sound of students clattering and chirping was faint in the background.
“Um… Do you want to skip next period with me?” His voice was warm, some what peaky, if that gives his voice any justice. I just kept staring up, some what shell shocked from my morning.
“I mean, unless you really want to go to next period…” My brain finally took recognition at that and I shook my head roughly. He stood up and pulled my feeble arms along, my body following along. He pulled me along as he walked out of the library, swam through the river of kids and exited the school building altogether. He leaned on the red, thick, foreboding school wall and stared onto the quibbling girl, shaking in an oversized jacket sitting on the ground. He bent down and stared me straight in my eyes and smiled, trying to get me to smile along.
“So… What’s your name?”
It took me a moment then, but I stuttered it out eventually, hidden deep within his jacket.
“Re-Rebecca…”
He sat down completely, casting his legs in front of him and scooted until there were mere inches between us. His hair smelled like a smoky dawn to me, my mind seeming dawn to the sent. I was quite content to stay there in silence and just sink in the scent until I realized, maybe I should ask him a question to.
“What…. What’s your name?”
He kicked back a sigh and looked up at the foggy sky. He seemed so at peace right then, so happy and contented.
“My name’s Gerard. I’m very happy to meet you ‘Becca.”
He pulled out his hand, friendly and calmly and I carefully poked it, sensing a trap. He cooed another laugh right at my face and I managed a small smirk as I shook his hand. His hand seemed to elapse mine as I brushed away the reminisce of the salt from the fading tears on my face.
The next thing I really remember is friendship. After we skipped the period, he walked me hope and helped me collect homework from the classes we skipped. We got to talking about comics, drawing, dreaming, and all those other things that we found out we could talk about.
I… I really don’t want to think about the rest….
It was the best year of my life, being friends with someone so much that all those stupid things you thought meant something now meant nothing. We always hung out; he always called me ‘Becca; and I always found a new pun for his last name, Way. I met his brother, Mikey; he met my cat, Michelangelo, and our moms got to talking together… Things just seemed to click so well…
Then one day, I met another guy. His name was Trent… Trent, Trent, Trent… He should have had “asswhole” tattooed on his forehead, but in my stupidity, I fell in love. I thought it was real; he thought he found a new ride.
I hung out with Gerard less and less, and with Trent more and more. Trent was cool, Trent was awesome, Trent was fun, Trent had a million friends that had fun, and Gerard just became the comic book nerd that never left his house. I fell for that idiot, going to parties, making-out in the back of movie theaters, hiding from parents and such.
Gerard must have been in pain, but again, I was an idiot, I thought I could just count on his friendship staying there.
How wrong I was
In just a few months after I met Gerard and a few weeks after I met Trent, Prom season had come. The day before the big event, the day I had the dress picked out, the day my mom had agreed to let me go out with Trent, the day I was so excited I was jumping up and down with joy, Gerard stood right in my front door with huge puppy dog eyes and a fake smile.
He’d come with ideas for the next day. He wanted to just hang out, just him, me, a pile of cookies, comics and Mikey. Nothing else, no dress, no excitement, and no Trent to worry about, just us. I should have said yes. My heart told me to say yes to my best friend in the whole world. But then my mind decided it wouldn’t listen to him now, not when I had the dress, the permission and the guy.
I told him no, flat out, sharply, rudely, hideously no. I could smell that acidic smell of something off on him, but I ignored it. His eyes seemed to water as he held his smile in place and shrugged it off. I can hear his voice break as he whimpered about trying to hang out later. I gave him a thin, pitiful hug and shut the door in his face.
I don’t remember prom that much. Everything is a blur from the drinks that Trent kept bringing me. All I remember are how bad the drinks tasted, some flashes that stung my eyes, and the morning after in a cheap hotel bed covered in his waste.
After that, I refused to see Trent again. After that, Gerard disappeared from me. I kept hidden most of the time from all the students, missing classes here and there and avoiding eyes, for every time I saw those eyes I heard the whispers.
“Oh, that’s the girl who slept with Trent…. How is she living with herself??”
Graduation soon followed, Gerard and Trent were seniors and both were graduating in the same class. I came only to see Gerard, but seeing Gerard was not the only thing that I happened to see that day.
I some how managed to get backstage with the graduates, don’t really remember how now, but while I was looking for Gerard in the line up to the stage, I saw a bunch of senior guys out of line huddled together looking at pictures.
I walked past and saw one of them. I lost my breath and fell on the men holding the photos. On my way down to the floor, I knocked the photos out of their hands and the pictures spilled around me. Photos of my prom night. The photos Trent took while I was out of it had been handed out like party favors to all his friends.
My entire body was unveiled and sent to every man in freshman, sophomore, junior, and senior class in the school.
Including Gerard.
I finally found Gerard in the line up while I was lying there in shocked disgust at the photos and myself. He’d turned to see the commotion behind him and saw me struck still there with every nasty thing I’d done with Trent on prom night around me like the horrible reminders they were.
I remember his eyes… By that time he’d probably seen those photos being passed around, but in both our eyes, there was the recognition of what I’d done, what I was afraid of, what he’d known and wanted to believe never happened.
It happened and I wish I wasn’t right there, on the floor while groups of seniors in full graduation attire stared down at me.
I just got up and started running. It didn’t matter where I ran; I just ran and ran, faster and faster down those endless, cursed hallways. I kept running and I heard feet behind me. I just kept running and running, praying the entire world would disappear behind me, but it didn’t.
I don’t know how I got up there, but I ended up on the second floor of the school in front of a broken out window. There was a huge gap right in front of me, right down to the ground below. I stood there, just looking down, the nice hard concrete below the window. Then, I turned to look at the winded figure in a graduation robe standing a few feet away, panting heavily staring at me. Gerard’s eyes reflected again of knowing, exact knowledge running though his head of what I was about to do. I turned my head and looked back out the window, the distance till I hit the bottom and leave all those stupid photos behind seemed so close. I walked right up to the edge and stepped up on the ledge of the window.
I could hear him quiver and run to look down as I stepped off to fall to the concrete below.
I couldn’t even succeed in doing myself in then. It was for the better, I guess, but I just ended up breaking ten bones in my right foot, because I didn’t land on concrete; I landed in the bushes.
Gerard ran down the stairs and helped pull me out of the bushes, skipping the graduation ceremony all together to help me to the ER.
The last time I was with him was as we sat in those ER chairs, him holding my hand as my right foot was kept up on a chair ahead of me. He just held my hand, still in that silly graduation outfit and me with assorted twigs stuck in my brown hair and black sweater. The entire time we sat there, it was in silence, Gerard just caressing my hand to stop me from crying out in pain. When the nurse finally came to wheel me to the doctor, Gerard just helped me up and before he set me in the wheel chair, he hugged me one last time.
I really miss his hugs the most, those huge choking hugs that seemed to suffocate the wind out of you sometimes. I’d willingly suffocate right then in the smell of dawn’s smoke and acidic over-powering odors, but he seemed just to shake me in my skin then gently lower me into the wheel chair. The nurse turned me around in the chair and rolled me away from the ER room, away from Gerard’s retreating back and all those things I could have done to make things right.
Since then, life has been hanging like a man on rope with life. I graduated a year early very quietly and quickly from high school to get away from all those pictures that seemed to continuously circulate around the school. I took all my things from my room, Michelangelo, my dark clothes, my books, my comics, my drawings, and a few random trinkets and shoved it all in boxes. I left mom at the house alone with dad’s urn and drove away in my beat up Volkswagen bus and I’ve yet to come back home. I went to a school far away in upper New York for technology and loathed every second of it and graduated the top fifty of my class in 1999.
Now I work as a computer consultant for many major companies who keep up online pages, servers, and major online transactions. I work on the road from my laptop and contact my bosses on the computer. I never have to show up to work, just occasionally send in an email and rewrite the new code for some shoe company’s site so they look good and I get paid.
I live on the road, driving from place to place in upper New York, collecting the old Prom photos as I go from all the old graduates of high school. There’s still so many and sometimes I run into a few online. I act like I take it all in stride, but every time I see one of those photos and every time I see another guy snicker behind my back, a little piece of me dies inside.
It’s been ten years since I’ve really lived. It’s probably why I’m thinking about all these memories today. It’s December 10th 2004, ten years exactly since I’ve seen Gerard Way.
I’m just driving down a small hilly road in upper New York. It’s… oh dang, 12:06pm already and it’s so cold out I can’t feel my noise in this bus. Michelangelo II, surviving son of Michelangelo, is running around in the back on my sleeping bag and there’s little keeping me awake right now.
I turn the radio on, for the first time in a few weeks, and push it to the first station that has no static.
I wonder… I wonder where he could be right now… Is he okay? Is he not okay? Is he near home or far away like me?
I wonder…
I am sorry, my dear, and anyone else who has deviant art blocked.
I have below Chapter 1 through 3 together here,
But I suggest that if you do not have Deviant Art blocked that you read my story there.
The background at DA is more pleasant to stare at for long periods of time then the white background here.
ALSO
I shall only post chapters 1-5 here and then I'm opening another page, because I fear the sheer size that this post is reaching. No worries, all the links to DA will be posted here and the next thread when the time comes. All shall read who want to read and I'll try and label things as much as I have too but I'll avoid epic proportions. ^_^, it's all good!
The Day I Felt Okay
CHAPTER ONE
The day my life changed was December 10th, 1994. I was sixteen back then, and I was really alive. It was very different back then than things are today, back when I used to live. These days, I don’t live. To rephrase, I don’t go places; I don’t breathe; I don’t wear fun outfits. I don’t live anymore. I’m the hollow shell of what used to be. In some ways, I’m quite content with that, but sometimes when I look back, I do miss some things. That December 10th…. I met the one person I miss the most. I met “him.”
It was another day, and like all those days back then with drama girls and brainless guys, every morning I’d wake up screaming “********! I’M LATE!” I never got up on time in the morning, but that wasn’t a normal day. I laugh now, but I was upset as hell that morning because things already didn’t seem normal. Every normal, average morning, I would get up, grab the cup of coffee my mom, Janice, left on my night stand, throw my cat Michelangelo off my bed, and pull my hair straight with my warrior head brush. I’d busy myself with a few pieces of clothing from the pile on the floor, throw something on, kiss my dad, Benjamin’s, urn morning, and while I shoved some toast down my throat, I’d avoid butting head on with my mom who was rushing to work. But that morning, it didn’t work like it was supposed to.
That morning, it was hell. When I woke up, I felt my long, beautiful brown hair super glued to my face. I flew up in bed from shock; my hair remaining incapacitated and stuck to my face, and my left arm striking my night table. By hitting the table at just the right speed, velocity and force, a most unconceivable event happened; my coffee was launched head on with my only pile of wearable clothing.
I flipped my legs over the side of my bed and ran to check to see if any clothing was fine, but I didn’t see Michelangelo curled two feet away on the floor, so when I made the wrong step, BAM! Floor one, Girl zero. I had a pile of sticky, coffee stained clothing in my face. There were no survivors. I heard my mom one room away lightly chuckling as I pulled my head out of the warm, sticky mess.
That morning, I leapt out the door, down the steps and into the street, running for the bus as it drove away from my apartment. Bus one, Girl zero. I took off down the street, hoping I could make the few blocks to Belleville High School before I missed class and missed the first bell anyway. First period was already half over when I finally got inside the building, and in my precarious state of emotions between upset and anger, I decided it would be by far safer to skip first period altogether and hide in the library. I clicked those ridiculous hooker heels on the tile and made for those two, inviting, warm wooden doors.
I sneaked past that unjustifiably perky librarian and her too clean tan wooden desk and went into hiding within the gray metal shelving in the back of the long, brightly lit, white room. Row after row, I moved scrunched down looking at all the various books, all of the bright binding, the thick sheets, and huge encyclopedias looking for a safe row to hide until first period was over. I kept looking, every isle having holes big enough to see through and make any hiding student visible from isles away, but I finally gave up when the holes were several encyclopedia series apart.
I sat on the carpet stolen straight from the worst doctor’s office in town, that gritty, plastic feel of the tiny carpet fibers sticking up were enough to make me wish I wore something else other then that black mini skirt. After the morning’s coffee fiasco, I only had one, small cotton tank top and one extra small black mini skirt, aka, hooker clothing. Both my shirt and skirt were far too small on me and were about to break at the seems, but I had no option that day.
I pulled a random book off the shelf and glanced at various things on the pages, pictures, text, colors, and odd letters. I started to daze off, pulling my black mini skirt down every so often to stop it from riding up and leaving me totally exposed.
I must have been really dazed that day from being upset for him to sneak up on me, but he got me none the less. He stood there with his large jacket, band shirt and loose jeans, all entirely black, looking down on me. I failed to realize the huge black spot in my vision until he bent down and started to read off the page I was looking at. I glanced for a second to see what exactly this black spot was and when my sensors felt the presence of a male human being, I yelped. I ended up falling backwards in panic, my legs flying out and pushing him over and my arms falling pathetically behind me to save me from falling on my back.
My skirt ripped from the bottom up until my underwear was showing and my shirt tore downwards, not stopping until my entire bra was cast out. My mouth hung open staring at him, as he was now on his a** staring at me. He kept staring as I was still stuck frozen, the awkwardness of being “nude” in public still striking me. I still remember the underwear I was wearing that day, the pink lace seemed to reflect back at me from his eyes. I was so mortified, I couldn’t even scream. I was so up-heaved; I was left to choke on my own air.
In this awkward moment, as I pulled myself up to my knees, trying to compose my appearance and fractured dignity, he decided to speak. I still remember his exact words… That stupid, stupid question most people find more than necessary to ask me.
“Are you okay?”
My hands became uselessly clumsy, my fingers unable to pull or prod at my clothes. I couldn’t see the carpet, all the color dots blurring together to make mock of me in a dark blue, the itchy feel of it now becoming unbearable to my numb legs. I could feel my hair pulling at my face and falling away, the unmanageable mess now clogging my breathing. The light shined down on me from industrialized heaven as I tried to look him in the eyes and speak.
I could only say those four words; I couldn’t even feel my tongue as it flicked the syllables out.
“I’m… not… okay…”
I must have looked like a miserable lost puppy that morning, holding my face in my hands in an isle of the school library utterly revealed. Huge wet tears fell from my eyes into my hands as he seemed to stare right into me. He didn’t say much then, he just pulled his thick black jacket off and wrapped it around my shoulders, placing it around me to become a hiding place I could stay in. I drew heavy breaths and tried to quiet my tears, feeling the smells of smoke and a bitter stinging taste, but it felt so nice. I felt him place a heavy arm around my back and draw me in to his comforting chest. Breathing became a little easier but in the distance, I could hear a bell. I felt him chuckle through the comforting warmth as I pulled back from the fabric to look at his face.
He had the biggest smile I’d ever seen, teeth and all showing as if he wasn’t afraid. His lips seemed pulled and set as if he’d grinned a million times. His eyes swam in his face, a pretty brown under-casted by locks of black hair and eye brows. I kept looking until he stared back at me inquisitively. He kept his grin held and laughed again as the sound of students clattering and chirping was faint in the background.
“Um… Do you want to skip next period with me?” His voice was warm, some what peaky, if that gives his voice any justice. I just kept staring up, some what shell shocked from my morning.
“I mean, unless you really want to go to next period…” My brain finally took recognition at that and I shook my head roughly. He stood up and pulled my feeble arms along, my body following along. He pulled me along as he walked out of the library, swam through the river of kids and exited the school building altogether. He leaned on the red, thick, foreboding school wall and stared onto the quibbling girl, shaking in an oversized jacket sitting on the ground. He bent down and stared me straight in my eyes and smiled, trying to get me to smile along.
“So… What’s your name?”
It took me a moment then, but I stuttered it out eventually, hidden deep within his jacket.
“Re-Rebecca…”
He sat down completely, casting his legs in front of him and scooted until there were mere inches between us. His hair smelled like a smoky dawn to me, my mind seeming dawn to the sent. I was quite content to stay there in silence and just sink in the scent until I realized, maybe I should ask him a question to.
“What…. What’s your name?”
He kicked back a sigh and looked up at the foggy sky. He seemed so at peace right then, so happy and contented.
“My name’s Gerard. I’m very happy to meet you ‘Becca.”
He pulled out his hand, friendly and calmly and I carefully poked it, sensing a trap. He cooed another laugh right at my face and I managed a small smirk as I shook his hand. His hand seemed to elapse mine as I brushed away the reminisce of the salt from the fading tears on my face.
The next thing I really remember is friendship. After we skipped the period, he walked me hope and helped me collect homework from the classes we skipped. We got to talking about comics, drawing, dreaming, and all those other things that we found out we could talk about.
I… I really don’t want to think about the rest….
It was the best year of my life, being friends with someone so much that all those stupid things you thought meant something now meant nothing. We always hung out; he always called me ‘Becca; and I always found a new pun for his last name, Way. I met his brother, Mikey; he met my cat, Michelangelo, and our moms got to talking together… Things just seemed to click so well…
Then one day, I met another guy. His name was Trent… Trent, Trent, Trent… He should have had “asswhole” tattooed on his forehead, but in my stupidity, I fell in love. I thought it was real; he thought he found a new ride.
I hung out with Gerard less and less, and with Trent more and more. Trent was cool, Trent was awesome, Trent was fun, Trent had a million friends that had fun, and Gerard just became the comic book nerd that never left his house. I fell for that idiot, going to parties, making-out in the back of movie theaters, hiding from parents and such.
Gerard must have been in pain, but again, I was an idiot, I thought I could just count on his friendship staying there.
How wrong I was
In just a few months after I met Gerard and a few weeks after I met Trent, Prom season had come. The day before the big event, the day I had the dress picked out, the day my mom had agreed to let me go out with Trent, the day I was so excited I was jumping up and down with joy, Gerard stood right in my front door with huge puppy dog eyes and a fake smile.
He’d come with ideas for the next day. He wanted to just hang out, just him, me, a pile of cookies, comics and Mikey. Nothing else, no dress, no excitement, and no Trent to worry about, just us. I should have said yes. My heart told me to say yes to my best friend in the whole world. But then my mind decided it wouldn’t listen to him now, not when I had the dress, the permission and the guy.
I told him no, flat out, sharply, rudely, hideously no. I could smell that acidic smell of something off on him, but I ignored it. His eyes seemed to water as he held his smile in place and shrugged it off. I can hear his voice break as he whimpered about trying to hang out later. I gave him a thin, pitiful hug and shut the door in his face.
I don’t remember prom that much. Everything is a blur from the drinks that Trent kept bringing me. All I remember are how bad the drinks tasted, some flashes that stung my eyes, and the morning after in a cheap hotel bed covered in his waste.
After that, I refused to see Trent again. After that, Gerard disappeared from me. I kept hidden most of the time from all the students, missing classes here and there and avoiding eyes, for every time I saw those eyes I heard the whispers.
“Oh, that’s the girl who slept with Trent…. How is she living with herself??”
Graduation soon followed, Gerard and Trent were seniors and both were graduating in the same class. I came only to see Gerard, but seeing Gerard was not the only thing that I happened to see that day.
I some how managed to get backstage with the graduates, don’t really remember how now, but while I was looking for Gerard in the line up to the stage, I saw a bunch of senior guys out of line huddled together looking at pictures.
I walked past and saw one of them. I lost my breath and fell on the men holding the photos. On my way down to the floor, I knocked the photos out of their hands and the pictures spilled around me. Photos of my prom night. The photos Trent took while I was out of it had been handed out like party favors to all his friends.
My entire body was unveiled and sent to every man in freshman, sophomore, junior, and senior class in the school.
Including Gerard.
I finally found Gerard in the line up while I was lying there in shocked disgust at the photos and myself. He’d turned to see the commotion behind him and saw me struck still there with every nasty thing I’d done with Trent on prom night around me like the horrible reminders they were.
I remember his eyes… By that time he’d probably seen those photos being passed around, but in both our eyes, there was the recognition of what I’d done, what I was afraid of, what he’d known and wanted to believe never happened.
It happened and I wish I wasn’t right there, on the floor while groups of seniors in full graduation attire stared down at me.
I just got up and started running. It didn’t matter where I ran; I just ran and ran, faster and faster down those endless, cursed hallways. I kept running and I heard feet behind me. I just kept running and running, praying the entire world would disappear behind me, but it didn’t.
I don’t know how I got up there, but I ended up on the second floor of the school in front of a broken out window. There was a huge gap right in front of me, right down to the ground below. I stood there, just looking down, the nice hard concrete below the window. Then, I turned to look at the winded figure in a graduation robe standing a few feet away, panting heavily staring at me. Gerard’s eyes reflected again of knowing, exact knowledge running though his head of what I was about to do. I turned my head and looked back out the window, the distance till I hit the bottom and leave all those stupid photos behind seemed so close. I walked right up to the edge and stepped up on the ledge of the window.
I could hear him quiver and run to look down as I stepped off to fall to the concrete below.
I couldn’t even succeed in doing myself in then. It was for the better, I guess, but I just ended up breaking ten bones in my right foot, because I didn’t land on concrete; I landed in the bushes.
Gerard ran down the stairs and helped pull me out of the bushes, skipping the graduation ceremony all together to help me to the ER.
The last time I was with him was as we sat in those ER chairs, him holding my hand as my right foot was kept up on a chair ahead of me. He just held my hand, still in that silly graduation outfit and me with assorted twigs stuck in my brown hair and black sweater. The entire time we sat there, it was in silence, Gerard just caressing my hand to stop me from crying out in pain. When the nurse finally came to wheel me to the doctor, Gerard just helped me up and before he set me in the wheel chair, he hugged me one last time.
I really miss his hugs the most, those huge choking hugs that seemed to suffocate the wind out of you sometimes. I’d willingly suffocate right then in the smell of dawn’s smoke and acidic over-powering odors, but he seemed just to shake me in my skin then gently lower me into the wheel chair. The nurse turned me around in the chair and rolled me away from the ER room, away from Gerard’s retreating back and all those things I could have done to make things right.
Since then, life has been hanging like a man on rope with life. I graduated a year early very quietly and quickly from high school to get away from all those pictures that seemed to continuously circulate around the school. I took all my things from my room, Michelangelo, my dark clothes, my books, my comics, my drawings, and a few random trinkets and shoved it all in boxes. I left mom at the house alone with dad’s urn and drove away in my beat up Volkswagen bus and I’ve yet to come back home. I went to a school far away in upper New York for technology and loathed every second of it and graduated the top fifty of my class in 1999.
Now I work as a computer consultant for many major companies who keep up online pages, servers, and major online transactions. I work on the road from my laptop and contact my bosses on the computer. I never have to show up to work, just occasionally send in an email and rewrite the new code for some shoe company’s site so they look good and I get paid.
I live on the road, driving from place to place in upper New York, collecting the old Prom photos as I go from all the old graduates of high school. There’s still so many and sometimes I run into a few online. I act like I take it all in stride, but every time I see one of those photos and every time I see another guy snicker behind my back, a little piece of me dies inside.
It’s been ten years since I’ve really lived. It’s probably why I’m thinking about all these memories today. It’s December 10th 2004, ten years exactly since I’ve seen Gerard Way.
I’m just driving down a small hilly road in upper New York. It’s… oh dang, 12:06pm already and it’s so cold out I can’t feel my noise in this bus. Michelangelo II, surviving son of Michelangelo, is running around in the back on my sleeping bag and there’s little keeping me awake right now.
I turn the radio on, for the first time in a few weeks, and push it to the first station that has no static.
I wonder… I wonder where he could be right now… Is he okay? Is he not okay? Is he near home or far away like me?
I wonder…
CHAPTER TWO
It’s so cold in this van; I can’t feel my fingers on the wheel. It’s as if from the wrist down, I have icicles attached to me, long, monster icicle hands. Everything is so cold; it’s an ice world outside the windows. My skin isn’t skin anymore; it’s hard, frozen white leather. The snow outside the windows seems to roll down in curtains, hypnotizing and paralyzing my eyes to the small turns which can pop up out of no where.
I hear the tiny mews of Michelangelo II in the back, rolling around in open boxes filled with sheets and comforters. The little calico baby kitten is the only company I’ve got to keep me awake now, and my company is going to make me upset later when I roll out my sheets covered in cat hair. I look back for a second at my little baby kitten, lying down on her back with her paws raised high in the air to play with fuzz floating from the deteriorating green ceiling padding above.
Those cute little white gloved paws like karate chops fly through the air, extracting claws to play with the little things in the small world of the back of my Volkswagen bus seem like the sweetest sight I’d seen in a while. She’s just so small and adorable; I rather keep staring at her then at this dull, dulllll road.
“So my fluffy commandant…” I turn my head back to the road, muttering to Michelangelo II as I look back at the nearly invisible white walled path. “Are you enjoying the nice awkward silence I’ve been building up while I thought about the past?”
I could just hear her fuzzy fur rub against all my clean sheets as her light purrs began to fill the annoying silence. All those little chirps seemed to create a haven at 12:30 on back roads in upper NY. Those little bright green eyes I could feel staring at my right shoulder made me feel a little bit edgy, but at least I felt awake. I picked up the ceramic cat cup holding luke-warm espresso from the solid table-like fake-wood counter resting on the gab between the driver’s seat and the next, sipping lightly and trying to forget all those little moments of the past that try to flood my mind tonight.
“Yeah, I loved that silence too, Mikey II.” I put my cup back down, the tiny ceramic c***k echoes lightly, and my eyes began to move like they were rolling in my head. After all the extra caffeine shots I had in that espresso, I feel a little bit more tired somehow. A little piece of brown hair trickled from the side of my face, playing with the edges of my eyebrows and making me wish once more I’d never cut my hair this short. I shove the stupid strands back with my black polish flecked nails into my beanie cap to worry about managing another day.
Will I ever think about my hair like I did when I was in high-school? People used to tell me I had the loveliest hair back then, or the guys who wanted something from me did. Then again, Gerard…. Gerard never looked at my hair like other guys did. He didn’t look at my hair, he looked through my hair. I don’t know if that made sense…..
“Mikey….. Mikey!”
I could feel it; her tiny face has turned to address me, her breaths huffing in a princess-like mood from being drawn away from something far more important, like ceiling dust.
“Can someone stare through your hair and into your mind?”
Silence, until I heard her round tongue go to work on cleaning my sheets for me.
I knew it; I’m right.
But please! Stop thinking about him and you may get sleep tonight!! Hum… What to think, what to think, what to think…
I settle back into the silence and stare at the disappearing road in front of my van. The trees seemed stuck in the banks, covered in white like powered sugar yet seem not so sweet but bitter reminders of where the road really should be in all the white. It just seems so… Dull.
The silence was broken as tiny cries seem to emit from my sheets. I turned to look for a moment and Mickey II’s tinny head popped out of the corner of a box. Tiny white gloves came to the corner as well and pushed her body from the box and leapt down onto the rubber mat floor. Little claws some how clicked along the rubber surfacing and made small holes in the rubbery path as she moved among high stacks of boxes to the wooden bridge to the passenger seat.
She walked like a little diva on the cat walk (I hate my puns) and her small head began to nudge the various dials on the other side of the stick shift. She seemed to insistent for a few seconds on those dials, her wet nose smelling the radio dials, then she seemed to give up and walked back down the bridge and across to the passenger seat. She twirled round and round until she formed a ball in the seat, but insistently kept staring at me. If I could ever guess what a begging child’s face would look like on a cat’s whiskered, hairy face, I would guess that Michelangelo II was giving me that look right now.
“Okay, Okay, I get the point Michelangelo Mew Mew.” I can’t help but give in to that purring little ball of a kitten sitting so close to me. I let the small corners of my mouth rise a little, the pink creases crinkling and old skin nearly splitting open. I move my hand, frozen and getting colder, down to the various knobs below the broken AC.
There’s a knob for the shot-dead heater; there’s a knob for the broken AC; there’s a knob that’s not really a knob but someone’s bottle cap that got lodged in the metal and is a want to be knob. Then, there are the two real knobs for the radio below them all. The volume/power button/knob constantly looks very off kilter from the rest of the knobs on the old ‘control panel’ because of it being colored several shades off of the regular turquoise on the rest of the knobs and it is larger then the rest. I really love the hue of it, a little bit green, a little bit blue, a little bit turquoise and a little bit obscenely bright in the darkness. It’s such a weird and pretty color for the volume/power button/knob, but it helps me find the knob when everything else in the car is green and the world around me is covered in white.
I can’t help but stare at the knob as I push it in, violently turn it left and hear nothing but fuzzy static. When the radio gets no signal, it’s not the radio’s fault; it’s the knob’s fault because that’s exactly what I’m staring at. Yes, you evil knob, you, I know what your dream is; it’s for me to fall asleep at the wheel so when I crash and die, you can be sold at a junk yard to someone who loves you more then I. Now it’s knob number two’s job, the tuner. It’s the same color as the other knobs for it knows its place. It’s the same size, same type and same number of scratches on the front like all the other knobs and that’s the knob that does its job better then you, you stupid volume/power button/knob.
I look on the road and let the magic of my radio guide my hand to a working station, letting my fingers barely touch the dial as I shift my fingertips slowly back and forth. I keep staring down the icy road and the small notches on the knob feel like mountains as my fingers begin to feel the sides. I can feel the tiny pieces of sand-like grains of salt clogged in the notches that form hills between the mountain ridges. I move the dial so slow, I can almost feel it click as it goes over the stations, even though it’s all smoothly run inside. I can hear the fuzz start to go one way, and increase the other so I put faith in the flicker on the other side of the fuzz.
The station emerged a few seconds later, loud and booming with some sort of junk playing from ten years old. My ears feel at least a little more perked at the scream-ish kind of voice that comes across as a love song from the band’s point of view. All these words seem so old though; don’t DJ’s get tired of this noise eventually? I certainly would. I can’t really get what the singer’s saying. What was that game I used to play a long time ago with… him?
What… What… “What would the singer sound like if someone kicked him in the balls while he was singing?” He-he-he-he! I remember that!
“Mikey II… what do you think the singer would say if I met him and kicked him in the balls?”
“Purrrrrrrr”
“Really? I think it would go like…. *cough* ‘Owwww!!!! Whyyy… OWWWW!!! I-I can’t FEEL YOU!!!”
He-he-he-HA! It seems to fit with the song so well! The guitarist sounds like back up to his moaning! I remember the last time I did that, years ago, but… But things were so different. Things used to be better then this.
I let the air in my lungs out to fade along with music, the last cord held out as long as it could until it trailed away. The DJ’s voice began to kick in like a kick to the head at 1 am. Doesn’t he know people are trying to sleep behind the wheel??
“Goooood MORNING Ma-…. ”
The van goes over a bump that shakes the entire frame and jostles my things, several ceramic like chinks and clicks echoed for a mere second through the van. Silence fills my ears, quickly followed by undesirable silence.
I’ve lost the signal.
The road looks like nothing but a vast white line ahead for a good mile and a half. Why do I have to keep looking at this? I glance down at the radio and I bend down to properly look at the tuner. I fumble with the knob, wiggling it back and forth around 95 something or other, waiting until I hear something. Michelangelo II uncurls her back legs from her chest and stretches them out across the seat. She carefully turns onto her stomach and pushes her paws against the seat and making headway upwards until she was standing straight up.
Her little white feet moved a little towards the edge of the seat to smell my head as I was bent over looking at the dial. I can feel the whiskers on the back of my neck; and those tiny little antennas tickling enough to shock me and my fingers to cause me to turn the knob with enough force to hear a speck of sound other then static. I begin to hear blurbs of speech again, little bubbles between static and then I can almost hear a phrase.
My heart nearly stopped when I thought hard about what I heard.
“Now… From…. Jersey…………….….. I’m… Not … OKAY!”
The racing guitar came through loud and clear as I remained squatting down looking at the radio. The drums boomed, racing along in a moment and the accompaniment made my ears boom. They sounded wonderful to my tired ears.
The guitars seemed to peak just for the singer’s entrance and….
“OH MY GOD! GERARD????”
I jolted up in my seat from shock and…
“EEIIIIIIIII! WHERE’S THE ROAD???? AAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!”
Several moments of intense driving later, my hands flying over the wheel and my cat skidding across the seat and ending up falling down into the foot well packed with paper bags. Everything seemed a mixture of screaming and cat crying and tire skidding, but I could only hear his voice come into my ears, calming me now to think as I see nothing but snowy embankment and trees…
I could hear everything he was singing…
“Well if you wanted Honesty,
That’s all you had to say.
I never want to let you down or have you go
It’s better off this way
For all the dirty looks
The photographs your boyfriend took
Remember when you broke your foot
From jumping out the second floor?
I’m not okaaaayyyyyyyyyy!!!!!”
Gerard…..
Gerard, you’ve made it somewhere…
You’re out there somewhere, and you just made my life into a song!
I hear the tiny mews of Michelangelo II in the back, rolling around in open boxes filled with sheets and comforters. The little calico baby kitten is the only company I’ve got to keep me awake now, and my company is going to make me upset later when I roll out my sheets covered in cat hair. I look back for a second at my little baby kitten, lying down on her back with her paws raised high in the air to play with fuzz floating from the deteriorating green ceiling padding above.
Those cute little white gloved paws like karate chops fly through the air, extracting claws to play with the little things in the small world of the back of my Volkswagen bus seem like the sweetest sight I’d seen in a while. She’s just so small and adorable; I rather keep staring at her then at this dull, dulllll road.
“So my fluffy commandant…” I turn my head back to the road, muttering to Michelangelo II as I look back at the nearly invisible white walled path. “Are you enjoying the nice awkward silence I’ve been building up while I thought about the past?”
I could just hear her fuzzy fur rub against all my clean sheets as her light purrs began to fill the annoying silence. All those little chirps seemed to create a haven at 12:30 on back roads in upper NY. Those little bright green eyes I could feel staring at my right shoulder made me feel a little bit edgy, but at least I felt awake. I picked up the ceramic cat cup holding luke-warm espresso from the solid table-like fake-wood counter resting on the gab between the driver’s seat and the next, sipping lightly and trying to forget all those little moments of the past that try to flood my mind tonight.
“Yeah, I loved that silence too, Mikey II.” I put my cup back down, the tiny ceramic c***k echoes lightly, and my eyes began to move like they were rolling in my head. After all the extra caffeine shots I had in that espresso, I feel a little bit more tired somehow. A little piece of brown hair trickled from the side of my face, playing with the edges of my eyebrows and making me wish once more I’d never cut my hair this short. I shove the stupid strands back with my black polish flecked nails into my beanie cap to worry about managing another day.
Will I ever think about my hair like I did when I was in high-school? People used to tell me I had the loveliest hair back then, or the guys who wanted something from me did. Then again, Gerard…. Gerard never looked at my hair like other guys did. He didn’t look at my hair, he looked through my hair. I don’t know if that made sense…..
“Mikey….. Mikey!”
I could feel it; her tiny face has turned to address me, her breaths huffing in a princess-like mood from being drawn away from something far more important, like ceiling dust.
“Can someone stare through your hair and into your mind?”
Silence, until I heard her round tongue go to work on cleaning my sheets for me.
I knew it; I’m right.
But please! Stop thinking about him and you may get sleep tonight!! Hum… What to think, what to think, what to think…
I settle back into the silence and stare at the disappearing road in front of my van. The trees seemed stuck in the banks, covered in white like powered sugar yet seem not so sweet but bitter reminders of where the road really should be in all the white. It just seems so… Dull.
The silence was broken as tiny cries seem to emit from my sheets. I turned to look for a moment and Mickey II’s tinny head popped out of the corner of a box. Tiny white gloves came to the corner as well and pushed her body from the box and leapt down onto the rubber mat floor. Little claws some how clicked along the rubber surfacing and made small holes in the rubbery path as she moved among high stacks of boxes to the wooden bridge to the passenger seat.
She walked like a little diva on the cat walk (I hate my puns) and her small head began to nudge the various dials on the other side of the stick shift. She seemed to insistent for a few seconds on those dials, her wet nose smelling the radio dials, then she seemed to give up and walked back down the bridge and across to the passenger seat. She twirled round and round until she formed a ball in the seat, but insistently kept staring at me. If I could ever guess what a begging child’s face would look like on a cat’s whiskered, hairy face, I would guess that Michelangelo II was giving me that look right now.
“Okay, Okay, I get the point Michelangelo Mew Mew.” I can’t help but give in to that purring little ball of a kitten sitting so close to me. I let the small corners of my mouth rise a little, the pink creases crinkling and old skin nearly splitting open. I move my hand, frozen and getting colder, down to the various knobs below the broken AC.
There’s a knob for the shot-dead heater; there’s a knob for the broken AC; there’s a knob that’s not really a knob but someone’s bottle cap that got lodged in the metal and is a want to be knob. Then, there are the two real knobs for the radio below them all. The volume/power button/knob constantly looks very off kilter from the rest of the knobs on the old ‘control panel’ because of it being colored several shades off of the regular turquoise on the rest of the knobs and it is larger then the rest. I really love the hue of it, a little bit green, a little bit blue, a little bit turquoise and a little bit obscenely bright in the darkness. It’s such a weird and pretty color for the volume/power button/knob, but it helps me find the knob when everything else in the car is green and the world around me is covered in white.
I can’t help but stare at the knob as I push it in, violently turn it left and hear nothing but fuzzy static. When the radio gets no signal, it’s not the radio’s fault; it’s the knob’s fault because that’s exactly what I’m staring at. Yes, you evil knob, you, I know what your dream is; it’s for me to fall asleep at the wheel so when I crash and die, you can be sold at a junk yard to someone who loves you more then I. Now it’s knob number two’s job, the tuner. It’s the same color as the other knobs for it knows its place. It’s the same size, same type and same number of scratches on the front like all the other knobs and that’s the knob that does its job better then you, you stupid volume/power button/knob.
I look on the road and let the magic of my radio guide my hand to a working station, letting my fingers barely touch the dial as I shift my fingertips slowly back and forth. I keep staring down the icy road and the small notches on the knob feel like mountains as my fingers begin to feel the sides. I can feel the tiny pieces of sand-like grains of salt clogged in the notches that form hills between the mountain ridges. I move the dial so slow, I can almost feel it click as it goes over the stations, even though it’s all smoothly run inside. I can hear the fuzz start to go one way, and increase the other so I put faith in the flicker on the other side of the fuzz.
The station emerged a few seconds later, loud and booming with some sort of junk playing from ten years old. My ears feel at least a little more perked at the scream-ish kind of voice that comes across as a love song from the band’s point of view. All these words seem so old though; don’t DJ’s get tired of this noise eventually? I certainly would. I can’t really get what the singer’s saying. What was that game I used to play a long time ago with… him?
What… What… “What would the singer sound like if someone kicked him in the balls while he was singing?” He-he-he-he! I remember that!
“Mikey II… what do you think the singer would say if I met him and kicked him in the balls?”
“Purrrrrrrr”
“Really? I think it would go like…. *cough* ‘Owwww!!!! Whyyy… OWWWW!!! I-I can’t FEEL YOU!!!”
He-he-he-HA! It seems to fit with the song so well! The guitarist sounds like back up to his moaning! I remember the last time I did that, years ago, but… But things were so different. Things used to be better then this.
I let the air in my lungs out to fade along with music, the last cord held out as long as it could until it trailed away. The DJ’s voice began to kick in like a kick to the head at 1 am. Doesn’t he know people are trying to sleep behind the wheel??
“Goooood MORNING Ma-…. ”
The van goes over a bump that shakes the entire frame and jostles my things, several ceramic like chinks and clicks echoed for a mere second through the van. Silence fills my ears, quickly followed by undesirable silence.
I’ve lost the signal.
The road looks like nothing but a vast white line ahead for a good mile and a half. Why do I have to keep looking at this? I glance down at the radio and I bend down to properly look at the tuner. I fumble with the knob, wiggling it back and forth around 95 something or other, waiting until I hear something. Michelangelo II uncurls her back legs from her chest and stretches them out across the seat. She carefully turns onto her stomach and pushes her paws against the seat and making headway upwards until she was standing straight up.
Her little white feet moved a little towards the edge of the seat to smell my head as I was bent over looking at the dial. I can feel the whiskers on the back of my neck; and those tiny little antennas tickling enough to shock me and my fingers to cause me to turn the knob with enough force to hear a speck of sound other then static. I begin to hear blurbs of speech again, little bubbles between static and then I can almost hear a phrase.
My heart nearly stopped when I thought hard about what I heard.
“Now… From…. Jersey…………….….. I’m… Not … OKAY!”
The racing guitar came through loud and clear as I remained squatting down looking at the radio. The drums boomed, racing along in a moment and the accompaniment made my ears boom. They sounded wonderful to my tired ears.
The guitars seemed to peak just for the singer’s entrance and….
“OH MY GOD! GERARD????”
I jolted up in my seat from shock and…
“EEIIIIIIIII! WHERE’S THE ROAD???? AAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!”
Several moments of intense driving later, my hands flying over the wheel and my cat skidding across the seat and ending up falling down into the foot well packed with paper bags. Everything seemed a mixture of screaming and cat crying and tire skidding, but I could only hear his voice come into my ears, calming me now to think as I see nothing but snowy embankment and trees…
I could hear everything he was singing…
“Well if you wanted Honesty,
That’s all you had to say.
I never want to let you down or have you go
It’s better off this way
For all the dirty looks
The photographs your boyfriend took
Remember when you broke your foot
From jumping out the second floor?
I’m not okaaaayyyyyyyyyy!!!!!”
Gerard…..
Gerard, you’ve made it somewhere…
You’re out there somewhere, and you just made my life into a song!
CHAPTER THREE
“Michelangelo …”
Silence…
“Mikey….”
Deathly silence??
“MIKEY!!”
Oh no! MIKEY!!!!!
“Mew….. Meeooorrrr????”
Oh thank god.
“Yeah Mikey II… we kinda had an accident….”
By “kinda had an accident”, I mean I just ran into the ditch and hit a tree. A real accident would be both Michelangelo and me up at the pearly white gates trying to explain quite why I had run off the road. Then again, wouldn’t heaven be warmer than a winter wonderland? The heater had died a few thousand miles ago and now the engine heat was gone. The only thing that seemed to still work in the car was… THE RADIO! OH MY GOD! It’s still on!!
“Meeooorrrrrrrrrrr????”
“WAIT! SHHHH!! There’s more of the song!!!”
I missed the chorus of “I’m not Okays”, but I caught at the very end.
“You wear me ooouuuuuttttt!”
Hey! If that’s you Gerard, when was I that much of a burden??
“What will it take to show you that it’s not the life it seems?”
WHAT?? When was I VAIN??? When? Huh? EVER?
“I told you time and time again you sing the words but you dunno what it means”
Well, look whose singing now! Wasn’t I that brought up the conversation of meaning what you sing? God! Were you listening to me???
“To be a joke and look
Another line without a hook
I held you close as we both shook for the last time
TAKE A GOOD HARD LOOK!
I’m NOT OKKAAAAYYYYYY!!!”
Oh god…
We did kind of have a shaky hug didn’t we?
“Meeooorrrrrrrrr???”
“Mikey II! The song’s not done yet! SHHHUSH!”
“Forget about the dirty looks
The photographs your boyfriend took
You said you read me like a book
But the pages are all torn and frayed now”
“MEOORRR!!!”
“MIKEY II! PLEASE WAIT!!”
I leaned my head down to the speaker that’s right of the steering wheel, holding my ear just an inch away from the metal front and praying for Michelangelo II’s silent tongue.
“I’m okkkkaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!
I’m okay now! I’m okay now…
But you really need to listen to me
Because I’m telling you the MEEOOORRRRRRR!!!!”
“MIKEY II! Hold on, PLEASE!”
But Mikey II couldn’t shut up for another second. The rest of the song was a mixture of pure talent and cat screeching from Mikey II.
Mikey, Mikey, Mikey…. What am I going to do with you?
“I’m not okay
I’m Not o-‘MAR!’-KAY!
I’m Not OKAYYYY-AAAYYYY-MMMAAAAARRRRRRR
I’m not OkAAAYYYYYYYY!!!!!!”
“Marrrroooooooo!!!!!!!!”
“Fine, stupid cat, have it your way.”
I turned off the radio with a reluctant ‘click’ and looked over to the paper-bag foot well. There were so many bags stashed away in the foot well from restaurants, food-stores, pet-stores, and fast-food places from locations up and down New York down in that dark pit of trash. I always put trash day off till next week and now I might lose my cat in the mess. I could hear the cries from somewhere in the mess and I cautiously started to prod delicately with my fingertips, trying to keep whatever else might live down there with Michelangelo II off of me.
I pushed and shoved lightly and carefully, feeling the sticky exterior of a middle class coffee shop bag and avoiding the harsh fumes coming from a month old McDonalds bag from New York City. I kept moving them farther down into the deeper part of the foot well until I saw the small part of a fluffy ear popping out from the garbage.
“Mikey II! I thought I’d never see you again!”
The little, brown turtle-shell ear recognized my voice and began to move upwards from the trash heap. Slowly the ear grew, a green eye was visible along with more fuzzy exterior and I saw Michelangelo II’s head emerge, eyes looking up. Michelangelo looked like a lost child, very tragic and all cried out from the stress of smelling really old uneatable cat food. I nearly began to weep at the frowning cat littered in garbage, looking very much like her father when I saved him years ago.
“Oh Mikey… I’m soo sorry for crashing the car… I… I just haven’t heard him for so long…” I knew my face was contorting in such an ugly way. Why do I now feel sorrow for the guy who walked out on me? Wait… Why does that sound so sexual?? It was an ER, not a bed room, and now he made my life into a SONG! For crying out loud, you don’t need to feel any mercy for him, Rebecca.
“SNAP OUT OF IT!”
“MAARRROOOWWW!!!”
Eh?
Michelangelo II prodded her front legs out ahead of her on the edge of the seat and pulled her tragically small kitten body from the trash. She shook her back legs out on the passenger seat on her way out, but she seemed not to mope from want of empathy now. Michelangelo II now seemed intent on a mission, moving down the seat and walking around the gear shift and down the board to the back of the van. She proceeded to walk around various fallen boxes, ignoring the comfortable sheets and my messed up cat hair pillow. Michelangelo II carefully picked around the mess of fallen things to the very back of the van to sit in front of an ordinary cardboard box on a high stack of boxes that hadn’t fallen over from the crash.
Michelangelo II sat there, looking at the box stacked above two other boxes, reading the red sloppy handwriting on the side, and turning her little head to read the little side notes. She seemed to contemplate what to do for a short space of cold time; then she decided to move. Michelangelo II stared intently at a target spot on top of the box, and she threw her paws up and sprang to the top. The box she was in has no lid or cover so whatever was inside she was having a hard time trying to rest on. She kept circling, looking for a place to stop and sit but the box started to shake with her movements.
She seemed contented with being inside the box but the box really began to shake and shift and all of a sudden…
“MIKEY! CAREFULL OR YOU’LL-!”
Michelangelo had disturbed the careful ecosystem of the box and so the box decided it shall not stand for such tampering by the feline. Michelangelo II did not scream nor screech as the box came toppling down on its side and spilling all the various things on the rubber matt floor.
That was so weird… Whenever Michelangelo is in a spill, she squawks up a storm…
“Mikey… Mikey, what are you doing with that??”
Michelangelo II kept pawing at the various things, spreading them out and in the light I saw a waxy Polaroid stare right back up at me and-
Oh my God…
That wasn’t an ordinary junk box Michelangelo II tipped over.
“Oh My-…… God……..”
I looked back at the box and I saw the labels on the side Michelangelo was so intently starting at. I recognize the heavy red print on the side of the box, the curly yet masculine style, such a sweet little memory made with red sharpie so long ago.
“The Gerard Box
Xoxo
The Box to Beat All Boxes Wayyyyy Out!”
He… he gave me that box… everything in that box is something to do with him and all the memories I have of the time with him.
I felt frozen, staring at the pictures that were staring back at me. The Polaroids of me so alive and free and unbounded reflecting back at me. I draw out a cold chuckle just remembering all the pictures, all the drawings he gave me, all the dreams written out and all the conversations doodled away… His thick black jacket that he gave me the day that I had no clothes to wear; it was all in that box and now it was being seen for the first time in years.
I slowly unbuckled the metal clip and pulled my thick and decaying seat belt to the side with gentle fingers. I crawled like a child through the gap between my seat and Michelangelo II’s, pulling my legs through the small gap behind me and nearly shoving over three boxes to keep my balance. I pulled my thick and blundering legs in front of me and started to pull at a thick, black sleeve from the things. The sleeve slid out from underneath a sketch of a dragon and alongside a small notebook of killer baby bear pictures. It felt old and a little worn but it looked in great shape, along with the rest of the jacket. It still smells like him.
The smell of smoke and the sharpness of alcohol pinched my nose and caused me to shut my smeared eyes from the small pains of reminiscing, tickling my spine as I pulled the familiar fabric over my shoulders, and let the cotton fall over me. I held my eyes tightly and tried to think about the library, about his room underneath the earth, about his smile… But all I could really recall was how I was being sold out again for a few bucks in a song and the irritating, crinkling sound coming from the right pocket.
“Meeerrrroooooo…… MAARRR!!!!!”
Oh good God, Miracle cat speaks again!
“Michelangelo… What is it this time?”
I sound like a meek mouse; it’s just a cat for God sake! Be it an intelligent, human-like cat that had me turn on the radio, find Gerard’s old box and panic but a regular, normal, average cat none the less.
I turn to look up at the passenger seat and Michelangelo was pawing at the-
“MMMAAAArrrrooooooooo!!!!!!!”
“Michelangelo, I’ll be there in a second, I’m still thinking!”
She was pawing at the front passenger door, pawing right on the fogged up window. I sat, frazzled and dazed, staring at her white paws moving on the glass until I saw what she was aiming to do. She was trying to see out of the window.
I pulled the lever behind the passenger seat and leaned the back of the seat all the way back until it was level with the rubber floor. Now, all I had to do to get to the front seats was slide from the back of the seat to the front instead of crawling like a kid!
“He-he-he, Michelangelo, I feel smart right now!”
But Mikey II was not listening to me; she was still pawing at the window and intent on clearing the glass of a thick layer of fog.
“Okay, okay, Mikey II, I get the message, you want to look out. I don’t see why you want to look out for that matter, there’s nothing out this way except road, road and more—OH MY GOD!”
Right of the snow embankment and a few yards ahead of the car was a large, empty parking lot. It could have just been the fog or my really bad eyes, but I could have sworn the parking lot seemed to glow. I could see a small, tan building covered in windows sitting in the middle of the lot, a couple dozen yards away from the curb.
“Mikey, I’m losing my mind…”
But the lot might have help, if it’s real and I’m not seeing things!
I pick the squealing Michelangelo II up and drop him in the back, quickly pulling the seat back up to the upright position and picking up Mikey’s wooden walkway and using it to block the gap between the two seats. I click the metal latch on the door open and slowly push the rusty door out. I could feel the grains of metal push against each other as the door moved. The building was even clearer without foggy glass in the way. The snow falling seemed even more of a hypnotic, holy sense. I’m not religious, but…
“Thank GOD, a BUILDING!”
I slammed the door shut behind me and stared at the building, looking around and cautiously walked, one foot ahead of the other, towards the windowed building. The one foot forward soon became a faster foot forward, and the faster feet became flying feet as I leapt towards the windowed building. The snow prints behind me became slurred and my coats began to fly open like wings and weigh me down. I threw my coats off into the snow and tried to make the short distance left between me and the real freakin’ building as small as possible.
I soon found myself face to face to the window, my messed up self staring back at me along with a huge cardboard reading
“City-to-City bus travel!
The help you need to get you to where you succeed
RENOVATION IN PROGRESS
CLOSED”
I hurled tired fists at the glass screen, uttering obscenities and letting all sanity go.
“SON OFA-! PIECE OF AN EFFIN SSHHHHHEEEAAAATTTTTT!!!!!!!”
I can’t STAND IT! First, I crash because of Gerard, then, I feel sorry for the jerk and THEN! THEN I’M IN THE MIDDLE OF NO WHERE WITH A BROKEN CARRRRRR!!!!!!! GGGAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!
I let out a heaving sigh and bang the glass once more for luck and rest my naked forehead on the freezing, icy glass. I just stand, staring at the blood shot eyes staring right at me, right at the dead make-up and smeared features in the tilted glass. I stare off at the reflecting landscape of the road behind me. I could see my footprints in the snow and where they began to slur, and my layers of warm jackets getting snowed on.
“Great… Now… When I go back… And… Pick them up… They’ll be wet… so I’ll be cold… And….”
I kept looking at the landscape, my van a weird turquoise oddity in the white. My shore eyes moved along the road line until I saw a rather familiar sight. There was a brown telephone pole sticking up above the white with a blue phone box attached to the side. There was a telephone right there all along and I didn’t see that first????
“You’ve gotta be kidding me…”
I heaved one foot slowly ahead of the other and successfully reached the phone colder than I’ve ever been in my life. I held my arms tightly together even though it left my fingers icicles but I- Who am I kidding? Michelangelo II has found me a phone. All I really did here was crash.
I pulled my ice fingers off my black sweater for a minute and picked up the receiver. There was a loud and present dial-tone coming through the ear-piece.
“YE-”
WAIT!... Who do I call?....
I don’t have any friends anymore, or at least I don’t have any that would drive out into the middle of nowhere and help me out. I forgot my home phone number forever and a half ago and my Mom probably thinks I’m dead-
Wait… That paper in Gerard’s pocket…
I run across the snowy ground, my foot prints were gone but a pile of wet black jackets, hoodies, and coats were left in the wake of an old sprint. I pulled up the pile, kneeling in the cold snow and going through the various pockets on jackets that looked like Gerard’s.
“Why must all black jackets look alike???”
I found Gerard’s at the bottom of the pile, covered in frozen snowflakes but the smells seemed to stick no matter what. I pulled through a couple of pockets, finding a matchbox (Gerard’s), an old tampon (mine, of course), and then a Polaroid.
The picture was from the first day I came over to Gerard’s house and the day I met his dad. His dad was a really great guy, salt and pepper hair and a really friendly attitude towards me. I think I was the first girl to visit his house as Gerard’s friend. Gerard got a group shot of the three of us together, everyone smiling, my arms hugging Gerard from behind and on the back of the photograph written in sharpie was the Way’s home phone number!
Would Gerard’s dad still remember me after all this time?
What the hell, let’s risk it.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Beeep….. Beeeep…”
Is he still going to remember me?? What am I going to say?? EEiiiipppp!!!
“Beeep… Beeeeep…”
Well, I’m probably going to end up talking to an answering machine anyways, so I really don’t have to worry-
“Hello, you’ve reached the Way residence…”
Not surprising that it’s Gerard, of course…
“Sorry we can’t come to the phone right now. Please wait for the beep and leave your message……. Beeeeeeeppppp”
Um… Oh God, what do I say now??? Silence… Silence… SAY SOMETHING!!
“Um… I’m so sorry to call so late at night, I-… I just didn’t know who to call. I don’t know if you remember me Donald… errr… Mr. Way. I knew your son Gerard back during high school. It’s Rebecca Canner…. Ms. Canner…. Um… I haven’t gone by it in years, but Gerard used to call me ‘Becca--”
“Oh my gosh, BECCA!!! Your mom has been so worried about you! She’s cost us a fortune in coffee staying over so much…”
OH MY GOD! First, I actually get Don on the line, then-
“My Mom!? Is she okay??”
“Wait! I’m sorry I jumped to that… You probably need to hear everything that happened face to face-”
“WHAT?? What happened???”
“No! Calm down! It’s okay! It’s just-…”
I could hear him sigh on the other end…
When Don sighed, it was because I was on overload. I must really sound bad after ten years and not a single phone call. I must sound like sh*t.
“ ‘Becca , You sound like sh*t…”
Rebecca, I sooo told you that.
“You said you needed someone to call, What’s up?” Now Don sighs out of a little bit frustration, a little bit concerned, and a little bit “I’m sooo effing tired but ‘Becca is important so I’ll listen.” Man, I hate inconveniencing him…
“Um… Yeah, I had car problems just off Route 84 somewhere… Um… could you call a mechanic or a tower to help me out? I can pay for all the expenses, but I’m kind of stuck in the middle of nowhere right now…”
I paused, holding my breath and shivering, and waited for Mr. Way to say something. Is it just me or do I hear snickering??? Please talk, my ear is freezing to the plastic!
“Well, I’m available. I have no ability to tow your car and my car might not hold all your stuff but I’m a friendly face and I think you might need to come home for a while. Does that sound okay?”
Rebecca, let’s freak out together.
O_o….. Oh…. My ….Gosh….
“Um… ‘Becca… Are you still there or did you decide to hang up because I keep calling you ‘Becca and just proposed to drive you?”
REBECCA SAY SOMETHING, YA STUPID TWIT!
“Oh NO NO NO!! ‘Becca is fine… It’s just-… Are you sure you’re okay driving this far? It’s pretty far out of the way for anyone to drive.. I mean… I’d probably die out here alone and by myself and be perfectly contented instead of you wasting your time and-”
“ ‘Becca, could you do me a favor?”
One moment of small awkward silence later, since my mind is slow and so are my guts to speak.
“Um… Yes.”
“Take a deep breath.”
I breath a heavy sigh inwards and exhale a deep breath of smokey-white out. Small fragments of hair fall back in front of my face but I really don’t care much about looking anywhere near ugly anymore. I’m just glad I can breathe. I’m so glad Mr. Way cares so much. Why was I so scared about accepting? Arg, I’m such a geek…
“Mr. Way… I’ve been breathing….”
“Okay then. Now tell me exactly where you are.”
“I’m a little ways off of Interstate 84 on a road called… Called… I don’t know I think it’s exit 9 I took to get here though… All you have to do is take I-78 and then take 84 to… well, this exit.”
“Okay… Could you be a little more precise about that exit then…”
“Um… I think I remember passing a bunch of medical buildings… But not like hospitals, like, these storage buildings of stuff a ways back on the road I was on…. I’m at this bus station that’s getting renovated. It’s called ‘City-to-City bus travel…’ err… does that help you any?”
“Okay… okay… Yeah… I think I know exactly where you are… Can you hold tight for a while?”
I look at my blue fingers, look at the pile of ice covered jackets at my feet, and stare back at my van and a pondering Michelangelo staring out one of the back windows. Those little intent green eyes seem to know that cold hours in the van are ahead.
“Um… I think I can be okay, but I’m afraid of my cat, Mikey-… I mean… Michelangelo II. She might freeze in the back of my van, I don’t have a heater anymore and the engine’s dead and-”
I heard him chuckle again as he cut me off. Give me a break, buddy, I’m living on hope here and really cold blue skin.
“Don’t worry, I think I can cut down the travel time by forty-five minutes if I travel the speed I’m thinking about.-”
“Oh No! Please don’t speed over me! Take your time, it’s snowing up here!”
I heard another sigh combined with a chuckle.
“It’s fine. I wouldn’t want Michelangelo II to freeze on you, who would carry on the Michelangelo lineage. Speaking of which, what happened to Mikey?”
I twirl the cord around my fingers and let the cold silence fill the gap. I really didn’t want to list the exact cause of death over the phone. I just wanted the silence to explain. I wanted the snow to tell him how far away poor Michelangelo…. Mikey was now.
“Okay… Well…”
Thank you for your understanding, Mr. Way. You always knew me like your son did.
“I’ll go grab my keys and head on out. Try to wrap yourself up in some blankets and keep Michelangelo II close to you. If he… She?... She starts to lick the glass, the chances of you getting her tongue off the window are astronomically low. He-he-he-he-he”
“Thanks… Oh, and Thanks for the ride! I really had no one else I could call! And-!”
“ ‘Becca, honey.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m hanging up, now, okay? It won’t take me long, I promise… Bye!”
And with one final click, he hung up on me.
Huh… that could have gone much worse…
