This Is How I Disappear

Gerard puts his arm around my shoulders and I pray the make-up hides my blush. “My, this is your grandmother, Helena,” he says. “And I thought I was in danger of getting Alzheimer's!” Gerard and I hobble forward, forcing Mikey to step out of the way. He sighs, and goes ahead of us to his apartment, which he opens and lets us go into. Gerard slumps into me the moment the door clicks shut, and I lead him to the closest seat, which happens to be the couch. Behind me, Mikey is asking, “What’s wrong with him?”
I decide to just show him, and unbutton Gerard’s oversized coat. Mikey gasps subtly when he sees the bloody patch, and then starts to help me remove the coat. When it’s off, he disappears to get a first aid kit as I peel the shirt away from Gerard’s stomach.
“How do you feel?” I ask in concern.
He winks at me quickly. “Much better than I want him to think.” At my puzzled stare, he expounds, “Pity points!” before Mikey returns.
“What happened to him?” Mikey questions me as Gerard groans and closes his eyes. Even though he’s forcing calm, I can hear the strain in Mikey’s voice that shows his worry.
“He got a shard of glass in his side,” I report, gently removing the soaked-through bandage.
“How?” Mikey pushes me out of the way so he can tend to his brother’s injury, and I bite my lip in an attempt to distract myself from the bitter jealousy.
“I assume you’ve been watching the news?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says stiffly.
“Well, we were trying to escape the cops by crawling out a window, and I guess it was on the ground.”
Mikey sighs. “You idiot,” he mutters to his brother affectionately as he wipes the blood away with a towel. “Jesus!” Mikey swears when the blood clears enough for him to see Ronnie’s poor job at stitching. “Did you do this?” he demands angrily.
“No,” I protest. “Someone called Ronnie did it.”
“Who?” Mikey asks in confusion.
“An ex-dentist that owed Gerard a favor,” I elucidate.
“Jesus,” he reiterates, examining the damage. “What was he doing?”
Gerard smiles though his eyes are squeezed shut. “Never let a sadist give you stitches.”
“Jesus,” Mikey says again, bowing his head over the first aid kit.
Gerard winks at me and mouths “pity points!” which morphs into an awkward licking of his lips as Mikey looks back up.
“Are you hungry or something?” Mikey asks of Gerard in puzzlement.
“No, my lips are dry,” Gerard fibs.
Oh, man, he can say “lips” again, my brain hopes.
My lips aren’t dry, I mutter without thinking. Maybe….
Stop creeping, my brain scolds, and I snap out of it, blushing.
“The bathroom’s right down the hall on the left. I’ll leave some clothes outside the door when I finish with Gee,” Mikey tells me.
“Uh, you want me to what exactly?” I ask in confusion.
Mikey spares me a glance. “You’re an old woman,” is all he needs to say.
“Oh! Right,” I reply, retreating at the clear dismissal, though I don’t want to leave Gerard.
He’s in good hands, I try to convince myself.
Yeah, but you want him in your hands, my brain adds, immediately turning the conversation dirty.
Get out of the gutter! I order in embarrassment.
Yeah, you do that, my brain says annoyingly.
I shake my head and bite my lip as I close myself in the bathroom. I’m worried.
He’s faking, my brain kindly reminds me.
You don’t fake all that blood, I counter.
It’s not life-threatening, my brain tries to pacify me.
Yeah, but not life-threatening is not the same as harmless.
If you don’t remove this make-up now, my brain warns me, you’re gonna get acne all over your face, and then he’ll never want to look at you again!
Involuntarily, nonsensically, this worry prioritizes itself before his wound, and I hasten to rub and peel the prosthetics and foundation from my skin. After my face is my own again, the wig is the first to go. The bobby pins that secured it tear at my scalp, but I’m glad to be free. I strip off the sandals, necklace, and dress with an urgency to remove the feminine garments from my body, vowing to never dress as a woman again.
It takes almost ten minutes to rid myself of all old lady traits. Reaching out the door blindly, my hand locates and grabs the pile of clothes Mikey left me, quickly donning them before rushing back out to Gerard.
You’re like a puppy, my brain grumbles. That’s not a compliment.
How would that be a compliment? I counter.
If you’re an old dog. The brain is fond of wit. I withhold a snort as I reach the living room. Mikey is in a comforter across from the couch a shirtless Gerard is on with a fresh bandage, and each brother holds a small glass of scotch. Only one detail matters: shirtless.
Mikey takes a sip as he glances up to see me; recognition flashes in his eyes and he suddenly spews it out again. “Damn it, Gee,” he says, wiping his mouth. “Would you stop with the surprises?”
“No way,” Gerard replies smugly. “This is much more fun.”
“So,” Mikey intones, looking between me and Gerard, “anyone care to tell me what the hell is going on?”
“Frank?” Gerard offers, but I shake my head.
“Honestly, I’m not sure I really know what’s going on either,” I comment, but Gerard’s torso is quite distracting.
Mikey smiles wryly, and Gerard leans forward animatedly. “Story-time!” he announces with glee.

Notes