This Is How I Disappear

The door is kicked in. I’m not awake yet. The police are here. How did they know? Gerard is dragged away from me. He still holds that knife. He slashes at them. An overwhelming amount of hands restrain him. There is a moment when I see a light going out of his eyes. I never thought they’d get me here, is what that light seems to farewell. His brother is also arrested. I am taken out of the apartment, but no handcuffs clamp down on my wrists. If I could, I would tell them it was all my fault, that I killed the men and kidnapped Gerard as a decoy. An unbelievable story, but I would have told it. Yet my mouth is incapable of speech. There is nothing to say. It is as if the Miranda Rights have become laws. But I am not arrested. The Way brothers are driven away in a police car, I in another. While they are prisoners, I am free. Is this a nightmare? Will I wake up to find Gerard safe and sound? Will I wake up in my bed at home, the whole ordeal a dream? I could never imagine up someone like Gerard. He is the kind of person who you never forget. He’s the kind of bright light that flares up but extinguishes quickly. He gives insanity a bad name. And I love him.

***

The car takes me to the police station, behind the car with Gerard and Mikey. Even though our rides stop at the same time, the cop in my vehicle waits until they are inside to escort me in. I am not allowed to talk to them. I am not allowed to defend them. I might as well be a criminal too. Gerard’s red hair turns a corner as I enter the precinct. It’s incredible how much I miss just the sight of that flaming hair. I miss the grins that were menacing and the frowns that were smiles. I miss his eyes. And it’s been less than an hour. But I miss him because I know we will never be together again. The cops try to talk to me. I don’t hear what they’re saying. They could be speaking Italian, instructing me on how to slice a mango, and all I would understand is that they took Gerard away. They took him away from me and they won’t ever give him back. I wonder if they’ll let him go if I admit I wasn’t kidnapped. So far, they think I’m lying, that I’m suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. I’m not; I was never imprisoned by him—quite the opposite—I was set free. They won’t hear me so I don’t hear them. This isn’t how I want to be saved.

***

My mother is crying at me. My father is grasping at me. The police are talking at me. I am alone in my head. No internal dialogue ensues because I am alone. Truly, devastatingly alone. They will lock up Gerard. They will lock up his brother. They will return me to the real prison that is my life. I’ll wake up every morning, empty. I’ll shower and put on fresh clothes. I’ll go downstairs and eat breakfast that I won’t taste. I’ll talk meaninglessly to my parents and forget what I’m saying as I’m saying it. The unimportance of life will swallow me as I trudge to school with my schoolbag slung on my shoulders. The school will greet me with punches and insults; the teachers will smile like I’m special. I will drift through the day and nothing can bring me down from this tall tower I’m standing on the edge of. Gravity is ubiquitous in reality, but I won’t be in reality anymore. I will be in my mind, floating like a helium balloon. And he will be there, an image in red and white for me to revere. My love will not be deteriorated, but outside I will waste and wither away. How can anyone understand that the villain was my savior?

***

I meet a girl at school. Don’t remember her from before—well, I don’t remember her shoes. I don’t know many faces here, but I remember shoes, because that’s where I was always looking: down. She might have been attractive to any other guy, but I’m never noticing. It doesn’t matter. Neither of us care. We have meaningless sex in the boys’ bathroom during afternoon classes. It’s enjoyable enough. There’s a life that spills into you from the other person, but that vanishes once it’s over. We use each other almost daily, like lifelines to some distant shore; we’ll never reach it, but we’ll stay afloat just to see it. There isn’t anything special about loosing your virginity. It’s only a big deal if you make it a big deal. It only matters if the one you loose it to matters. This girl doesn’t matter to me. I don’t even remember her name. I wonder if she knows mine. Is it wrong to love someone for their life but not for who they are? A buoy keeps one from drowning, but it doesn’t pull one from the water.

***

The bullies still spit and trip me up, but the emptiness in my eyes keeps them distanced. They are afraid of me. Like if they look into my eyes too much, the emptiness will start to eat them too. Do they know I tried to kill myself because of them? Would they care if they did? Are there humans under those sadistic outer casings, or, like an onion, would you discard layer after layer only to have nothing left? There is nothing more lionized than nothing. Weekends are strange. No school, no meandering around empty halls or crowded halls. No faceless names or nameless faces. What do I do? My mother nags at me to go outside and have fun. I ask if I can see Gerard. She’ll start to cry. “I’m sorry you feel like this,” she’ll say, “but I am never letting that monster anywhere near you ever again!” How old am I? Surely she can’t stop me when I’m eighteen. When is my birthday? What day is it? Am I alive? Does anything matter if you’re already dead?