Nobodies

I decide to walk over to Jamia’s that night, since I’m a total wreck. I try not to cry on the way there, but I end up thinking about Frank, and by the time Jamia’s mom answers the door, I’m crying so hard that I can hardly talk.
Jamia’s mom sends me upstairs, calling up the steps, “Jamia, Gerard’s here!”
When I enter Jamia’s room, she says one thing. “Fuck, Gerard.”
She wraps me in a hug, kicking her door shut. She places a hand on either side of my face, asking, “What happened?”
I try to respond, but nothing comes out but whimpering and sobbing.
She wipes my eyes and smooths my hair with her hand. “Gerard, you have to calm down, baby. What’s wrong?”
“F-frank,” I cry, my voice trembling.
“What’d he do?” Jamia questions.
I keep sobbing, and Jamia swings back, slapping my face.
I recoil, my fingers lightly touching where I’d been struck. “Jamia?”
“I’m sorry, Gerard, but you were hysterical,” she apologizes. She sits down, patting the spot next to her. I head over, my tears drying into my skin.
I sit down, causing the bed to dip further towards the floor. Jamia sets a hand on my knee, giving it a small squeeze.
“What’d that bastard do?” Jamia says.
“He……” I start crying again, as reality opens fresh wounds. “He broke up with me.”
“Gerard, honey, I’m sorry,” Jamia purrs. She lets me rest my head on her shoulder, and she absently strings her fingers through my hair. “Why’d he do it?”
“I…. I was being a dick. A total jerk. And he just doesn’t want to put up with me anymore,” I sigh.
“Gerard, this is not your fault,” Jamia assures.
“Shit, I made fun of him for crying,” I mutter, tracing a circle into Jamia’s sheets with my forefinger.
“Gerard……” Jamia begins. “That was a shitty thing to do.”
“Don’t remind me,” I reply. “I also… I totally flipped out on him. I made him feel worse about something he already felt bad about that.”
“What’d he feel bad about?” Jamia asks.
“I spent…. I spent the last day in a fucking psych ward,” I admit. “And Frank put me there.”
“Why in the Hell did he send you there?” Jamia wonders.
“I…..” I start. I look down and mumble, “I’ve been cutting myself.”
Jamia looks at me sadly. “Oh, Gerard.”
“Yeah. And Frank was just trying to keep me safe, and I yelled at him, and he asked for me to stop, and I kept going, and…..” I start to cry again. “I’m such an asshole!”
“Gerard, you are not an asshole,” Jamia comforts. “If my boyfriend put me in a psych ward, I’d be a little pissed off too.”
“Yeah, but it was still uncalled for,” I insist.
“Well, you know, look on the bright side. It’s never too late to try to get him back,” Jamia points out.
I squint. “So I should grovel?”
“Not necessarily,” Jamia answers. She pats my thigh, advising, “But it wouldn’t hurt to start off with an apology.”
At school the next, day, I finally make up my mind. I scan the halls for Frank, and when I see a mop of black hair about five inches below everyone else, I know that it must be him.
I follow him, finally coming close enough to talk to him. I grab his shoulder, starting,
“Frank.”
Frank turns around, sees that it’s me, and rolls his eyes. “Gerard, come on.”
“Frank, I’m sorry,” I say, ignoring his comment. “You’re right, I was being a dick.”
“Gerard, it’s too late. Forget about it,” Frank replies.
“No, I won’t forget about you!” I insist, grabbing onto his hand.
Frank tears his hand away. “It’s over. I’m done taking care of you.”
Frank backs up. I now notice that several kids are watching us.
“Just leave me alone,” Frank says. He walks away, and something inside me tells there’s no use in going after him.
At lunch, I tell Jamia,
“Apologizing didn’t work. He blew me off.”
“So he’s playing hard?” Jamia asks. “Then you have to play hard as well.”
“It’s hopeless,” I whine. “He’s given up on me. On us.”
Jamia takes me by the collar, pulling my face in close to hers. “Gerard, you love Frank, right?”
“Well, yeah,” I answer. “Of course.”
“And he left you, and that sucks, but you can’t sit on your ass moping! You have to do something!” Jamia slaps me, proceeding, “If you really love him, you’ll fight for him!”
“Jamia, that… that struck a chord with me,” I admit.
Jamia brightens.
“But you didn’t exactly have to slap me,” I point out.
Jamia’s face falls. She releases me, muttering, “Sorry. I just wanted to give a beautiful dramatic speech. The slap was for effect.”
We sit there quietly.
“So, are you going to do it?” Jamia questions.
“Huh? What?” I respond.
“Are you going to fight for Frank?” Jamia demands. “Tell me.”
“Yes,” I decide. “Till the death.”
Jamia slugs me on the shoulder softly. “I want more than that!”
“What do you mean?!” I reply. I thought of that line before saying it, and I thought it was very romantic.
Jamia lifts her carton of milk into the air. She clinks it against my head, responding, “May death never stop you.”
Later that night, I think about exactly what she meant. That… if something really matters to you, you’ll keep fighting. No matter what. Even if you die, or something you love dies… you can keep it alive. As an idea. So nothing’s ever truly dead, as someone, living or deceased, will always remember it.
Frank and I, our love isn’t dead. It lives on in both of us. And, as long as it lives, there’s a chance that it can be brought back. All I have to do is reignite that fire, that passion, and we can put this whole miscue behind us.
But…. The thing about things that live on in people, sometimes, they can’t be brought back.

Notes

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