Nobodies

I avoid Frank at school, because I know that he would just duck away into a classroom or become invisible in the wave of students. So I decide to wait until a while after school, just to make sure he’s home. I walk to his house around 4:00, a half an hour after school’s out.
I knock on his door, rocking on my heels with nerves.
Frank answers, and instantly looks annoyed. “What do you want?”
“Can I come in?” I ask.
Frank looks around behind him. I see him glance back into the living room, where his dad sits, watching TV. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea….”
I step forward, forcing Frank to step back. I close the door behind me, saying, “Look, Frank. We shouldn’t have broken up over something like that. I regret it, and I’m sure you regret it, too.”
“I regret nothing,” Frank replies.
“Frank, come on. We’re in love. You can’t leave me,” I point out.
“Watch me,” Frank growls.
“Look me in the eyes, and tell me you don’t care about me,” I challenge.
Frank is quiet.
I grab him by the shirt, lifting his heels off of the ground. “Tell me you don’t care what happens to me!”
A tear slides down Frank’s face, but he holds eye contact.
I tackle him, pinning him to the floor. “So if I go home, and I take my dad’s shotgun and shoot myself…” I start to cry as well. “My brain paints the wall, my head is blown to smithereens, and a piece of my fucking skull is thrown across the room! I dare you to tell me you wouldn’t care!”
Frank gazes back into the living room, to see his dad now watching us. With that, Frank turns to me and declares, “I wouldn’t care.”
“Fuck you!” I spit.
Frank uppercuts me beneath the chin, blowing me off of him. He stands, ordering, “Get the fuck out of my house, you faggot.”
I stand as well, towering over Frank, who refuses to cower.
“You are a different person than the one that I love,” I state. “I remember a scared little boy, one who was dying for some affection, and did a great job of giving some away as well.”
Frank bows his head, allowing his tears to roll off his face and onto the hardwood floor, splattering the oak. He clenches his fists, and tells coldly, “If you don’t get out of here right now, I’ll kick your fucking ass.”
“Fine,” I reply. I take a step towards the door, and then turn my head over my shoulder to look at Frank. “But if you hear something on the news tonight about a fifteen year old boy found dead in his room….” I turn the doorknob, muttering, “Just remember to wash the blood off your hands.”
I walk home, tears rushing down my face. I arrive, and no one’s in the living room to see me bawling. I walk into the basement, and no one’s there to see me grab dad’s shotgun and a box of bullets. I go up the stairs, and no one’s there to see me load it. I close the door to my room, and no one’s there to see me lock it. I turn on my CD player, and no one’s there to hear “What A Catch, Donnie.” I lay on the floor, and no one’s there to see me press the head of the shotgun into my mouth. I start to cry, and no one’s there to hear me. I pull the trigger, and no one’s there to see it.
I’ve got troubled thoughts and self-esteem to match, what a catch
What a catch
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The safety’s on. I lie there, brain still intact, head untouched. I hurl the shotgun across the room, rolling into a fetal position and crying. I cry so hard that I start to dry heave, eventually throwing up beside where I lay.
After about ten minutes of crying, I hear the turning of my doorknob, followed by a banging.
“Go away, Mikey!” I sob.
“GEE!?! Are you okay!?” a voice that does not belong to Mikey screams. Their voice cracks and wavers to the point that I can tell they’re crying as well.
I try to make out who it is. It’s not my mom, the voice isn’t loud enough. It’s not my dad, the voice isn’t dry enough. It’s not Jamia, the voice isn’t childish enough. It must be….
“Frankie?” I ask.
“Gerard?! Oh thank God!” Frank shouts.
I unlock the door, and open it to see Frank standing there. Congealed blood is dried against his face, coming from his nose. His eye is bruising over; I can tell by its sickly, greyish shade. His eyes are red and glazed over with tears.
Frank smiles at me weakly, and then his eyes catch the shot gun. He looks as though he’s been punched in the gut. He looks at me, his mouth hanging open slightly. Then he gives me a huge hug, lifting me off of the ground in the embrace. He twirls me around, then putting me down as he repeatedly kisses me on top of the head.
“Oh my baby!” +kiss+ “I can’t believe” +kiss+ “I almost lost you!” +kiss+ “I’m so sorry!” +kiss+ “About everything!” +kiss+ “I’ll never be a dick again!” +kiss+
I just let him lay on the kisses, because with the state that I’m in, I could use them. I squeeze him, burrowing my face into his chest and inhaling his sweet aroma. We cry with each other, and I thank the Lord that no one’s home to see us.
By the time we’re done sobbing into each other and apologizing, it’s dinner. I text Mikey, to figure out that they all went to watch Mikey play pep band at the basketball varsity game and won’t be back until 10:00. Gerard and Frank both strip to their underwear just because they can.
Gerard gives Frank a piggy back down the steps, and they stop in the kitchen, looking for food. They end up making pizza, and they take it up to Gerard’s room, where they watch Hotel Rwanda for the 80th time.
They fall asleep, but not before returning the shot gun to its spot in the basement, and flushing all of the bullets down the toilet.

Notes

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