The Sleepless Nights Of Skinny Love

I do my research before going to church on Sunday with Gerard. I have one single thing on my mind, and no, it’s not if God will want me, it’s not if the perish will accept me, but it’s what I should wear.
It sounds shallow when you think about it, but really, I don’t want to come in underdressed, and I certainly don’t want to come in overdressed. I try to remember what Gerard was wearing when we had breakfast that morning. Besides his scarlet apron, he was in Power Rangers lounge pants and a t shirt, so he must’ve changed. Since I have no idea what to do, I go to today’s only source, Google.
I Google what to wear to a Catholic church, and click on one of the first links I see. This one just rambles on about how you should dress nice but without actually defining their idea of “nice”. I skip to another, which says that dress pants and a dress shirt (maybe even with a tie) are good. I haven’t worn anything like that since my vocal and band concerts in high school, so it takes about twenty minutes of closet snorkeling, basement ransacking, and finally a call to my mother, who confirms that I’d left them at home. I run over to pick up my clothes, and I can’t get out of there fast enough because even though I visit about every two weeks, my mom acts like I’m a soldier who’s come home after years of war. She flutters around me like a hummingbird, fixing my hair, inspecting my arms for any new tattoos, and tucking in my shirt. A trip that should’ve been five minutes ended up being thirty, so I race home, since it’s now 8:00 and I have to go to bed early. I try on the slacks, which still fit, but the dress shirt has a button missing. I search for anything else that could substitute it, but my efforts are fruitless. Finally, I go to Gerard’s place, asking, “Do you have a dress shirt I can borrow?”
Gerard takes me in, handing me a black dress shirt. He asks me what tie I’m wearing, and I answer with,
“Well, I wasn’t really going to wear one.”
Gerard looks taken aback, and then explains, “Frank, you need to wear a tie. You can borrow one of mine if you like;
.0-dazx they’re in the bottom drawer of my dresser.”
I head over and open the bottom drawer, to see stacks and stacks of ties. I ask Gerard, “Why do you have so many ties?”
Gerard takes a sip of his coffee, answering, “Job interviews, church. And I might be going into education, so, I’ll need a lot for that.”
“What would you teach?”
Gerard shrugs. “I’d really like to teach art, but I suppose that vocal would suit me as well.”
“High school or elementary?” I pursue.
Gerard considers this, biting his lip. “I dunno. Both have their perks. Although, I bet that I’d want to see more advanced works. Plus, I feel like I could really connect with some high school kids, probably better than I could with kids whose minds and personalities aren’t close to developed.”
I smile, turning back to the drawer. I rummage through it a bit before pulling out a solid red one. I don’t know how to tie it, so I wrap it around my neck and clumsily fumble with it a bit, experimenting on how to tie it.
Gerard stands for a moment, pressing and sliding his thumb absently against the rim of his mug as he watches me, a faint grin flickering onto his lips. He sets his mug down, striding over. He takes the tie, and puts it around my neck, instructing, “Like this. This end, the fat one, has to be about a foot farther down than the skinny one.” He demonstrates as he talks, bringing the thicker side down so that it’s at my belt. “Then you bring the fat end around, around, and then, you pull it around the back and through the front of the knot.” Gerard then pulls on the right end sticking from the collar and the skinny part, explaining, “This is how you make it tighter.”
“Thanks,” I tell. I now realize that Gerard’s hands are still draped against my neck and his face is approximately three inches from mine.
Gerard withdraws with such abruptness that it seems as if my shoulders were lye and his hands were composed of water. He chuckles lightly, a breathy giggle, and dismisses, “So, I’ll see you tomorrow, Frankie.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Frankie? Nicknames, huh? This is an interesting development.”
Gerard’s cheeks go a bit pink, and he replies, “Well, I really don’t give nicknames to that many people, so consider yourself lucky.”
“I do,” I tell honestly. I realize suddenly, “Does anyone else go to church with you?”
Gerard shakes his head.
“You don’t go with your family?” I ask, the sadness in my voice palpable.
Gerard again gives his head a shake. He shrugs, answering, “It’s nothing to be sad about. Mikey’s my little brother, but he’s an atheist, so, yeah. And my parents and I don’t really speak all that much anymore.”
“How come?” I add, “I’m not trying to pry or anything, but maybe if you want to talk about it-”
“I don’t want to,” Gerard cuts in. He laughs then, this desperate sound. He nudges me towards the door subtly as he says, “Goodbye Frank, see you tomorrow. I’ll pick you up.”
“Okay,” I mutter, stuffing my hands into my pockets. I leave, my shoes scuffing against the cheap carpet. As soon as I get outside, I’m searching my pockets for a lighter, because I’ve only been friends with this guy for like a week, and I’m already stressing. What happened with his family? Will he tell me? Does that mean he doesn’t trust me, or is it just so terrible that he cannot bear to utter a word of it?
Small particles of my cigarette spark off and float to the ground. I watch them, their orange hue contrasting against the ashy grey sky. By the time I get to my car, the cigarette is all gone. The cigarette calmed me down to the point I hardly felt stress, and yet, I flick its butt onto the ground and end up running it over.

Notes

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