All My Favourite Colours

I drop Frank back to the hospital the next morning. He’s all smiles and “visit soon”s. He walks up the steps and in through the main doors. I smile all the way to Pete’s and I’m still smiling when Mikey jumps in the car. All the car ride home I smile and when Mikey asks what happens I burst out with stories.
“On the couch? Aw man eww! I have to sit there! And the counters? That’s unhygienic,” he sounds horrified.
“And the shower. Don’t worry man I’ve cleaned the whole house,” I say still smiling like an idiot.
“I don’t think I’ll ever ask again, ever. Ignorance is bliss or better at least.”
When we get home Mikey goes into his room and doesn’t leave. I sit up in the kitchen on the counter where Frank and I were last night. I light a cigarette but then put it out in honour of Frank.

I decide to go to the hospital around midday the next day. Frank is sitting up in the bed a little pasty and coughing.
“Hey Frankie are you okay?” I ask. He looks fragile again, like those few hours we spent together weakened him.
“Hi,” cough, “Gee, I’m o-” cough, “kay. Fucking coughing up my,” cough, “insides. Fuck it.” I sit there as he coughs. When he stops he starts shaking.
Naturally I start to panic, “Frankie are you okay. Frankie?” He starts coughing again spasms going through him, “Frank want me to get the doctors?”
He nods and I fall over trying to reach the door. In the hall I frantically look around then start shouting for help. A cluster of doctors run toward me. One of them pushes me aside and the next thing they’re wheeling his bed out the door and down the hall.
Numbly I follow behind not making sense of the surroundings. Door, no walking into walls, don’t trip over that kid, door, dodge running nurses and another door. It all just blurs about me.
Miraculously I find myself back in the waiting area of the intensive care unit. The hands on the big clock tick around again and again as doctors and nurses run to and fro. The light outside begins to fade and I’m still in a daze. The surrealism makes it feel like everything is happening around me, like I am not part of this world just viewing it. When a doctor emerges and starts talking to me I don’t make sense of her words at first. I don’t think she’s talking to me as much as talking to the space about me. She waves her hand in front of my face and slowly I begin to focus on her voice “… Mr. Way? Mr Way can you hear me?”
I look up at her and nod, “We’re going to have to ask you to go home, Mr. Way. We’ll call you if anything happens but going home now would be advisable. You can return to see Mr Iero on Tuesday, okay?” She looks stern.
“Okay,” I mumble and stand unsteadily. I shuffle my way through the labyrinth of hospital wings and out into the car park. I’m not sure what’s happening as I drive home, everything is blurry and incomprehensible. My poor Frank. It’s as if taking him out of the hospital, even or a few hours, is going to fucking kill him. I hate myself for selfishly wanting him. Wanting him in me when it’s so obviously bad for him.
I pull into the house and sit in the car as the sun sets completely.

Mikey new straight away that something was wrong and spent the whole night trying to cheer me up, “they know what they’re doing Gee, they’ll fix him up,” or “They fixed this before they’ll fix it again,” or “Don’t worry Gee, you’ll see him Tuesday and you’ll see he’s fine”.
I wanted to believe Mikey. I wanted to believe that he’s okay. But how can I be sure he’s okay, he’s often said he’s dying. And even if he’s okay I can’t get rid of the idea that it’s my fault.
I drink really heavily that night, polishing off a bottle and a half of Bourbon and I end up throwing up half the night. Mikey helps me into bed and then slumps off to his own.
Work the next day is plain torture. I have a monstrous hangover and the shop is freezing and I don’t know how to put the heating on and Bob is out. It also means I spend the whole day dealing with Christmas shoppers trying to understand what their kids might actually want even though they’re going through an “I hate everything” phase.
Pete comes in for a Metallica album and stands there snickering at me as I try to find a certain type of bass guitar. Before I hand it to the woman who is standing expectantly at the counter, Pete walks out and speedily tunes it for me. The woman leaves and for the short break between floods of customers I get to thank Pete and ring up his Metallica albums.
At last it’s time to go home I step outside into the rain to lock up. The wind is biting and the rain is icy. Of course there’s traffic on the way home and of course it’s only Monday so I can’t even visit Frank.
I drink heavily again tonight and live a replay of last night.

After a harrowing day at work again it’s finally time to visit Frank. My head pounded all day and Bob was absent again so I had to struggle with amps and drum kits all on my own. It was freezing again and I was faced with more Christmas shoppers than ever. I should be happy with all the business but I swear if one more person asks if Blink-182 is the same as that Irish band Blink I’m going to cry.
The interstate is blocked up and it takes four times as long to drive the mile out to the hospital. I curse in frustration constantly. Even the turn off to the hospital is blocked up; “What the fuck! Seriously people could be fucking dying and not able to get into the fucking hospital. This is fucking stupid!” I shout and punch the horn.
Finally I’m parked and I hurtle into the hospital. I all but run into the cancer wing. I find the door and pull it open, rather dramatically.
“Uh sorry,” I say because there are two old women in the beds. At first I thought I was just in the wrong room but the number on the door is the number it always is. I walk back down the hall to the front desk.
“Hello, sorry ma’am. I’d like to know if a patient, uh Frank Iero, is still in intensive care,” I say when the woman at the reception gets off the phone.
“Spell it,” she says in monotone.
“Frank I-e-r-o…”
“He left the hospital yesterday morning sir.”
“What?” I ask incredulously.
“He left the hospital. He was transferred.”
“What? Where to?” My mind races they told me not to visit yesterday and now he’s gone?!
“I am not authorised to release patient information sir, unless you are a family member or a legal representative. You are neither, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
I look around the room, I don’t know why but I do. “Please can you just tell me where he is now?”
“I’ve told you sir, I can’t release that information. Good day.”
I stumble around the foyer for a bit before sitting down and taking out my phone. I text Mikey. I’m not sure what to say or do and there’s nothing Mikey can really do either.
Frank is gone. They moved him to a different hospital and won’t tell me where.
While waiting for Mikey’s reply I catch sight of something familiar. Ray Toro’s hair.
“Ray!” I all but shout flying to my feet, “Ray, Ray, Ray, hey!”
“Hi Gerard how are you? How’s Mikey?”
“Fine. Listen Ray they’re telling me Frank was transferred? But they won’t say where to!”
“Oh yea,” he rubs his jaw. “I’d tell you Gerard but I don’t know. Honestly, was on my day off and I wasn’t one of his main nurses so they won’t tell me.”
My heart plummets.
“Though there is one thing,” he walks over to the receptionist. “Is Mr. Way’s letter here?”
The receptionist produces an envelope with Mr. Gerard Way scrawled awkwardly on the front. I take it from her and Ray says, “This was left in the room when we moved the other patients in this afternoon.”

Notes