All My Favourite Colours

I didn’t open the envelope till I got home. I sit on the counter and rip it apart. All that was inside was a drawing of Frank I’d done. Mikey is standing across from me and for the first time since my little brother was diagnosed with cancer, I cry.
The envelope just contains a smudged pencil drawing of Frank sitting in the hospital bed smiling sweetly.
I can’t believe it really. I don’t know what I was expecting. A heartbroken letter? A poem or song declaring his undying love? Anything but his face, alone on a page. I know this face. Not only have I seen it but I drew this for fuck’s sake.
I fold the page over and slide it back into the envelope and walk calmly upstairs. Tears creating darker patches on my fading black jacket. It’s only when I enter my room do I let the tears roll freely down my cheeks. This is not fair. They can’t just take Frankie away and not tell me where to. They can’t just cut me off.
I’m going to find Frank.
Even if I have to search every hospital in the country, one by one.

Unfortunately my search can’t start yet. I still have responsibilities like work and Mikey. The next day I have to work.
At least Bob is there but even then the dealing with clueless Christmas shoppers makes me want to punch something. Bob and I laugh at some of their idiocies and make distressed expressions at each other across the shop. Most of the time it’s just infuriating. No ma’am Paramore is not “screamo”. No, no Metallica can be found in the metal section not in the classics.
At half four the students started piling in as opposed to their mothers who were shopping for them. It was easier to deal with them because they actually knew what they were saying most of the time but there was so fucking many of them.
When I could finally go home my voice and feet were sore. I said bye to Bob and got in the car to drive to the next closest hospital.

Christmas songs were all that was on the radio in the car and I forgot CDs so I stuck to silence. Interstate is pretty fast but the longer spent in silence the more my mind repeats this is pointless. I know that in moving Frank they probably didn’t move him to another regional but to a bigger hospital but I’ve got to try.
Fifty four minutes and thirty eight seconds later I pull off the interstate and into the city. I only realise on my way off the roundabout I have no idea where the hospital is here.
I crawl along the city outskirts, reading every road sign and looking down every other road. A traffic jam builds up behind me, so long that I can’t see the end in my rear view mirrors. Finally I read a sign for the hospital and speed away down that road. The traffic immediately starts picking up pace along the street I just pulled off, probably full of cursing, frustrated drivers.
The hospital lobby plays Demi Lovato and only Demi Lovato. It smells like bleach and rubber. It resembles Mikey’s old hospital greatly except it had a lot more plants.
Dodging past patients, nurses and potted plants, I made it to the reception. “Um hi, could I inquire after a patient?”
“Hello there,” the nasal voice came, “of course you can, name?”
“Uh yea Frank Iero. I-e-r-o” I say nervously.
“One second now… ah yes there seems to be no such patient here, sir. Are you sure you’ve got the right hospital?”
“No, no I’m not sure. Thank you ma’am,” I murmur. I expected Frank to not be here but it’s still fucking disappointing. I was hoping the search would be over already.
I drove home in silence. It’s okay I’ll find him I kept trying to reassure myself but it feels like a lie. Hundreds of thousands of hospitals in the country and I’ve checked two.
It’s fully dark when I pull into the drive. Mikey’s in the living room watching a programme on the Beatles and laughing at whatever Ringo just said. “Any luck?” he calls over the couch.
“Nope,” I say searching the liquor cabinet for bourbon. “I’m going to try south tomorrow.”
“Gee…” Mikey says sitting up and looking around at me. “There’s a lot of hospitals and a lot of the best ones are far away and…” he trails off.
“Yea I know…” I say opening the bottle and taking a swig, “but I want to find him. To know that he’s going to be okay.”
“I get that, but Gerard, searching every hospital is probably not the best option you know. Also, really, you’re drinking on a Wednesday night?” He sighs.
“No...” I take another few long gulps and put it away, “I guess I’m not.” I can feel it heat up my throat and fuzz the edges of my mind. “In fact I’m going to bed.”
My footsteps tread heavy as I slump up the stairs. I hear Mikey turn the Beatles thing down a bit and I mentally thank him. I doubt that I’ll sleep but whatever, I can try.

Work is boring the next day. Barely any customers which feels strange after the Christmas shopper flurry of the past few weeks. My head is a little bit painful but not too bad thanks to Mikey. Bob just puts the albums in order and I clear out my email inbox. Facebook, Facebook, Pete and more Facebook. The day moves so slowly it hurts. Finally it’s locking up time and I can get on the road. Or not. A text comes from Mikey
Couldn’t resist looking in that envelope from Frank and I think you missed a part. Come home bro xxxxxxxxxxxx
My mind races all the way home. Missed something? How? What’s there to miss?
I barely park the car before I’m in the door and at the kitchen counter where Mikey is holding the picture I drew. He then flips it over and written along the back in a hurried scrawl is call my aunt Marie and then a phone number.

Notes