Amnesia
A Sleepless Night Becomes Bitter Oblivion
"Bob." I muttered through my hands in response to the constant sound of Bob's size 11 feet pacing up and down the hallway outside of Frank's hospital room. The hospital staff had ignored us in the waiting room for two hours and now they were working furiously on him behind the closed door, causing his cousin to have a nervous breakdown. "Bob," I said louder, hoping to get him to stop. "Bob. Bob!BOB!"
"What?" He snapped, turning on his heel to face me. I picked my head up from my palms to find his piercing blue eyes burning into my body.
"Pacing isn't going to do anything but wear a hole in this cheap linoleum floor and you know it." I said, trying to throw a joke in at the end. It was a weak attempt.
The nurse behind the reception counter let out an indignant "hmph" sound before declaring in a nasally voice that "the linoleum wasn't cheap". Bob's rage was focused solely on her as he told her to fuck off and die, invoking laughter from myself and several other tense occupants of the hallway. As much as I wanted to think that Frank was the only one in the hospital that mattered, the nervous laughs made me very aware that Bob and I weren't the only people that were desperately wishing to be able to take away someone's pain at virtually any expense.
"Bob," I began, straightening my shirt as I stood up. "Let's grab some air." He shot me another blistering look, and I put my hands up as if to prove my innocence. "It can't hurt bro."
"No. You don't understand, Gerard. I can't leave until I know the fate of my cousin." For the second time that night, Bob's normally masculine demeanor cracked along with his voice. Repeating himself gravely, he breathed "You don't understand." In all my life, I never wanted to see the sight that my brain was forced to process as soon as Bob uttered the last sentence; my best friend, the one who was always the strongest anchor in my life - as well as in Mikey's and Ray's and probably even in Frank's - was crumbling under the weight of what might as well have been the world. I knew I had to do something, how could I not do everything in my power to help the person who saved my life in so many ways?
I ran outside, as a ridiculous idea entered my mind, one that would either bring my friend back to life or make him even angrier at me than he already was. Down the steps, out the door, and across the street, my feet found the trunk of my car where my beat up acoustic guitar was hiding. I opened the hard case and grasped it carefully by the neck; any time I held my guitar, a feeling washed over me, one that couldn't be articulated. I knew I sucked at guitar, but it didn't matter how good or bad I was, what mattered was that I felt at home with a guitar in my hands and lyrics dangling off my lips; nothing matched the feeling music gave me, and I knew that Bob felt more or less the same.
Across the street, in the doors and up the steps, my hands found the chords to a song I had written ages ago; I wasn't planning on making a living writing and singing songs, but it was still a lot of fucking fun.
"You're not in this alone, let me break this awkward silence, let me go,"I sang softly as I re-entered the hallway where I knew I would find my blonde friend in a worse state than I had left him in."go on record"I continued, rounding the corner. My eyes were greeted my no less than twenty pairs of unfamiliar orbs, but the pair I was focused on were looking up to me, glossed with wetness and filled with agony. There was something more to Frank than anyone ever let on, but Bob knew what there was to this boy, and he loved him for it fiercely."Be the first to say I'm sorry"I stopped when Bob stood and approached me. I was leery of what his intentions were, but I felt like a complete douche as he wrapped me in a warm hug. My mouth opened and closed several times as my mind searched for words that wouldn't come.Would you know what to say?
"He - He has to be okay, Gerard." I wrapped my arms around the stuttering man finally, realizing that I wasn't supposed to say anything - I was just supposed to be there to help him through this all.
Hoping that talking about good memories would get Bob's composure back for him, I inquired, "Tell me about Frank."
Breaking the embrace, Bob smiled sadly down at me - he was a sight taller than me - and walked to the nearest cushioned chair, I followed after him, resting my guitar against the wall. "He's the greatest guy you'd ever want to know." He chuckled and waved his hand to silence me, even though I knew better than to contradict him now. "I know he seems like a real bad person, and he is sometimes, but he really fucking cares, you know?" I didn't, but Bob didn’t seem like he was planning on leaving me confused. "He cares so much that it's his downfall as much as it's his greatest attribute. Frank, he cares about everyone, but he cares about what everyone thinks as well, which is where his bad side comes from. You see, my cousin is constantly at war with himself, especially about how he treats you, since you get it the worst. The poor kid... he – he hurts himself over it all."
"What?!" I gasped, terrified that someone like Frank would do such a terrible thing, but then again, given the information that I was already told, I had no right to say "someone like him" because Frank Iero wasn't the person I thought he was.
Correcting himself, Bob amended, "Not just because of how he treats people, he's got a shitty life that drives him to hurt himself too. Of course no one sees it because he doesn't want anyone to think any less of him. Poor Frankie, he just wants to be happy while he’s making everyone else happy." Both Bob and I knew, however, that a wish like that rarely comes true.
A click caused us snap our heads over to Frank's door, which was opening cautiously. The doctor stepped out as he was rubbing his hands through his hair - this couldn't be a good sign.
"Mr. Bryar?" The man in the white coat asked, revealing tired eyes as he surveyed the faces of everyone in the hallway. Bob and I stood simultaneously, eagerly walking toward the doctor, who was looking rather confused as to why two people had responded to one name. I thought he should be rather used to a response like this.
"Which one- right, all the same. Frank Iero is going to be fine." Bob sighed, obviously relieved. "But we found several deep lacerations on his hip and abdomen, I suspect self-inflicted?" His eyes flicked over both of us, still unsure which was 'Mr. Bryar'.
Bob answered, "Correct. The kid's got a few issues."
"Clearly." I couldn't speak for Bob, but I sure as hell was infuriated by this doctor's blatant lack of tact. "Look, normally if we find self-inflicted wounds on a person they have to be kept under a 72-hour observation period so we can assess his mental state, but"
"Why is Frank different?" I blurted, unable to quell my anxiety. Doc. Insensitive shot me a nasty glare; I had to resist the urge to punch him in the jaw.
"Frank Iero suffered a concussion and severe amnesia. He hardly remembers what pudding is, I highly doubt he'll remember his emotional woes. Nevertheless he is stable and awake, you can see him, just don't be offended if he doesn't recognize you."
I didn'tactuallycross my fingers.
"Does the boy have any parents?" I guffawed at the question, of course Frank had parents!
"Not any that care," Bob muttered to the ground, . What didthatmean?
The doctor gave a staunch nod and stalked off, probably toward the nearest coffee dispenser. I took tiny steps behind Frank's compassionate relative into the standardized and sterilized room that housed the beautiful boy that I had recently come to care a great amount for,but I won't tell anyone. My eyes searched for Frank's clear face hopefully as Bob and I crossed the room's threshold.
"Bobert!" Frank cried jovially; I was able to see Bob's posture relax significantly at Frank's recognition. "Thank fuck you're here! They keep trying to interrogate me and stick needles in me and feed me that brown stuff!" The injured boy threw he pointer finger toward the wall opposite him where a substance that was very similar to brown pudding was splattered against the wall. Bob's lips curled into a genuine smile. It appeared as though Frank only had selective amnesia; he remembered Bob and had all of his motor skills and vocabulary, but he couldn't remember what pudding was or what doctors were or even what an IV was for. Would he remember me? There was only one way to find out.
Cringing at the possibilities, I stepped out from behind Bob and smiled at the small boy who was a year younger than I. "Hey, Frank." I talked meekly through my teeth.
"Hi," a blank expression came over his face, signaling that my presence was an unfamiliar one to him. "Have we met?"
I didn't know what a safe answer was so I dismissed the question altogether, "I'm Gerard."
"Imma call you Gee. It's nice to meet you." He concluded the conversation with a brilliant smile that spread across his face and onto mine. I could get used to a smile like that being directed toward me.
I left the room soon after that, to let the relatives have some time to discuss whatever it was people discuss in a hospital room. Finding my way back to the cushion directly adjacent to my Esteban guitar, I thought about why Frank might have only forgotten certain things. I didn’t know the extent of his amnesia, but it seemed as though all of the badness might have been knocked right out of his memory, leaving room for only good things and a fresh start.
If that was the case, perhaps I would have a chance to get to know the true nature of Frank Iero. I pondered what the football player might really be like without all of the fronts and illusions that he always hid behind, hoping that it would be a happier version of the Frank that I found crying in the bathroom. Only time could tell.
I heard a sigh coming from across the hallway, and I directed my attention to me oldest friend who was pinching the bridge of his nose restrictively as he headed toward my seat. The cushion seemed to exhale as Bob’s weight begged for solace from it, leaving he the plush red square slightly deflated.
“You have to help me Gerard,” he started, lowering his heavy head into his waiting hands. “There’s so much that he already doesn’t remember, I can’t possibly teach him all of it, not in the right way anyway.” I nodded, though Bryar wouldn’t have seen it, as a positive response; of course I would help him, of course I would be there for him.
“You know, Bobert, tragedies and accidents and any other type of calamity, they’re a lot like breathing out.” His head lifted, his eyes searched me in confusion. “All that’s left to do now is breath in.”
"What?" He snapped, turning on his heel to face me. I picked my head up from my palms to find his piercing blue eyes burning into my body.
"Pacing isn't going to do anything but wear a hole in this cheap linoleum floor and you know it." I said, trying to throw a joke in at the end. It was a weak attempt.
The nurse behind the reception counter let out an indignant "hmph" sound before declaring in a nasally voice that "the linoleum wasn't cheap". Bob's rage was focused solely on her as he told her to fuck off and die, invoking laughter from myself and several other tense occupants of the hallway. As much as I wanted to think that Frank was the only one in the hospital that mattered, the nervous laughs made me very aware that Bob and I weren't the only people that were desperately wishing to be able to take away someone's pain at virtually any expense.
"Bob," I began, straightening my shirt as I stood up. "Let's grab some air." He shot me another blistering look, and I put my hands up as if to prove my innocence. "It can't hurt bro."
"No. You don't understand, Gerard. I can't leave until I know the fate of my cousin." For the second time that night, Bob's normally masculine demeanor cracked along with his voice. Repeating himself gravely, he breathed "You don't understand." In all my life, I never wanted to see the sight that my brain was forced to process as soon as Bob uttered the last sentence; my best friend, the one who was always the strongest anchor in my life - as well as in Mikey's and Ray's and probably even in Frank's - was crumbling under the weight of what might as well have been the world. I knew I had to do something, how could I not do everything in my power to help the person who saved my life in so many ways?
I ran outside, as a ridiculous idea entered my mind, one that would either bring my friend back to life or make him even angrier at me than he already was. Down the steps, out the door, and across the street, my feet found the trunk of my car where my beat up acoustic guitar was hiding. I opened the hard case and grasped it carefully by the neck; any time I held my guitar, a feeling washed over me, one that couldn't be articulated. I knew I sucked at guitar, but it didn't matter how good or bad I was, what mattered was that I felt at home with a guitar in my hands and lyrics dangling off my lips; nothing matched the feeling music gave me, and I knew that Bob felt more or less the same.
Across the street, in the doors and up the steps, my hands found the chords to a song I had written ages ago; I wasn't planning on making a living writing and singing songs, but it was still a lot of fucking fun.
"You're not in this alone, let me break this awkward silence, let me go,"I sang softly as I re-entered the hallway where I knew I would find my blonde friend in a worse state than I had left him in."go on record"I continued, rounding the corner. My eyes were greeted my no less than twenty pairs of unfamiliar orbs, but the pair I was focused on were looking up to me, glossed with wetness and filled with agony. There was something more to Frank than anyone ever let on, but Bob knew what there was to this boy, and he loved him for it fiercely."Be the first to say I'm sorry"I stopped when Bob stood and approached me. I was leery of what his intentions were, but I felt like a complete douche as he wrapped me in a warm hug. My mouth opened and closed several times as my mind searched for words that wouldn't come.Would you know what to say?
"He - He has to be okay, Gerard." I wrapped my arms around the stuttering man finally, realizing that I wasn't supposed to say anything - I was just supposed to be there to help him through this all.
Hoping that talking about good memories would get Bob's composure back for him, I inquired, "Tell me about Frank."
Breaking the embrace, Bob smiled sadly down at me - he was a sight taller than me - and walked to the nearest cushioned chair, I followed after him, resting my guitar against the wall. "He's the greatest guy you'd ever want to know." He chuckled and waved his hand to silence me, even though I knew better than to contradict him now. "I know he seems like a real bad person, and he is sometimes, but he really fucking cares, you know?" I didn't, but Bob didn’t seem like he was planning on leaving me confused. "He cares so much that it's his downfall as much as it's his greatest attribute. Frank, he cares about everyone, but he cares about what everyone thinks as well, which is where his bad side comes from. You see, my cousin is constantly at war with himself, especially about how he treats you, since you get it the worst. The poor kid... he – he hurts himself over it all."
"What?!" I gasped, terrified that someone like Frank would do such a terrible thing, but then again, given the information that I was already told, I had no right to say "someone like him" because Frank Iero wasn't the person I thought he was.
Correcting himself, Bob amended, "Not just because of how he treats people, he's got a shitty life that drives him to hurt himself too. Of course no one sees it because he doesn't want anyone to think any less of him. Poor Frankie, he just wants to be happy while he’s making everyone else happy." Both Bob and I knew, however, that a wish like that rarely comes true.
A click caused us snap our heads over to Frank's door, which was opening cautiously. The doctor stepped out as he was rubbing his hands through his hair - this couldn't be a good sign.
"Mr. Bryar?" The man in the white coat asked, revealing tired eyes as he surveyed the faces of everyone in the hallway. Bob and I stood simultaneously, eagerly walking toward the doctor, who was looking rather confused as to why two people had responded to one name. I thought he should be rather used to a response like this.
"Which one- right, all the same. Frank Iero is going to be fine." Bob sighed, obviously relieved. "But we found several deep lacerations on his hip and abdomen, I suspect self-inflicted?" His eyes flicked over both of us, still unsure which was 'Mr. Bryar'.
Bob answered, "Correct. The kid's got a few issues."
"Clearly." I couldn't speak for Bob, but I sure as hell was infuriated by this doctor's blatant lack of tact. "Look, normally if we find self-inflicted wounds on a person they have to be kept under a 72-hour observation period so we can assess his mental state, but"
"Why is Frank different?" I blurted, unable to quell my anxiety. Doc. Insensitive shot me a nasty glare; I had to resist the urge to punch him in the jaw.
"Frank Iero suffered a concussion and severe amnesia. He hardly remembers what pudding is, I highly doubt he'll remember his emotional woes. Nevertheless he is stable and awake, you can see him, just don't be offended if he doesn't recognize you."
I didn'tactuallycross my fingers.
"Does the boy have any parents?" I guffawed at the question, of course Frank had parents!
"Not any that care," Bob muttered to the ground, . What didthatmean?
The doctor gave a staunch nod and stalked off, probably toward the nearest coffee dispenser. I took tiny steps behind Frank's compassionate relative into the standardized and sterilized room that housed the beautiful boy that I had recently come to care a great amount for,but I won't tell anyone. My eyes searched for Frank's clear face hopefully as Bob and I crossed the room's threshold.
"Bobert!" Frank cried jovially; I was able to see Bob's posture relax significantly at Frank's recognition. "Thank fuck you're here! They keep trying to interrogate me and stick needles in me and feed me that brown stuff!" The injured boy threw he pointer finger toward the wall opposite him where a substance that was very similar to brown pudding was splattered against the wall. Bob's lips curled into a genuine smile. It appeared as though Frank only had selective amnesia; he remembered Bob and had all of his motor skills and vocabulary, but he couldn't remember what pudding was or what doctors were or even what an IV was for. Would he remember me? There was only one way to find out.
Cringing at the possibilities, I stepped out from behind Bob and smiled at the small boy who was a year younger than I. "Hey, Frank." I talked meekly through my teeth.
"Hi," a blank expression came over his face, signaling that my presence was an unfamiliar one to him. "Have we met?"
I didn't know what a safe answer was so I dismissed the question altogether, "I'm Gerard."
"Imma call you Gee. It's nice to meet you." He concluded the conversation with a brilliant smile that spread across his face and onto mine. I could get used to a smile like that being directed toward me.
I left the room soon after that, to let the relatives have some time to discuss whatever it was people discuss in a hospital room. Finding my way back to the cushion directly adjacent to my Esteban guitar, I thought about why Frank might have only forgotten certain things. I didn’t know the extent of his amnesia, but it seemed as though all of the badness might have been knocked right out of his memory, leaving room for only good things and a fresh start.
If that was the case, perhaps I would have a chance to get to know the true nature of Frank Iero. I pondered what the football player might really be like without all of the fronts and illusions that he always hid behind, hoping that it would be a happier version of the Frank that I found crying in the bathroom. Only time could tell.
I heard a sigh coming from across the hallway, and I directed my attention to me oldest friend who was pinching the bridge of his nose restrictively as he headed toward my seat. The cushion seemed to exhale as Bob’s weight begged for solace from it, leaving he the plush red square slightly deflated.
“You have to help me Gerard,” he started, lowering his heavy head into his waiting hands. “There’s so much that he already doesn’t remember, I can’t possibly teach him all of it, not in the right way anyway.” I nodded, though Bryar wouldn’t have seen it, as a positive response; of course I would help him, of course I would be there for him.
“You know, Bobert, tragedies and accidents and any other type of calamity, they’re a lot like breathing out.” His head lifted, his eyes searched me in confusion. “All that’s left to do now is breath in.”
Notes
Chapter Title - Paperthin Hymn: Anberlin (I get to see them in October!)Hello my lovely internet friends,
there is bad new and good new today. Good: I updated. Bad: The reason that I haven't updated any of my stories lately is that there have been a lot of domestic issues flying around my house (literally and metaphorically), I have work, I started school, I have writing club to run, I have to run a colorguard team (not complaining), my guidance councilors want all my college applications done by October 15th, and at 2.30 am on Saturday September 7th, 2013, my Grandpa Bruce (everyone called him Buzz) passed away.
I haven't cried yet, maybe I will later, but then again maybe I won't. Anyway the last line that Gerard speaks is exactly what my brother said about my grandfather's death. It's funny though, because remember how Gerard stated that all he knew how to do after the breakup was make coffee? That's all I really knew how to do as well, and when I talked to my brothers, that's all they did too.
anyway, I will hopefully be updating my others stories && this one soon, but until then be safe, and feel beautiful.
xo, Bunny.
More more more more, please. Oh my goodness, my heart is about to explode from all of this. The chapter was amazing <3
8/31/14