Teenagers
Hope
As I enter the living room, stumbling over my baggy, black and gray plaid pajama pants, I’m caught off guard. My heart beating 200bpm I wonder who the fuck is lounging on our couch, and why is he using my Mac-book? My hands rub the sleep out of my groggy eyes.
I’m tracing circles on my temples as I remember: Oh yeah. Gerard’s living here now. I still haven’t gotten used to it. Seriously, this scenario happens pretty much every morning and it’s been about a month since he moved in. It’s quite horrible being surprised every morning by someone you think is a burglar. It’s pretty much a heart attack every morning.
Gerard turns around to see me as he speaks.
“How’d you sleep?” he wonders, smiling compassionately and brushing an ebony strand hair away from his pale face.
“Fine, I guess.”
Gerard’s been really moody lately, after he got clean and sober. One second he’s the nicest person on the planet, but if you upset him… well it’s not a pretty sight.
He’s made getting sober seem easy lately. Frank thinks so too. I mean, he would have mood swings and be angry and depressed a lot, but he just takes it all so well. One day at a time. One hour at a time. One second at a time. He’s kind of just surf the wave of needing the drugs rather than get exhausted from fighting it.
The first days were so hard though. He’d just lay there, quietly, on the couch, not talking to anyone and not eating. He’d cry silently and quiver. His eyes were always open. He was always awake, but he was completely blank. It seemed like he’d shut down, so you can imagine how happy we were once we got him moving and talking and eating again.
He doesn't do much still though. He’ll sit on the couch most of the day. He goes for some walks, and Frank tries really hard to do stuff with him in his rare spare time so he gets out of the house a bit. It’s hard seeing your brother give up on his dream and not succeed. It makes me doubt that I ever will.
“You?” I wonder.
“Not good. I had this nightmare where my brother and my best friend were dating.” he jokes. He kids about that a lot, and it never seizes to make me giggle and blush and feel kind of shitty at the same time. I’m sure he doesn't mean it in a mean way though; it’s just his way of dealing with it.
“Ha, ha.” I smile as I walk over and slap his shoulder, leaning over the couch to see what he’s up to on my Mac.
“I’m just writing.” He explains, shutting the computer quickly. So quickly it seems suspicious.
“You were watching porn, weren't you?”
He bursts out in laughter.
“NO!”
I don’t quite believe him.
“Prove it.” I laugh.
“NO! Why should I?”
I’m getting frustrated now. I know it’s none of my business and all, but I’m fucking curious and always have been.
“Just do it.” I grab my computer out of his hands and run into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door.
“Fuck you, Mikey!” he yells, not bothering to get up because of how rapidly I move. “Please don’t.”
What he’s been up to surprises me. He has actually just been writing, like he said. Nothing else, no porn. But I feel horrible once I realize what they say. They seem to be some sort of lyrics.
Well let's go back to the middle of the day that starts it all
I can't begin to let you know just what I'm feeling
And now the red ones make me fly and the blue ones help me fall
And I think I'll blow my brains against the ceiling
And as the fragments of my skull begin to fall
Fall on your tongue like pixie dust just think happy thoughts
And we'll fly home, we'll fly home
You and I, I, we'll fly home, c'mon
My heart drops. There are no sounds coming from the living room only an aching silence.
Tears sting in my eyes. I’m a fucking idiot. He begged me not to look. But I mean these are amazing. What if he hates me now.
I swing the bathroom door open and run over to him, pulling him up from the couch and into an embrace.
“I’m so sorry, but Jesus, Gerard! These are amazing!”
He just brushes it off. “Well, you said that about my art as well, so….”
“I’m so sorry that didn't work out for you, Gee, but I promise: you've got some serious talent.”
“Thanks.” He pulls me inn and I know that he needs this right now. He needs to hear that he’s not just a waste of space and that there’s still hope for him. I know that it means allot to him.
Just then Frank walks inn.
“OOH! CAN I JOIN!?” His eyes widen as he sprints over and wraps his short arms around us.
Gerard and I laugh at his childishness.
“I can see why you love him, Mr. Way.” Gerard mocks.
“Well, it’s mostly his good looks.” I joke.
Frank just holds us there for an awkward amount of time; I almost start thinking he’s fallen asleep.
“So what are we hugging for?” he wonders.
“Well we were hugging because Gerard has no idea how talented he is…” I say
Gee chimes in with a weak “Hey, No!”
“What now?” Frankie rolls his eyes at the idea of Gerard being so gifted.
“Lyrics. He writes great lyrics.”
Frank smiles. “Ahh, yes. The gift of music.”
****************
I eventually persuade Gerard into letting me read his lyrics to Frank. Franks mouth is currently hanging open in amazement. He walks over and hugs Gerard again, speechless.
“Ehm, could I get a copy of that and, well, maybe work on some music for it on good ol’ Pansy?”
“You really think it’s that good!?” He wonders, staring nervously at his shoes.
“YES!” Frank and I answer simultaneously.
Gerard's eyes glisten with excitement and possibly tears of joy. Hope is finally restored in his previously dull, exhausted expression. He's come back to life.
I’m tracing circles on my temples as I remember: Oh yeah. Gerard’s living here now. I still haven’t gotten used to it. Seriously, this scenario happens pretty much every morning and it’s been about a month since he moved in. It’s quite horrible being surprised every morning by someone you think is a burglar. It’s pretty much a heart attack every morning.
Gerard turns around to see me as he speaks.
“How’d you sleep?” he wonders, smiling compassionately and brushing an ebony strand hair away from his pale face.
“Fine, I guess.”
Gerard’s been really moody lately, after he got clean and sober. One second he’s the nicest person on the planet, but if you upset him… well it’s not a pretty sight.
He’s made getting sober seem easy lately. Frank thinks so too. I mean, he would have mood swings and be angry and depressed a lot, but he just takes it all so well. One day at a time. One hour at a time. One second at a time. He’s kind of just surf the wave of needing the drugs rather than get exhausted from fighting it.
The first days were so hard though. He’d just lay there, quietly, on the couch, not talking to anyone and not eating. He’d cry silently and quiver. His eyes were always open. He was always awake, but he was completely blank. It seemed like he’d shut down, so you can imagine how happy we were once we got him moving and talking and eating again.
He doesn't do much still though. He’ll sit on the couch most of the day. He goes for some walks, and Frank tries really hard to do stuff with him in his rare spare time so he gets out of the house a bit. It’s hard seeing your brother give up on his dream and not succeed. It makes me doubt that I ever will.
“You?” I wonder.
“Not good. I had this nightmare where my brother and my best friend were dating.” he jokes. He kids about that a lot, and it never seizes to make me giggle and blush and feel kind of shitty at the same time. I’m sure he doesn't mean it in a mean way though; it’s just his way of dealing with it.
“Ha, ha.” I smile as I walk over and slap his shoulder, leaning over the couch to see what he’s up to on my Mac.
“I’m just writing.” He explains, shutting the computer quickly. So quickly it seems suspicious.
“You were watching porn, weren't you?”
He bursts out in laughter.
“NO!”
I don’t quite believe him.
“Prove it.” I laugh.
“NO! Why should I?”
I’m getting frustrated now. I know it’s none of my business and all, but I’m fucking curious and always have been.
“Just do it.” I grab my computer out of his hands and run into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door.
“Fuck you, Mikey!” he yells, not bothering to get up because of how rapidly I move. “Please don’t.”
What he’s been up to surprises me. He has actually just been writing, like he said. Nothing else, no porn. But I feel horrible once I realize what they say. They seem to be some sort of lyrics.
Well let's go back to the middle of the day that starts it all
I can't begin to let you know just what I'm feeling
And now the red ones make me fly and the blue ones help me fall
And I think I'll blow my brains against the ceiling
And as the fragments of my skull begin to fall
Fall on your tongue like pixie dust just think happy thoughts
And we'll fly home, we'll fly home
You and I, I, we'll fly home, c'mon
My heart drops. There are no sounds coming from the living room only an aching silence.
Tears sting in my eyes. I’m a fucking idiot. He begged me not to look. But I mean these are amazing. What if he hates me now.
I swing the bathroom door open and run over to him, pulling him up from the couch and into an embrace.
“I’m so sorry, but Jesus, Gerard! These are amazing!”
He just brushes it off. “Well, you said that about my art as well, so….”
“I’m so sorry that didn't work out for you, Gee, but I promise: you've got some serious talent.”
“Thanks.” He pulls me inn and I know that he needs this right now. He needs to hear that he’s not just a waste of space and that there’s still hope for him. I know that it means allot to him.
Just then Frank walks inn.
“OOH! CAN I JOIN!?” His eyes widen as he sprints over and wraps his short arms around us.
Gerard and I laugh at his childishness.
“I can see why you love him, Mr. Way.” Gerard mocks.
“Well, it’s mostly his good looks.” I joke.
Frank just holds us there for an awkward amount of time; I almost start thinking he’s fallen asleep.
“So what are we hugging for?” he wonders.
“Well we were hugging because Gerard has no idea how talented he is…” I say
Gee chimes in with a weak “Hey, No!”
“What now?” Frankie rolls his eyes at the idea of Gerard being so gifted.
“Lyrics. He writes great lyrics.”
Frank smiles. “Ahh, yes. The gift of music.”
****************
I eventually persuade Gerard into letting me read his lyrics to Frank. Franks mouth is currently hanging open in amazement. He walks over and hugs Gerard again, speechless.
“Ehm, could I get a copy of that and, well, maybe work on some music for it on good ol’ Pansy?”
“You really think it’s that good!?” He wonders, staring nervously at his shoes.
“YES!” Frank and I answer simultaneously.
Gerard's eyes glisten with excitement and possibly tears of joy. Hope is finally restored in his previously dull, exhausted expression. He's come back to life.
11/2/13