6 Months Earlier

Ray Toro overdosed on cocaine. He is dead.

It was hot outside, the kind of hot that made everyone sweaty and uncomfortable. But I didn’t particularly mind, even though our house had poor air conditioning. The heat at least helped to remind me that everything was real, and as painful as that may have been, it was necessary.
Ray Toro is dead. He overdosed on cocaine.

I tightened the tie around my neck, and looked in the mirror. Here I was, going out in the heat of the day, dressed completely in black. I could have laughed. Except, no, I couldn’t. My mind was sorely clouded with two thoughts that repeated like a broken record. Ray Toro, my best friend, has overdosed on cocaine. He is now very much dead.
And there I was, the first week of summer before my senior year, getting ready to attend his funeral. It was almost unreal. But, fuck it was hot.
I continued staring into my reflection. I looked tired. I looked sad. I looked like maybe I was broken. Of course, all of the black clothes accompanied by my black hair weren’t really helping the image.
I quickly brushed my teeth before leaving the bathroom and meeting my mother in the living room. She was sitting in an arm chair, waiting for me. She was dressed in black, like me, and she looked just as tired.
“All ready?” She asked, quietly, as she stood up. I nodded. She slowly made her way across the room until she was standing right in front of me. Her lips twitched into a sad smile for a brief second.
“Wow, look at you, all grown up. You look very nice, Frank. Maybe you should dress up more often, instead of wearing those ratty old jeans and t-shirts.” She said, half-heartedly, as she brushed my hair out of my face with her fingers. She was trying to lighten the mood. It was a bit of an impossible task.
She gave me a quick hug before finally saying, “Alright, let’s go.”
I couldn’t help but wonder how much she really cared. Sure, she knew the kid. He was my best, friend. Of course she knew him. But was the fact that he was gone forever causing her to feel a deep unforgiving sadness, like it was for me? Or was she simply concerned, because her son had lost his only friend? Was she maybe surprised, repulsed even, that a young, good kid like Ray Toro had met his fate in such a hideous way? After all, no one would have guessed that a nice kid like Ray had gotten so involved with the drug. I could only wonder how many would guess that it was a punk like me who had introduced him to it.
I watched my mother as she slipped on her shoes. Yes, she did look tired, absolutely drained, even. But, no, she didn’t look particularly sad. There was no trace of a teenage tragedy apparent on her face. Maybe she didn’t really care at all. It was hard to tell.
My mother had always been a very distant woman. Even when I was a little kid she seemed too despondent to really be a mother at all. I was never quite sure what was going through her mind all day, every day, that caused her to be so detached. I was always too nervous to ask, fearing it might trigger something even worse than her abnormal disconnection. So I let her be. And for the most part, she lets me be, more than a mother probably should. After all, teenagers belonging to caring, loving mothers did not usually find themselves so mixed up with mood-altering substances. If I wanted to, and some days I did, it was very easy for me to blame a lot of my bad decisions on her bad parenting. Some days I hated her for her distance. Some days I felt sorry for her. Many days, I will admit, I forgot she existed. But we lived in the same house well enough, and that’s really all that mattered for my family.
I guess my father is thrown into the mix somewhere, too. Although, I’m not exactly sure just what role he means to play in the household. Provider? Yes. Father? That’s debatable. Really, there are only two things that I know as fact concerning my father: he is the authority, and he loves to leave the house for his job whenever possible. The way I see it, he either really loves accounting, or he really hates his family. I don’t know which option I’d prefer. And maybe it’s not the ideal family, but we managed.

The service was held in some unknown little church. It was very simple and small, but I had expected it to be that way. Ray didn’t have many other friends, to my knowledge, and most of his extended family lived far away. I found the minuteness of the funeral to be comforting and sincere, but also in some way disheartening.
I talked briefly to Ray’s family. His mother hugged me as she cried, and she managed to sob out “I’m so sorry, Frank.”
How could I even look at her? How could I stand to face the woman whose son I had helped to pave a trail to his demise? I should have been the one consoling her. I should have been the one to choke out an “I’m so sorry”. But I didn’t.
Instead I left the grieving family and exited the chapel through a door leading to the empty parking lot.
Once outside, I breathed a deep sigh, as I leaned against the brick wall. I pulled a pack of cigarettes out of my pant pocket and stuck one in my mouth. Just as I was lighting it I heard a gentle cough from behind me. I jumped, due to the startle, and quickly turned to see who it was.
Standing just a few feet behind me was a boy who I was unfamiliar with; a scrawny kid, who looked to be about my age. He had light brown hair that clung to his forehead and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that rested on the very tip of his nose. I thought that maybe I had seen him before at school.
“Uh… sorry, didn’t realize there was someone else out here.” I said, offering half of a smile around my cigarette.
“Oh. Um. Its fine… I should probably get back in there anyway.” He said in a quiet voice. He didn’t seem all that enthusiastic about returning, and I felt bad for scaring him off.
“So are you family of his?” I asked, determined to keep him outside. I wasn’t sure if asking about the dead kid was any better than just letting him go back to the service, but at least it gave him the option. He leaned his shoulder against the brick wall and stayed silent for a moment, keeping his eyes focused on the ground.
“No. Old friend.” He said heavily. I held out the pack of cigarettes to him, offering him one. He shook his head and muttered a “no thanks”, which didn’t surprise me.
I was almost expecting him to keep talking and elaborate on this ‘Old Friend’ statement, but he kept quiet.
“I think I’ve seen you around school. What’s your name?” I asked, trying to keep up a steady conversation.
“Mikey Way.” He replied, with eyes still locked on the concrete. I couldn’t recall ever hearing anything about him. I thought it was strange that Ray had never mentioned him even though they had apparently been friends, especially considering that he went to the same school as us.
“Nice to meet you, Mikey Way. Wish it could be under different circumstances… I’m Frank Iero.” I said, before taking a long drag of the cigarette.
“I know. You were Ray’s friend that he was always with. Sorry, dude. Must be hard. Can’t even imagine.” He said, as he finally brought his eyes up to look at me. I hated that he was giving me his sympathy. I didn’t deserve his, or anyone else’s goddamn sympathy. I tried not to show my internal discomfort on my face.
“Well, you were his friend too, I’m sure it’s not easy for you either.” I said, directing the focus of the conversation back to him. He sighed.
“Actually, I hadn’t even talked to him for a real long time. We were close when we were kids, I guess. He would always hang around my brother and I. My brother isn't here, today. Funerals remind him of our grandmother's. Anyway, when we started to get older Ray started hanging out with different kids. The druggies and delinquents, y’know. Feels like I lost him a long time ago. So now, I guess it’s much easier than it should be.” His words sounded nearly angry, yet he kept his calm demeanor.
I felt even guiltier than I did before. I was exactly the sort of druggie and delinquent that Mikey was referring to. I had stolen this kid’s friend. And maybe if I hadn’t, they would still be friends, Ray wouldn’t have tumbled down a path of substance abuse, and he would still be alive right now. I felt like throwing up.
“Hey, uh… you don’t look so good. You alright?” Mikey said, softly.
“Yeah… I’m fine. Just been a tough day, that’s all.” I said, trying my best to sound convincing.
“Right. Well, like I said. Can’t even imagine. I know you guys were close.” He sounded so sincere that it was hard to look him in the eye. I opened my mouth and tried to give some sort of response, but the words would simply not come out, so I closed it again. Mikey looked concerned, and I was sure that I looked as pathetic as I felt.
“Hey, uh, let me give you my number. Just… If you need anything…” He trailed off. I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t necessary, and that I was going to be fine. I really wanted to. But instead I found my hand automatically going to my pocket, pulling out my cellphone, and handing it to him. He nodded as he took it, then quickly typed in his contact information. As he handed it back, he gave the tiniest of smiles and said, “You hang in there, okay, Frank?” And with that he turned and went back inside.
I stared at the door as it swung shut, and I dropped my cigarette onto the concrete. I was hoping that the smoking would have helped calm the whirlpool of painful sentiments that was raging on inside of me, but as the door shut with a discreet thud, I felt even closer to being swallowed up completely by the terrible mixture of loss and guilt.

Notes

Sorry for the slow beginning. It will start to pick up soon, I promise! Let me know what you think!