Life on the Murder Scene

No one is on the bus when Frank and I return from the store. Assuming, they went out to watch other bands perform; the two of us get to work on Frank’s hair. I shave the sides, leaving a long strip in the middle. My boyfriend keeps his eyes focused on the small television screen in front of him as I rub bleach onto the freshly shaven hair. It’s weird to think that he’s actually mine. I can lean over and press my lips to his and not feel guilty about it. He doesn’t want anyone else.

“Frank,” I start, pulling off the cheap plastic gloves that protect my hands from the chemicals, “we should wait till Gerard is better till we tell everyone.”

The guitarist spins around, hand coming to rest on the side of my neck, causing a small shiver to run down my spine. “Whatever you want, Mak. You do know that he’s going to be okay, right? I know this is really hard for you but you’ve just gotta keep your chin up.”

“Yeah. I just hate not knowing what’s going to happen. I need him in my life. He’s the only person I’ve ever truly looked up to. He can bring a crowd to tears with his lyrics and his voice, but he just doesn’t see it. I hate that there is nothing that I can do,” I frown, peeling back the edge of tin foil we’d wrapped around the bleached strip in my hair. My hair is now a gross orange-yellow color.

“You’re doing all you can,” Frank answers back, giving my hand a squeeze. “Wanna shave my eyebrow off?”

I giggle, reaching for the trimmer, resting on the couch cushion next to me. As I turn it on, Frank cringes away from me. He’s still convinced I’m going to shave the whole thing off. I don’t want him to look silly. Instead, I shave a small strip a few inches in from the end of his left eyebrow. Once all the hair is completely gone, I flip the trimmer off, placing it back down next to me.

“That’s it?” the guitarist questions, reopening his eyes.

“Yeah.”

Frank gets up off the floor and walks over to the mirror that is hung over the counter. His fingers brush over the shaved spot, the corners of his lips tugging up into a grin, “This actually looks really rad.”

“I don’t know why you ever doubted me.” I answer with a grin, tongue sticking out at Frank as he walks back over to me.

The guitarist places his lips against mine for a second, “Never again.”

Around seven, the rest of the band wanders back up the bus steps. Per usual, Gerard goes straight for the ice chest, pulling out a beer. Mikey smirks over at Frank and I, his eyes running over the changes we’d made to our hair. If anyone is going to find out about my new relationship, it’ll be Mikey. I can’t keep anything from him, and even when I do try he always has a way of finding out.

“What happened to your eyebrow dude?” Ray questions, taking a seat on the couch opposite Frank.

“Makayla,” Frank grins.

“Why the fuck would you let her do that to you?”

Frank just shrugs, beaming over at me. I stick my tongue out at him, eyes flicking over to Ray. Frank seems to get the hint and turns his attention back to the other guitarist. “It made her happy. Mak has had kind of a rough day so I figured it was the least I could do.”

Ray rolls his eyes, smirking over at Frank. In return, my boyfriend grabs a pillow off the couch and throws it in Ray’s direction. It makes contact with the guitarist’s face and all of us laugh.

“We gotta head to the kickball match soon,” Mikey reminds everyone. Honestly, my old brother pretty much hates all physical activity, but he is in love with kickball. It’s kind of humorous in a way. I am glad he has something that makes him happy; we all need that, especially after today.

Getting up off the couch, I grab my Converse and my Green Day sweatshirt, pulling the heavy fabric on over the tank top I’d changed into to dye Frank’s hair. Once I’m dressed, I head outside to meet up with the rest of the guys. As we walk I light a cigarette, enjoying the lightheaded feeling it gives me. Frank nudges me in the arm, showing me a bottle of Captain Morgan. I take it from him, tipping the bottle to my lips. The brown liquid burns the back of my throat and I cough a little. Frank smirks at me, taking the bottle back. We continue to pass it back and forth until we reach the big warehouse at the edge of the venue.

A few bands are already there, setting up the bases. There is a long, fold out table with various bottles of alcohol sitting on it. Two kegs sit on the floor. a slew of red plastic cups scattered around them.

Frank and Gerard disappear as I pull out my camera, starting to film everyone. Mikey finds me a rolling chair, which I gladly sit down in, pulling my legs up so I’m sitting crisscross applesauce. My boyfriend has left his bottle of Rum with me and I drink from it occasionally, watching everyone split up into teams.

Bert shows up shortly after we arrive, seeking out Gerard. The two disappear for a little, going straight to the kegs once they’ve returned. I just hope that my brother is going to be okay and that he won’t have another freak out tonight.

“Come play,” Frank whines, coming up behind me and spinning the chair around.

“No,” I answer back with a laugh. “You’re going to make me throw up if you keep spinning me.”

Frank pouts a little, pressing his fingers to my lips. I stick my tongue out against it, giggling as the guitarist crinkles up his nose, “You’re disgusting.”

“You like it,” I answer back with a wink before Frank goes to line up to kick the ball.

Spinning myself back around, I focus the camera on Mikey who sends the ball flying across the warehouse, running to first base. His team cheers him on, all of them quite drunk.

“How’re you doing Gerard?” I question my brother after a few rounds of the game. He’s pretty plastered and sways a little as he stands. “You going to be able to kick the ball okay?”

Gerard laughs at me, rubbing his eye as if that’s going to help clear his vision, “This shit is easy peasy, pumpkin peasy. Pumpkin pie, motherfucker.”

In my intoxicated state I can’t help but laugh at what my brother is saying, “Don’t fuck up, Gerard.”

He gives me a thumbs-up as the ball is rolled to him. On the first try his foot goes off to the left, missing the ball completely. Gerard hoists his pants back up and tires again. This time he kicks the ball, doing his best to run to first base. He jumps on top of it, fist in the air, before lying down across the white plastic. Everyone cheers for my brother as Ray takes his spot at the plate. He gets Mikey home and Gerard to second.

“How are you guys doing?” I questions Frank as he waits his turn behind Bert who ended up on My Chem’s team.

“I think we’re winning, but I’m really drunk so…” Frank answers back with a smile and a shrug.

“Kick ass,” I answer back.

“Drink more,” Frank commands before running up to kick the ball.

Moving back to my seat, I take the bottle of Captain Morgan and press it to my lips, draining about half of what is left before placing it back by my feet. I’m sure I’ll regret drinking as much as I have in the morning, but for right now, I’m enjoying the floating feeling gained by continuing to drink.

Two more people kick before the teams switch places. As the ball flies towards Gerard, the singer jumps up, trying to catch it. Instead he misses, falling to the ground in a laughing heap. Concerned, I stand up from the chair, almost trip over my feet, and hurry over to my older brother.

“You okay, Gee?” I question, helping him get back to his feet. We both sway a little, holding onto the other for support.

“Fantastic,” Gerard answers back, pulling me into a hug.

I kiss his cheek before walking back to the rolling chair. I plop down in it, causing the blasted thing to move backwards across the slicked concrete floor. The rest of the night flies by, my camera recording all of the shenanigans. At around one in the morning we all stumble back to the bus, passing out on the couches.

Notes