Life on the Murder Scene

“Get the fuck up, motherfucker!” a faraway voice sounds, a brightness flashing on and off. In my semi-awake state, I take the pillow from under my head and toss it in the general direction of the noise. This is a sick joke. Feeling pressure on my bed I brace myself for whatever is coming next. Wetness begins to cover my cheek.

“Fucking stop it,” I groan, reaching forward and trying to figure out who is on top of me without opening my eyes. If I open my eyes they win and I’m going to have to get out of bed. My finger makes contact with something slimy and whoever is on the bed lets out a yelp of pain, a slew of curse words filling my ears.

“Get up Makayla,” a whiny voice says. I instantly know who this is.

“Go away, Frank,” I grumble, pulling the blanket up over my face.

“Get off my sister dude,” another voice sounds from across the room. This one is softer, less demanding. “Makayla, get up.”

“Fuck off Gerard,” I answer through the covers. I’m not getting out of this bed.

“We gotta leave in like twenty minutes, so get up,” he answers. “Frank, let her get up.”

After I’m certain the two men have left my room, I sit up slowly, letting out a long sign. As I rub the sleep from my tired eyes, I take in a bedroom I probably won’t see again for a while. Posters and drawings litter the walls and ceiling. A drum set sits in the corner covered in hoodies and jeans. My guitars lay across my desk. I focus on the head shaped hole beside the door, smiling as I remember the night it was made. Gerard got so drunk playing a game of truth or dare that when he went to go back to his room he’d missed the door and put his head right through the wall. This room is frozen in time. It holds so many memories, both happy and sad. Melancholy washes over me as I place my feet on the worn wooden floor. Should I really be leaving? I’d taken this room for granted once before, am I prepared to walk away from it again so soon?

“Mak, coffee!” that’s Gerard again. I wonder if they’ve woken up Mikey.

Pulling on a pair of pajama pants and grabbing my handheld camera off the table next to my bed, I head out into our small kitchen. No more time to contemplate if leaving is a good idea. I’ve committed to this and now I need to follow through. This trip could be my big break. My job starts now.

As I round the corner into our small kitchen, my older brother hands me a white coffee mug. The liquid inside is black, a gentle steam floating up from its surface. The mugs got a chip in it where I hit it against the sink while trying to keep Mikey from putting soap bubbles in my mouth. I’m gonna miss being here. We’ve got a lot of amazing memories in this town. Setting my mug on the counter, I pass my camera between my hands, fiddling with the zoom button. I don’t know what to expect from the next few months, but if the warm, excited feeling in my stomach is any predictor it’s going to be awesome.

As Bob, the band’s drummer enters the kitchen he smiles, quickly walking over and giving me a hug. We’ve not seen each other since the band finished up recording their newest album. We’d become quick friends while in the studio.

“I missed you,” Bob mumbles into my hair.

I squeeze him a little tighter, before letting go, “I missed you too.”

“Are you two lovebirds done being gross now?” Frank, who has sat at the table next to Mikey, questions, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

“Somebodies just jealous because he didn’t get his hug yet this morning,” I tease, snatching the thin white stick away from the guitarist, taking a drag off of it before handing it back.

Gerard smirks, walking over to Frank and throwing his arms around his body, chin resting on the tattooed man’s shoulder. Frank grimaces, trying to shrug the singer off. This just causes Gee to laugh. Knowing it will only bother Frank more; I join in the hug, pressing my tongue against his temple. Frank lets out a squeak, trying to wiggle away from Gerard and I.

“Stop,” Frank giggles. “Guys, I don’t want any hugs.”

Gerard and I back off, giving Frank room. He grins at both of us, bringing his cigarette back to his lips. Although Frank might pretend not to, he absolutely loves affection. He’s a Goddamn teddy bear disguised as a tattoo covered punk rocker. Although Frank and I have had our differences; he doesn’t agree with some of the lifestyle choices I’ve made and didn’t like my now ex-boyfriend, Brent, we seem to get along when it counts. He’s usually there to listen to me complain about dumb shit I’ve done or just stay in and get drunk and watch movies.

As Mikey and Ray Toro walk into the kitchen Frank stands, taking the camera off of the counter, pointing it at my face. I hold up my coffee mug. “Stop it, Frank.”

“No,” the guitarist answers, sticking his tongue out at me. His lips twist into a lopsided grin. “If you’re coming with us you’re getting recorded too.”

“This isn’t supposed to be about me,” I answer with a frown. The whole point of being the videographer is so I can avoid being in front of the camera.

“Will you just play along?”

Sighing, I lower the mug, lifting myself onto the counter. I’ll let Frank get the recording out of his system. Better now than a few months in. “Whatever makes you happy Frank.”

He grins before putting on a serious face. I try not to laugh at him as he works to keep the camera steady. “Okay, Makayla Way, what does going on this tour mean to you?”

“It’s like a brand new start. I get to go on an adventure with my brothers and this band that could potentially do really amazing things,” I answer as Mikey smiles over at me. It was his idea for me to follow the band on tour. I’ve been having a rough year and Mikey thought it would be beneficial for me to just get away for a while. I quit my job the day he’d asked, more than ready to try my hand at my real passion, videography.

“Why are you videotaping us the whole time?”

“I’m a fucking third-grade teacher. It sucks. I just wanna make films. Mikey thought this would be a good way to do that. Can I have the fucking camera back Frank?” This is ridiculous. I’m not part of the band. My story doesn’t matter. What is important is the guys and the story they have to share.

The guitarist dances out of my way as I grab for it. Sliding off the counter I end up on the floor, my head banging against the cabinet. The boys standing around begin to laugh, Gerard helping me up.

“Let’s head out guys,” Ray says, holding the front door open. He’s always been very big about being on time. He kind of keeps the rest of us moving and on track. He’s one of the hardest workers I’ve ever met, dedicating huge junks of his time to working on getting everything just perfect. It’s good that he’s part of the band.

We’ve got to take a van to the airport. From there we fly to Ohio, the first stop on this tour. Our bus and driver are supposed to be waiting for us at the venue. The tour bus will be our home after that. As everyone files out towards the van I turn and take one last look at the house. Gerard, Mikey and I grew up here. It’s weird to think that we’re just kind of leaving everything behind. I know we’ll eventually come back, but right now that’s a distant idea. I’ve never been outside New Jersey.

“Everyone ready?” the driver says. I don’t even remember getting into the van.

“Let’s fucking do this!” Frank answers jumping around in his seat a little. This is it. I’m actually doing this. For the next two and a half months I will be living with my two older brothers, and the other members of My Chemical Romance. I’m going to make a really good fucking film.

Notes