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The anatomy of a fall 6 page

He settled down to sit on an old stone wall to wait. Occasionally the wind shifted and he could hear faint music, from the band room, he guessed, but it was too far off to tell what song was playing. Every now and then he thought he heard someone walking, the crackle of footsteps filled with dead leaves, but when he looked, there was only ever empty forest. It was kind of creepy, not the good kind, either—more like an asshole-jock-lying-in-wait creepy. And now the wind was picking up, whistling mournfully through the skeletal canopy and scattering down drifts of red and orange.

After an hour of waiting, Gerard had to face the truth. Frank wasn’t coming. Gerard felt disproportionately awful; his chest ached, like his ribcage was collapsing inward, like he’d suddenly gained a super-dense lump in his chest where his heart should be. Which was stupid, he’d just met Frank a few days ago. It wasn’t like he was getting fucking stood up for prom.

It just sucked that he couldn’t get his bag and his shit back, that was all. It wasn’t a big deal. There were other people in town that liked him. He could just go hang out with Ray and Bob and all their friends, inside four solid walls, where there was heating and lights and video games. Probably Mrs. Toro was one of those moms that made homemade hot cocoa and cookies or whatever, unlike Gerard’s mom, who made mainly coffee, and sometimes Black Russians.

But he stayed sitting on the cold stone wall, staring at his feet, every now and then craning his neck to look down the path. He felt like he could stay here forever, just disappear like that kid Ray had talked about at lunch. Or, instead of him disappearing, it’d be the other way around. The world outside the forest would vanish, and he’d wander the autumn woods forever, lost in dead leaves and distant blue sky. It was sort of eerie how easy it was after a while to convince himself that there was nothing outside the forest, how clearly he could imagine it. But it had been like an hour and a half with no sign of Frank, so Gerard eventually made himself get up and leave the forest.

The world was still there. The school parking lot was empty.

He couldn’t bring himself to go to Ray’s, not now. He headed home to make a care package for Mikey instead, and if he got maybe a little trashed on cheap Miller Lite as he did, well, he figured his mom wouldn’t buy it if she didn’t want him to drink it. Just—it was almost like heartburn, this tight feeling in his chest that he kept trying to shake by playing Black Flag really loud and singing his throat hoarse. He was probably annoying the hell out of his neighbors, but who gave a fuck. It wasn’t that big a deal.

Maybe Frank was sick. But no, the fact was he’d probably just thought better of it after last night, after seeing what a drunk loser Gerard could be. Fuck. Well, what the fuck, ever, Frank. Who needed him, and his tattoos, and his fucking abandoned graveyard, and his scratchy voice singing the Misfits. Gerard fucking didn’t need him, that was for fucking sure. He drank another beer.



He filled Mikey’s bag with blueberry Poptarts and some of those snack-sized bags of Cheetos. A search through the cabinet turned up a couple cans of Diet Coke and those weird packets of instant cappuccino. Mikey claimed they were like caffeinated Pixie Stix, which even Gerard thought was maybe taking the caffeine addiction a little too far, but Mikey was sick and if he wanted to a caffeine buzz, who was Gerard to judge?

Gathering everything up, he went to sit out on the porch to wait for his mom. It was only the first week of October and there were already jack-o’-lanterns on some of the porches. There was one at the house across the street with a sphinx-like smirk, the edges of its mouth thin and curled. Gerard stared into its unlit eyes and listened to the distant sound of the traffic on Main Street. It sounded like the wind in the trees.

His mom pulled into the driveway half an hour later, and didn’t ask any questions, just turned up the music on the radio. He guessed they’d both had a shitty day. They drove like that, in silence, with Gerard staring out the window at the blur of passing fields, of stands of forest. When they got to the Trumbull Center, Mikey seemed like he’d had a better day, at least. He was typing furiously on his cell phone when they arrived. Gerard immediately went to go sit on the edge of his bed and dumped the bag of contraband on Mikey’s pillow. He leaned against Mikey’s shoulder. Mikey was warm, and smiling. It was nice.

“Fucking A,” Mikey whispered happily when he found the packets of cappuccino mix. “You’re my fuckin’ hero, Gee.”

Gerard felt a little drunk, still, not bad, just enough to be warm and maybe flushed—he hoped the nurse didn’t notice, but Mikey totally did. As soon as their mom left, he cocked his head at Gerard and frowned.

“I’m fine,” Gerard said and fuck, he could try to be a little more convincing, couldn’t he? He didn’t want to talk about Frank right now, or about Ted and his fucking asshole friends, but if he didn’t say something Mikey would probably guess in a minute or two.

“Hey, I got a text from Pete earlier,” he said brightly, forcing up a smile from somewhere. “Did he tell you he and Gabe want to come caravan up and visit sometime?”

And Mikey fucking beamed, which, okay, actually did make Gerard feel a little better. A lot better.

They spent the rest of the evening curled up on Mikey’s bed, debating the havoc Pete and Gabe would wreak on a small town, then re-reading the old issues of Kerrang Gerard’d brought. Before he knew it, visiting hours were over, and Gerard had never thought he’d be reluctant to leave the flickering fluorescence and eerie sterility of a hospital. But he was, and it sucked.

See you tomorrow, Gee, Mikey mouthed and Nurse Ratched glared from the doorway, the picture of malevolence in white buckled shoes. She probably had needles secreted away somewhere on her person. Gerard shuddered. He hoped Mikey had hidden the black market goods away, because he totally knew who would get the blame for that one.

“I’m going, I’m going,” he muttered, glaring at her, and hugged Mikey goodbye. “Have awesome dreams, Mikey,” he said, feeling miserable. “You know you can text me whenever, right?”

Mikey rolled his eyes and made a shooing motion with his hand. Gerard hated it, hated leaving him. If it wasn’t for Gerard and his stupid fucking high school, maybe his mom could have stayed camped out in the hospital all night. She wouldn’t have to leave to take Gerard home so that he could go to class first thing in the damned morning, and Mikey wouldn’t have to be here alone. It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair.


Date: 2015-01-11; view: 813


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