"I stared out at the crowd beneath the stage. It was amazing that this many people came to see our shows, I didn't think my band was that big. We only had two albums out yet there were at least five hundred fans here tonight. I heard the guitars end of the song I had just finished sing quit playing at almost the same time. With a quick glance at the set list taped to the floor of the stage, I began singing the next song.
Only into the first verse, I heard a loud cracking noise to my right. I quickly turned to see our rhythm guitarist, Frank, who was kneeling on the ground with his guitar. I kept singing, not wanting to mess up the song, and walked over to him to see why he had stopped playing. Lying at his knees, was his guitar, with the neck completely broken off, with only the strings holding them together, like some sort of guitar life support.
Since I had a break in the song, I moved the microphone away from my mouth and told him to go get his spare.
"I don't have one, Gerard." he answered back, looking ashamed.
"What do you mean you don't have one?" I was shocked but returned the microphone to my mouth at my cue to start singing again. After about a minute of me eyeing Frank while I sang, watching him, unsuccessfully, trying to play his broken guitar, the song ended and I walked over to him
"You're the one that needs a spare, Frank. You go insane while you're onstage. I knew you would eventually break one" He opened his mouth to protest but I cut him off. "Does Ray have a spare?" He shook his head , looking like a child that had just been caught drawing on the walls with crayon . I walked away from him moodily and put the microphone back onto the stand. With a long sigh I made the announcement to the crowd.
"Sorry guys, but I guess the concert has been cut short," I paused while I let the crowd "boo" themselves out. Mikey, the bassist, Bob, the drummer, and Ray, the lead guitarist looked at me, confused. "There's been a broken guitar," I said, more to the rest of My Chemical Romance, than our fans. "but we'll be doing meet and greets out back with the rest of our time, plus the scheduled signing time."
The lights dimmed and we walked off stage, Frank still holding his broken guitar to his heart. I put my arm around his shoulder, trying to comfort him. That guitar had been his favorite, he even named it. The guitar's name was Pansy, and it had it's name in sparkly sticker across the bottom of it.
"You're supposed to smash your instruments at the end of the show" My brother Mikey teased and bumped into Frank. "Go away, Mikey" I turned to confront him, but Frank had already shoved him toward a wall. Frank then pulled himself away from me and ran the rest of the way outside. I hurried after him and reached the doors only to open them to hear the screeching of tires and a loud crash.
That was two months ago. I now sat across from Frank in some hospital. I hadn't even thought to look at what it was called. My wife, Lindsey, had flown in from New Jersey, to us. The band was touring and I can't even remember where we are anymore. Maybe i'll ask a nurse when she comes in.
I've been in Frank's room since they took him here. That night of the last concert we played, I immediately ran to Frank's side and stayed there, until Ray managed to pull me away and Bob carried Frank to the sidewalk. Someone called an ambulance, which after some yelling and freaking out, they let me ride in to the hospital. I walked to this room with my hand on the side of the stretcher they had placed him on.
I haven't left his side since. My wife has either cooked me meals in their hotel room, or her friend's who lives in town, I can't quite remember, or bought me something from some restaurant. Frank fell into a coma and he hasn't woke up yet. I've even considered praying, which isn't something i'm really into. I mean, I'm not quite christian, but it's nice to have something to have faith in.
"Gerard?" I heard my wife walk in. I turned and smiled. She was the only person that could pull me away from my trance. I watched as she walked over and sat in the chair next to me.
"Not any better, is he?" She asked. I looked at her sadly. I shook my head. "Still not talking?" Oh yeah, I forgot about that. I haven't talked to anyone the whole time I was here. Lindsey gasped, and I looked at her, trying to get my expression to fully express what i was trying to ask her. She pointed and Frank and put her hand over her mouth.
"G-Gerard?"
"Oh my god, Frank!" My wife finally found her voice, although I still hadn't found mine. I stood up and rushed to Frank's side. His voice was scratchy and quiet when he spoke and if I wasn't watching him, I would've wondered who was talking.
"Where am I?" he whispered, looking right at me. I opened my mouth to answer him, thinking my vigil would be over, but i couldn't seem to form the words I wanted to deliver to him. Frank watched me expectantly, but I was still mute. I looked at my wife for help.
"Gerard, you're the one that should know this, you didn't just wake up from a coma." she replied sarcastically. At the word "Coma", Frank sat up, looking around, terrified.
"Oh God, what happened Gerard?" he asked. His eyes were wide and full of terror. The whole room was silent, save the beeping of the machines and the little noises that drifted in from the hallway. I shifted my stance awkwardly. A pen on the counter near us caught my eye. I moved my hand swiftly over to it, although my arm was too short, but just barely. Moving my feet by about an inch, I reached the pen and quickly wrote on my hand the words "You were in a car accident".
Lindsey came over to me and told me she had to go. I nodded and watched her leave. Frank and I sat in silence for a few minutes. Suddenly, he laid back, supporting himself with his arms and turned to look straight at me.
"Why aren't you talking Gerard?"
"I don't know. I can't" I answered back. I looked around in confusion. My voice was hoarse from not talking for months.
"You just did, Gee." he informed me, also looking quite confused. Although I had no idea what was going on, and i'm sure he knew less than I did, I smiled at my nickname. That was one thing I definitely missed over the months."
You hand back the little journal and look at me expectantly. I just stare back and shrug.
"Why didn't you finish it, Gerard?" she questions me. I just shrug again and reach for my notebook. Once i've found a clean, fresh page i write in small, delicate letters "Ran out of room" and show it to you. You grab the journal out of my hands and flip to the back pages. It's quite clear that I did have plenty of room. You shake your head and make that weird tsk-tsk noise you always make when your upset with me.
"I thought I asked you to fill the journal, Gerard." You glare at me.
I grab my notebook and write "You did." across a sheet of paper. You glare again. Today seems to be a particularly good day to get glares from you. I'll count them.
"Why didn't you finish it?"
I shrug. Three. i sigh and write "My hand got tired." Oh, another glare. Four.
"Gerard, can you at least tell me why," Five, I count. "You chose, of all of the journals, the one with a hot air balloon on it?"
I just smile at you, which adds another glare to my count, six. I know why I picked the hot air balloon journal, but i'm not going to tell you. It seemed to be fitting since I would end up writing about Frank, who she said was the cause of my "selective mutism" or whatever you called it, since I always kept a picture of him in my pocket from when we went on a hot air balloon ride.
This was one of the many times that I swore Frank was a small child. He had begged forever for me to take him to the hot air balloon ride thing at the local fair, he wanted me to go with him because he was too scared, but he still wanted to do it. When we were up in the air, I took a picture of him in the gondola. I hated the ride, mostly because the flames from the burner unit were too hot and the pilot seemed kind of rude, but it could've just been me. The balloon we were in actually looked quite similar to the one on my journal, it had red panels making up the envelope.
"Gerard? Are you even listening?" Your voice pulls me from my thoughts. I forgot I was even in therapy for a moment. I wish that could happen all the time. I shake my head to tell you "no" sassily and cross my arms. Seven. I glance at the clock and smile, realising it's almost time for me to go.
"Gerard, do you even want to come here anymore?" you ask me. I shrug. I'm about to add another tally to my mental count of glares, but i realise you aren't glaring and you are dead serious. I don't know what to say, or not say, that is, so i write "yes" on my paper but shake my head "no" when I let you read it.
"You're an adult, Gerard, you can make those choices. You don't have to come here if you don't want to." you say, staring right at me. I laugh and write "Yeah. If my wife's name was nobody, then nobody would be making me go but my wife's name is Lindsey, sorry." I show it to you and i swear you actually laugh a little. That's a first, but your smile quickly fades and you ask how she is. I scrawl "Fine." on my paper. You accept that answer and take out the book you keep all your appointments in.
"Gerard, i'm scheduling you for next week, but you don't have to come. It's clear you don't exactly," you pause and try to find the right words "care for this much." Flipping over a new piece of paper, I write "What are you talking about? I love this" I show her and smile as wide as I can, trying to get another glare in. I succeed as you nods to the clock and tell me I can leave.
Humming one of my favorite songs from my old band, I walk out of the room and into the lobby, where Lindsey is waiting for me. She gives me a quick hug and we make our way outside. Its surprisingly warm outside so I take off my jacket and hand it to her before getting in the car. When she gets in, I turn the radio on and drive away.