Basket Case

I awoke the next day feeling somewhat more like my usual self. I immediately thought of Gerard, and the number that was still in my pocket. I was seized by the fear that the receipt he had written it on would remain forgotten in my pocket until I threw my jeans in the wash, in which case the number would be lost and forgotten forever. Unable to lie still with that disaster on my mind, I rose and searched through my discarded jeans until I found the receipt. I pulled it out and checked the number, wanting to know it was still there. It was, the thick black ink a stark contrast to the shiny white of the receipt paper. I folded it and placed it on my desk, and left my room.

You can't call someone you've just met the day after you meet them, I slapped myself, as I wandered through the empty house that day. My mom was gone, working; it was a Tuesday. There was nothing to do and no one to do it with. Except maybe Gerard. I couldn't imagine what he would be doing right now, although that did nothing to stop me from trying. I saw him in my mind, sitting at home, as bored and lonely as I was feeling…if Gerard got lonely. It was hard to tell. Maybe he was doing something artistic, since he had gone to art school.

Maybe he liked solitude.

Or maybe he wasn't alone. Not everyone is as hopeless and lonely as I am. And Gerard is a nice guy, he's probably got friends over.

Although why is it that all the mean or obnoxious ones are the ones always surrounded by friends, and people like Gerard that are always left on their own?

Maybe he tried to get his job back.

I doubted that.

I couldn't shake the imagine of him sitting alone at home with nothing to do and no one to talk to. Like me.

I called the number.

I heard him answer, but there was a pause before he said anything. "…Hello?"

The fact that he answered threw me somehow. Had I not expected him to answer his phone? "…Hey. Hey, it's Frank. Frank Iero."

He seemed to recognize me before I finished saying my name. "Oh, hey, Frank," he said, sounding comfortable. I could hear loud music in the back of his call, but I couldn't make out at all what it was.

"Um, what's happening today?"

"Nothing," he answered, still sounding casual, comfortable. I was glad I hadn't caught him off-guard, or anything. He didn't seem creeped out by my random call. "I would be at work today, but considering…"

I snorted. He was so calm about his state of recently fired. "You're not looking for a job, then?"

"Nah. I just got fired. Might as well take off for a week before I start searching again."

That made perfect sense to me. "Yeah, that's probably what I would do," I said, grinning. I was glad I had called.

"Not that there's anywhere I'd particularly want to work," he added morosely. I was imagining him picking disinterestedly at the fabric of a worn couch.

"What are you listening to?" I asked, my love for music and intense curiousity getting the better of me.

"Mikey," he answered. I could hear a faint smile in his voice.

"M - " I almost asked, wondering what band that was.

"My brother. He's playing bass right now." Oh yeah, I remembered him telling me his brother played bass. I knew that. "I wish you were here, you could get the full effect. He's really good."

Did he just say he wished I was there? I wished I was there too.

"Maybe you could even play with him. You play guitar, right?"

"Yeah," I said, my mouth suddenly dry with anticipation. Gerard, I could potentially see Gerard today. And play music with somebody else! That would be so beyond awesome, I can't even…

"Do you wanna come over?"

He sounded eager.

As was I. "Yes," I said, without thinking about it. "Yeah, definitely. Um…how do I get to your house?"

"Mine's not far from yours. I could drive you over if you want."

Yes. Yes I would freaking love that. "Yeah, that'd be awesome."

"Okay, I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Okay."

I heard a faint sound, which made me think of him breathing out as he smiled. "Okay, I'll see you." He disconnected the call.

It took me a second longer than usual to lower my phone from my ear. Oh my god. I'm going now, I'm going to play music with someone else…Gerard's younger brother, even! Just seeing Gerard again would make me happy, but to play music thrown into the deal. This was awesome.

I ran upstairs to get my guitar out of my room. I had a gleaming, white Epiphone Les Paul Standard. I had named her Pansy. She was fantastic, I adored her. I grasped my guitar by its familiar neck, moving to my amp to unjack the cable. I had a 2x12 Marshall amplifier that I had bought at a pawn shop. It was too much for me to carry with my guitar simultaneously. I closed the guitar in its case, coiling my cable and setting it over the strings. I grabbed the guitar case and descended the stairs.

I thought maybe I should leave a note for my mom. Leaving the guitar by the door, I sprinted into the kitchen, grabbing a note pad and a pen and began scribbling a quick note. Met someone new the other day. He lives really close by. Going to play guitar with his brother. Be back

Um…yeah, I have no idea when I'll be back. before dark, I scribble, not really certain it's the truth. It's two o'clock now. I don't know, though, I love music, I could easily play for hours…and what time I spent playing, I wouldn't be talking to Gerard, and I had to talk to him. It had only been a day, but I realized suddenly that I really liked him. That maybe he was the best friend I have. Which is kind of lame, if you think about it. No, you don't even have to think about it. It's pretty lame. But I also suddenly didn't care.

There was a knock on my door. Three solid knocks. Gerard.

I ran to the door, almost silent on my bare feet, taking the note with me. I felt a tingling rush of excitement as I stood before the door, knowing that Gerard was standing mere feet away from me, the only thing separating us the closed door in front of me.

I turned the door handle.

Gerard was standing on the front porch, his hands in his back pockets, admiring the outside of my house.

"Hey," he said when the door opened.

"Hey," I said, slightly breathless from running around the house for the past five minutes.

"You need any help with anything?"

He's asking? Nobody ever asks me. "Yeah, carry this," I said, thrusting my guitar case into his hand. "My amp's upstairs…"

"And you might want some shoes," he smiled, letting himself into the house behind me. I tried to ignore the idea of Gerard free downstairs in my house and sprinted up to my room.

The amp was heavy and I'm small. I'm like, five four. So yeah, it was not an easy task lifting it and carrying it downstairs, but I pretended it was easy. He smiled when he caught sight of me. "Mikey's excited," he said, holding my guitar case upright with one hand. "He almost never gets to play with anyone, except when our uncle comes down, so he's completely thrilled."

"Cool," I said, smiling too, before I could stop myself. "Are you gonna play with us?" I asked, setting the amp down and crossing to the wall just in front of him, where I'd left my Converse.

"I don't really play anything," he said, letting his hair fall across his face as he turned away. He obviously considered himself lame.

"I'm sure we could think of something for you to do," I said, glancing up and giving him a quick smile as I pulled on my shoes.

He smiled back, and took up my guitar case. "You ready?"

"Yeah, let's go."

We packed my gear into the back of his Subaru and began to drive. The stereo was on like yesterday - I wondered if he ever turned it off - but quieter now. Quiet enough for conversation.

"So, I'm showing you where my house is, but you must promise not to kill me in my sleep and add me to your book of names."

"Oh, but your name would look so good in my book," I responded. "Geraaaard…what's your last name?"

"Way," he said, taking a left turn onto another street.

"Gerard Way," I said, tasting the words. That actually was a brilliant name. "Oh yes, your name will look fantastic in my book."

He laughed a little, grabbing a cigarette from the open pack in a small box near the gear shift, specifically designed to catch random junk, like his cigarettes. "There's more if you want one," he said to me, glancing my way briefly before carefully pulling out his lighter, cigarette between his lips, and lighting up.

I had only had a few cigarettes in my life, but I had liked them, liked the calm they had set over me. Not that I wanted to be calm right now; I loved the excited high I was on in anticipation of the music I was about to play, but I did want one. And I was going to smell like cigarettes anyway, thanks to him.

"Thanks," I said, taking one.

He held the lighter out to me, but instead of handing it to me, he clicked it for me, turning the wheel with the other hand, his cigarette between his teeth.

I leaned over the lighter and breathed the cigarette into life. I loved the way his fingers moved as he clicked the lighter out. He has long fingers…perfect for playing guitar, I thought, if he wasn't so convinced he sucked at it. And his skin was pale. He was beautiful.

Wait, did I just think that?

But he was. And not like beautiful in a stereotypical sort of way. Like, he wasn't beautiful. But he freaking was; his skin was so pale and his hair was so dark, and his eyes were so pretty. His hands were beautiful. And his expressions were nice, and the way his lip twisted as he talked. They were all little things about him, about who he was, that made him beautiful.

I shook myself. Yes, I can appreciate that Gerard is a beautiful guy, but I should probably also stop thinking about it.

And then we were pulling up outside his house. Gerard parked in the driveway, which was at an angle so extreme that I felt like we had stopped on the upslope of a roller coaster. "Nice driveway," I said, grinning at him as he opened the door.

He laughed a little. "Yeah, I have no explanation for the tilt. My apologies."

"No, I like it," I said, trying to climb out without looking awkward. "Um…" I opened the back door. I felt him come around behind me to help carry.

"I'll get the amp," he said. "You know, so you can carry your guitar."

"Yeah, thanks, man," I said, grabbing my guitar case.

I heard a door open and glanced up at the house. A guy with unkempt dark brown hair and glasses was standing in the doorway; he was tall and wearing skinny jeans that he was slightly too skinny for.

"Hey, guys," he said, coming down the steps, his bare feet making me cold just by looking at them on the concrete drive. "Need help with anything?"

"Nope, we've got it," Gerard answered, emerging from the backseat of the car with my amplifier in one hand. He kicked the door closed and gestured to who was obviously his brother. "Frank, this is Mikey, my brother. Mikes, this is my friend, Frank."

"Hey," said Mikey, shaking my guitar-free hand a little shyly. "Nice to meet you and all that shit."

"Hey," I said, shaking back. I liked Mikey already.

We returned to the house behind Mikey, who sprinted the last few yards, probably because his bare feet were freezing. "Our parents are at work today, so we can be as loud as we want," he said as he tried to open the door. The door was one of those ugly, half-screen door in front of a normal door affairs. The screen one apparently preferred to remain closed. Probably rebelling against the cold weather that it was so not made for.

Mikey grasped the handle with both hands, tugging forcefully, and at last the door flew open. Mikey cleared his throat, holding the door open for us. "Sorry. After you guys."

Gerard opened the inner door and let himself in. I followed, looking around the Ways' house. It was simple, and…I guess plain, but it didn't feel plain. It felt lived in, and loved. Like a real family actually lived here.

"Hey, you moved into the living room," I heard Gerard calling, and as I came around the open door I saw that he was standing in the middle of the living room, which was open to the rest of the house, where the coffee table had been pushed to the side and Mikey's bass guitar was leaning against the couch. It was already plugged in to his amp across the room.

"Cool bass," I said to Mikey as I came in. I don't know a lot about bass guitars…since I prefer regular guitar…but I could see that it was from Fender's Precision series. That was cool.

"Thanks," said Mikey, closing the door behind us and coming into the living room, his hands in his pockets. "What kind of guitar do you have?"

"Epiphone Les Paul," I said, grinning as I set the case down and flipped the clasps, throwing it open with a flourish. I was proud of my guitar.

"Sweet," said Mikey appreciatively, leaning over to admire it before I grabbed it out of the case, throwing the strap over my shoulder.

"Can I put your amp over here?" Gerard asked, looking expectantly from where he was standing next to Mikey's amp.

"Yeah, sure," I said. "Here, plug me in," I said, throwing him the end of my cable.

I jacked the other end into my guitar as he set up my amplifier. Mikey returned to the couch and grabbed his bass. "So, Gee said you like the Misfits, Black Flag, that sort of stuff?" he said.

"Yeah. You like the same?"

"Yeah, Misfits are awesome. Do you know Helena?"

"Yeah, that's a great song!"

"You wanna play it?"

I agreed and dove into the song. Mikey looked a little off-guard, and I realized with faint embarrassment that I probably should have counted in. I was too excited to deal with trifles like that. But he jumped in quickly, a faint smile playing over his face as he worked the strings. The song was engaging enough that it didn't matter if we played without vocals. It was loud and it was fun. I danced around the living room a little, caught up in the ecstasy of playing. Mikey was steady, carefully staying out of my way but obviously enjoying the music just as much as I was. Occasionally, out of the corner of my eye, I would notice Gerard watching us from where he had been standing by the amplifiers when we had started playing. There was a deep look in his eyes that I wondered about, but was too busying having fun to worry over.

The song ended with one last, loud note. Mikey and I hit it at exactly the same time…which I know is how music is supposed to be played and stuff, with both musicians counting and landing on the same notes at the same times, but the few times I've played with other people, I've found that it doesn't always work out that way. I looked up at Mikey. He was still smiling faintly in the aftermath of our wild music, his eyes gleaming. "Frank, you're really good," he said, looking shyly down at his bass strings.

"Thanks, Mikey, but, dude, I think you're really good, that was awesome!"

"Thanks," he said, blushing a little.

"That was great, you guys," said Gerard, his voice quiet and gentle. I had almost forgotten he was standing back there, watching us. He was sitting down now, his back to the wall, his arms around his knees.

"Dude, you should play with us," I said.

"Eh," he said, shrugging the idea off. "I'm really not that good, I'd just mess you up."

"Hey, do you like Green Day at all?" Mikey asked me, a sort of skeptical look on his face.

"Yeah, Green Day's good."

"Eh, Gerard isn't really into them. Or their newer stuff anyway," he said, glancing Gerard's way (lol. Gerard's way. I didn't even realize what I was writing until I'd written it.) and giving him a quick smile that was just a little bit mocking. "But, yeah, their first album was awesome. Do you know Basket Case?"

"Hellz yeah."

"Do you…sing at all?"

"Yeah, I guess I can," I said, shrugging. If it had been a different song I probably wouldn't have agreed to sing it, but Green Day was fun.

I took a deep breath, and all at once started to strum a fast rhythm, and sang,

"Do you have the time

To listen to me whine

About nothing and everything

All at once?

I am one of those

Melodramatic fools

Neurotic to the bone,

No doubt about it."

There was a brief pause while I continued strumming, then I looked back up (even though I didn't have a microphone, I felt obliged to place my mouth near where it would be if there was one), and sang the chorus. I was kind of surprised to hear Mikey singing in the background.

"Sometimes I give myself the creeps.

Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me.

It all keeps adding up,

I think I'm cracking up.

Am I just paranoid,

Or am I just stoned?"

I glanced Mikey's way (argh! I'm doing it again!), sharing a quick grin. This was a good song. And it sounded GOOD with his bass in it.

The song ended on a down stroke, and we danced randomly around the room while it faded out.

"Hey, do you know Seven Nation Army, by the White Stripes?" I asked.

"The White Stripes don't have a bass player," Mikey answered, blushing and laughing a little.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that," I added, laughing at my own lack of a brain today.

"Hey, Gerard, what's that song you like to sing so much?" Mikey asked, turning toward his brother, who was still watching us from the wall. "Going to California! Led Zeppelin." Mikey turned to me, looking excited. "Can you play that one?"

"Um…" I said. I was more punk than Led Zeppelin, but I'd heard the song before. "Maybe…" I stomped my amplifier to a clean channel, adjusted the tone of my guitar, and started to mess with some chords, picking the notes awkwardly with my fingers. I thought it sounded kind of like Going to California…I changed to a new chord, and it was an epic fail compared to my former one. I glanced up at Mikey, giving him a self-deprecating and sarcastic look. But he and Gerard were both watching me intently, listening to what I was playing. So I went back to my work, this time with a little more dedication. I thought I kind of had it, or at least what was close to it. Chord-wise, anyway. I started to get a little more confident with what I had, and then I heard something that knocked me back and took my breath away.

"Spent my days with a woman unkind,

Smoked my stuff and drank all my wine."

Gerard's voice. Oh. My. God. His voice sounded…amazing. He was, like, not even trying to make it sound good or anything, it was just him, his honest voice. It was kind of husky and imperfect…like everything else about Gerard. Perfectly imperfect.

"Made up my mind to make a new start,

Going to California with an aching in my heart."

It took all my concentration to keep playing while listening intently to Gerard's voice, drinking in every word, every sound and inflection. I didn't know the song well enough to recognize all the words, or even know where the song was going, so it was almost like hearing it for the first time while he was singing. Or like hearing a song from a dream, like déjà vu, something you recognize but don't have a real reason why, something that you love to hear and crave desperately to hear more.

"Someone told me there's a girl out there,

With love in her eyes, and flowers in her hair."

Mikey started to play a little bass in the background, keeping it subtle. So I messed around a little bit for the instrumental part. I wasn't very good, but whatever. Musical fusion highs make me fearless. I was fearless enough to do something to this song that was almost blasphemous. I kicked it into overdrive.

My clean chords became hard rock riffs. Mikey was so fast; the man was brilliant, he jumped right in with me, almost like we had planned it this way instead of me randomly pulling it out of the air. Gerard banged his head to the music a little, and he started to sing louder, his voice jumping towards a falsetto as he tried to maintain some control over his rushing emotions.

"Took my chances on a big jet plane,

Never let 'em tell you that there all, that they're all the same.

The sea was red and the sky was grey,

I wonder how tomorrow could ever follow today?

The mountains and the canyons start to tremble and shake,

The children of the sun begin to awake."

I glanced up at him, playing a quick riff before the next line. The next line was loud, and it was like, some kind of climbing bass-line, I think, if I remember right. I wasn't really sure what to do. I turned to Mikey, watching his fingers as he guessed at the right notes.

"It seems like the wrath of the gods

Got a punch on the nose

And it started to flow,

I think I might be sinking!

Throw me a line,

If I reach it in time,

I'll meet you up there

Where the path runs straight and high."

Mikey and I started riffing. I threw in a lot of chords that did not belong in the original song. We head banged our way around the whole living room, slamming guitar chords and bass lines, and then finally we remembered we should slow down and let Gerard finish singing. I almost quieted too quickly, I was so eager to hear him sing again.

He was standing up now; he looked so beaten, so innocent and down-trodden as he stood, his eyes down cast but smoldering.

"I'll be a king, I'll find a queen,

We'll play guitars, and cry and sing.

La la la, la la la la la…"

I wanted to laugh. Robert Plant's subtle la la la had become an emo scream in Gerard's hands. We were getting loud again on the tides of emotion.

Ride a white mare in the footsteps of dawn.

Try to find a lover who's never, ever, ever been born.

Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams,

Telling myself it's not as hard, hard, hard, hard hard hard…"

He drew it out longer than Robert Plant, bringing his voice up high and screaming through the last lyrics. He was so powerful, I wanted to sing with him. I raised my voice backing his, trying to hit a note lower than what he was singing. He calmed, until he was almost crying. "…as hard as it seems," he finished quietly. I could feel my heart tearing in two just to hear him sing those words. What is wrong with me? And who is this guy that can break me like that with only his voice?

I carefully built up the music from the quiet I had fallen into as Mikey and I followed the lead of Gerard's voice. I brought it up loud, and then clicked suddenly back to the clean channel, growing very quiet very fast. I brought it slowly up louder from there and ended the song gently. It was probably the most gentle song I've ever played in my life. But I liked it. Or what we had done…I liked that.

I looked slowly up at Gerard. He was breathing heavily, catching his breath. He brushed his hair back from his face.

"Gerard," I said, my voice almost weak from shock. I smacked myself mentally. Get a grip, so he happens to have a pretty good voice, so freaking what? Get over it. "Dude, you're amazing. That was awesome."

"Thank you," he said.

"See, Gee's far from useless," said Mikey, smiling at me. "I tell him that all the time, but he never believes me."

"Whatever, Mikes," said Gerard, collapsing on the sofa.

We played for several hours, I think. I kind of lost track of time in general. After Mikey had convinced Gerard to sing one song, he was a little more open to joining in with us. He sang a couple of songs for us, some less-engaging punk songs and stuff. And he knew Seven Nation Army.

Then we hung out for at least an hour after that, maybe longer. Gerard made coffee - which was apparently his and Mikey's hopeless addiction - and we crowded on the sofa drinking it, too busy talking and laughing to watch the trash TV the Way brothers had put on.

It was starting to get dark outside. I didn't want to leave, so I waited until the sun was completely down and the suburbs of Belleville were enveloped in Twilight before I suggested that I had to leave. The Ways were as disappointed as I was.

"Aw, come back soon!" said Mikey. "This was cool…I'll help you carry your stuff out."

He took my amp, which was nice, so I wouldn't have to try to look casual carrying the massive thing. Gerard went out before us, wearing his leather jacket and carrying his keys, looking contemplative.

I climbed into his car a few minutes later, after a final conversation with Mikey. He probably would have come had there been room in the car, or had their parents not been due home at any minute. I turned to Gerard, who was smoking another cigarette. He still looked lost in thought, and I was actually feeling exhausted - again - from the day I had spent with him. The second day in a row I had inadvertently spent with him and drank his coffee. He was going to make an addict of me.

We drove back to my house in relative silence, the faint music from the stereo and the sound of Gerard's slightly squeaky brakes at the stop signs the only sounds around us. He pulled up smoothly in front of my house. Once again, just like yesterday, I didn't want to leave his smoky, music-filled car. I wanted to sit here beside him, listening to rock music, surrounded by his smoke, forever.

"Thanks for coming over," he said quietly. "That was nice."

"Yeah, thanks for having me, man," I said, glancing his way. "That was awesome. And dude, seriously, your voice is awesome. You should sing more."

He smiled that faint, bemused smile that I was coming to appreciate. "Thanks."

I looked down at my hands, examining my chipped nails. "Well, I guess I should go," I said.

"Yeah," he answered, taking the last of the cigarette from his mouth and tossing it in the ash tray.

I was thinking about the night before when he had dropped me off at my house, and I thought of something. "Hey," I said, reaching between the seats and grabbing a random receipt. I was about to give it back, so I didn't think he would care. I snatched the pen he had used yesterday and hastily scribbled my number. "Here," I said, handing it to him with a cheeky smile. "Since I have your number, it's only fair that you have mine."

"Thanks," he said, smiling as he took it. This was a real smile this time, bright and lacking the pain I had come to expect from all of his smiles this evening.

I gave him a faint smile in return, and stepped out of the car.

Hey, guys :) I hope you like Going to California, by Led Zeppelin. It's a really awesome song, but I hope it wasn't too boring reading the lyrics and stuff if you haven't heard it. Btw, I had to research the Misfits for this chapter. They really do have a song called Helena, I thought that was awesome! And I didn't realize that MCR's Astro Zombies was originally done by the Misfits. Both great songs...no matter which band wrote them/is playing them. :)

Xoxo,

Rebel Rose