Post by xToTheENDx on Sept 21, 2008 14:54:16 GMT -5
Title: Of Aliens And Science Projects (Back To You)
Author: Sarah Rody
Rating: PG, I guess.
Point of view: First person, Gerard's
Pairing: Mentions of Gerard/Lyn-Z; Frank/Gerard
Summary: After Lindsey leaves Gerard alone in California, Gerard goes home and figures out a lot about love, life, and and above all, frienship; from someone he never expected.
Author Notes: Inspired by Coconut Records' It's Not You It's Me and West Coast; both of which can be listened to Here. It's a little long, but well worth the time, I think. Enjoy.
-----
And so she left.
And I can't believe she's gone, just like that, leaving me here in this stupid apartment in this stupid city; with nowhere to go and no one to run to, now that she's not here. She left as quickly as she came, and left me in the same emotional state she first found me in, too.
I haven't cried this hard in years, I realised as I packed my things together. It's been years since I sobbed so hard that my throat ached with painful tightness and my chest hurt like it was being ripped in two, like my heart was breaking all over again. I cried until I absolutely couldn't cry anymore, cried until my lips and skin felt dehydrated and my eyes stung from that aweful salthingyer discharge we call tears. This is really what it's like to have your heart shattered in two, to realise that every single "I love you" and "together forever" was a lie; to realise you were living a lie. Because no matter how much you love someone, no matter how beautiful they are to you and no matter how happy you want to make someone, they'll never love you for you. They're just in it for for themselves, for their own selfish gain.
By the time I'm laying on the living room couch later in the evening the heaving-chest cries have stopped, and have been replaced by anger; anger and pain and cold and empty. I don't know which I hate more, honestly; probably the emptiness, because at least when I'm crying and wailing like a child I'm feeling. I've always been an emotional person, and it's been a long time since I've been this dead feeling.
Screw you, Lindsey, I think to myself. not for leaving, but for making me love you so much. Because even though you've broken my heart like no other, I still love you.
I'll have to tell her that someday.
--
I leave for Jersey in the earliest hours of the morning, before the sun's even risen. I don't know why I'm going, I don't know where I'll stay when I get there or how long I'll even stay. It'll take me several days to get there and flying would be easier, but I don't care. I'm going back to where my brother and best friend and bandmates are, back to where I came from.
I'm going home.
--
I took my time getting home, too, and it took me nearly four days to get there. Once at my destination I got a room at the cheapest, trashiest motel I could find and then called Frank. And boy, I've never been happier to talk to him in my life.
We talked for literally hours, and I told him everything that had happened in the past week. Frank's a good listener, and it felt so good to just tell him everything that had been on my mind, to have someone who genuinely cared. We finally had to end our conversation because Jamia got home; but we arranged to meet the next day.
That was the first night since Lyn left that I slept peacefully.
--
Frank showed up at the motel fairly early the next day, and we spent the entire afternoon talking. At first our conversation picked up where we had left off the night before, but before long we began to stray away from our original subject, drifting back to older times - times before Lindsey and Jamia even. For that time, which seemed to last forever but somehow not nearly long enough, Frank and I were just two best friends sitting in a cheap motel room, talking and smoking cigarettes. For the first time since Lindsey had left I was really happy, and for a short while I didn't even care that she was gone. All I cared about was Frank and the conversation I was having with him.
Frank is, like I said earlier, a good listener; but he's also one of the greatest storytellers I've ever met. He loves having someone who will listen to his tales, his adventures, and I love listening to him just as much. Okay, so I had heard most of the stories before and was even a part of some of them, but I didn't care at all. I listened to him not for what he was saying as much as just to hear his voice, to watch his expressions.
Around sunset we left the motel long enough to go to a truckstop a little way down the road and get something to eat. When we left the motel room it was raining a little, one of those kind of rains that isn't enough to get you really wet but raining hard enough to make you cold and miserable if you stayed in it long enough. Fortunately for Frank and I, we didn't, moving quickly to the shelter of his car.
"Could the weather suit this day any more perfectly?" He asked me as we pulled out of the motel parking lot.
"I know," I said, "It's like something out of a movie."
And it was. The slate-grey color of the sky was beautiful and it was like God or the universe or whatever custom-made it for Frank and I. That thought led to a very deep conversation about God and what we thought of him slash her slash it, which carried on for quite a while.
"Here's what I think," Frank said as we walked into the truckstop resturant, "I think it's all one big science project and God's one big scientist."
I smiled. If anyone other than Frank had said that, it'd would've sounded stupid and crazy; but coming from him it somehow sounded... I don't know, genius.
And so we sat there in that old truckstop cafe, drinking cheap, truckstop coffee and smoking some more cigarettes while talking about God and science projects. It was actually an incredibly deep conversation for one being held in such a place, and when we got particularly enthusiastic we earned some funny looks from the few other people in the room; but we didn't care. We were figuring out the meaning of life, the two of us, sitting across from each-other at a booth with a somewhat dirty table.
By the time we left, the meaning of life had somehow progressed onto life on other planets; and as we drove back to the motel, carrying on about aliens, I realised something.
I was in love with Frank.
That simple. I didn't spend that much time thinking about it and it didn't effect me in any profound way or anything; just one of those kind of fleeting thoughts that passes through your mind, like realising you need to buy a new pair of jeans because your current ones are worn out. I was in love with Frank, and there was nothing I could do about it.
All the while the boy in question carried on talking, rambling on about why, if aliens exist, they haven't invaded us yet.
"...I used to have a friend who said, but he was really weird and I mean really weird, man, who said that the reason they don't try to co-exist with us is because it'd be like us living with roaches or something. They're so f**kin' far ahead of us that living with us would be like living with filth, y'know? But then again, I dunno, and that's just what he said."
While he speaks there's this crazy-excited light in his hazel eyes, making them glow in the evening light. I've often wondered about how someone could have eyes like Frank's; so soft and kind but yet so bright just the same. Like a bonfire in the middle of a snowstorm, like it raining while the sun is shining.
Which, speaking of rain. By the time we got back to the motel the nice drizzle had turned into a steady, cold rain, soaking Frank and I as we ran across the parking lot and to my room. We probably wouldn't have gotten nearly as wet if it hadn't taken me over a minute to get the key-card to work; but the stupid thing must have gotten scratched up while it was in my back pocket.
And even though we were cold and wet and Frank didn't even have a change of clothes, neither one of us was bothered much. We just turned the heater on in the room and sat down side-by-side on the bed, pulling our wet shoes and socks off. We continued on talking until I noticed that, despite the heat being on, Frank was shivering in his wet jeans and Misfits T-shirt.
So, without really thinking I pulled the cheap-motel comforter up off the bed, wrapping it around his shoulders and mumbling something about his weak immune system and him catching a cold. He grinned at me a little and said 'thanks', and there we let things drop.
For the first time since he had gotten there, we were quiet. It wasn't awkward or anything though, actually very relaxed and comfortable. Frank and I had known each other so long and seen so much stuff together that there was no way we could be awkward around each other anymore. You can only be awkward around people you aren't completely comfortable being with in the first place, people you're trying to impress; and in no way were Frank and I trying to impress each other. We had passed that stage years ago.
It was then that I realised it had never been this way with Lindsey, and probably never would have been. She hadn't been there for half of the stuff Frank had, and never would be. Even though I had loved her and still did, she could never beat Frank.
Although, I thought, I was beginning to love her a little less and less the longer I was around Frank. He made me realise that there was so much more to the world than I had thought there had been just a few days ago. There was cross-country driving trips and staying in sorry motel rooms and enjoying it and truckstop conversations about God and running through parking lots in the rain and not minding; but above all, there was Frankie himself, there was that crazy diamond I called my best friend.
And on that ending note I leaned over from where I was sitting beside him, putting my arms around his shoulders and back, pulling him close to me in an embrace, and murmuring "I love you" quietly. My only responce was two heavily-tattooed arms wrapping around me, and an "I love you too". We just stayed like that for a few minutes, arms around each other, neither one of us really completely understanding what had just happened. After a minute or so I pulled away from him, looking him in the eye.
"I mean I love you as more than just a friend, Frank."
Frank said nothing but didn't break eye contact with me, taking in what I had just told him.
Now, I return to what I had said earlier about awkwardness and knowing someone well - Frank and I truly knew one another so well that neither could be embarrassed by what the other said or did, if I could tell Frank something that deep and personal and not have him flip out on me. He was far from flipping out, actually, he didn't even seem that suprised or taken aback. He was just thinking, processing what I had said and figuring out how to respond. After a minute or so he broke eye contact with me, leaning back with his hands on the bed and sighing heavily. Then he looked up at me again and smiled a little.
"Well," he said, "I guess I kind of feel the same way."
Before I could figure out how to respond we were interrupted by a loud clap of thunder, making us both jump a little. Without a word Frank got up and went over to the window, cheap bed comforter still wrapped around him, pulling the heavy, flower-print curtain back with a tattooed hand.
"It's storming."
I go over to the window and stand just behind him, my hands instinctively going to rest on his shoulders.
"Yeah."
And we stood there like that for a few minutes, hands-on-shoulders and hands-on-window; before we both went back over to the bed and sat down again; him sitting on the edge of the bed and me sort of behind-beside him. We were silent for a minute or so more, but when I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around him from behind, resting my head on his shoulder; he spoke.
"Are you gonna go back to California?"
When I spoke my voice was soft and sort of weak, almost like my throat had been sore. "Not unless I have to."
He sighed quietly and placed one of his hands on top of mine, not saying anything for a few moments.
"You know that this can't be."
"I know."
And I really did. I knew it couldn't be and that Frank loved Jamia even though he loved me too, apparantly, and I knew that this - whatever the hell it was, exactly - couldn't go on. It'd screw things up way too much. Even though I knew all this, I carried on, barely raising my voice above a whisper.
"But just for tonight."
He echoed my words, nodding his head a little before moving away from me and getting up off the bed, pulling the sheets down and crawling under them. I laid down beside him almost instantly, so that we were facing each other. He grabbed one of my hands and pulled it close to his chest, sighing heavily and shuddering a little; and then my best friend did something I never thought he'd do.
He cried.
It really took me by suprise and I had absolutely no idea what to say or do, so I finally settled for using the hand he wasn't still holding to brush a few stray hairs out of his face. He seemed to take that as an invitation to move closer to me, and scooted forward on the bed until he was as close as he could possibly get, throwing an arm over my side. At a total loss for what else to do I put my arms around him, resting my chin on the top of his head, and started to cry myself. Not like I had cried the other day back at my apartment, no, this was much more controlled and somehow calm. Frank, on the other hand, was now crying uncontrollably, his whole body wracking with each sob. I didn't even try to stop him or calm him down; because somehow I knew this had to happen, we needed this for some reason. Somehow this whole situation was needed, I realised, even Lindsey leaving me. I didn't know how or why, but this was the way things had to be.
Outside the storm kept on raging, and once again I thought it was like the weather was made to suit our situation. It's funny how things work out that way, it really is. Like God just thinks "screw you" to all the people around you and tailors the weather to suit your own situation; or maybe it's just a coincidence. I don't know, and I guess it really doesn't matter.
Frank's trembling voice broke through my thoughts. "Why are we crying?" He asked, looking up at me and trying his best to smile. Frank never seemed to find it hard to smile, not even in a situation like the current one.
I sort of half-laughed-half-sobbed and looked down at him. "I don't know."
He scooted away from me a little, pulling a pillow under his head so our faces could be level. "Because we really shouldn't be. Crying isn't gonna help us any, and really, what is there to help in the first place? It's stupid of us, Gee. Really stupid."
He was right, entirely. Crying like we were was stupid, and it couldn't help a thing. It wouldn't make Frank and I not love each other or make Lindsey love me again or anything. It's a stupid action all around, really, and whoever invented it must have been an idiot; Or maybe he just knew something Frank and I didn't. I don't know.
"I think," Frank said, "We're crying because we don't want things to be this way."
"I don't know what I want, honestly," I told him, shuddering a little and inhaling sharply. "I don't know if I wish Lindsey never left me or not or if I even want to be here with you right now or anything anymore."
"I know - well, I don't mean I know - but - I understand what you mean."
And we fell silent again, lost in our own thoughts. There was so much that needed to be said, so many ideas and dreams and nightmares in our minds, but neither of us could put them into words just yet.
"I think," I said after a several minutes, "that it really doesn't matter what we want. This is the way things are, the way God or Fate or whatever has things set out to be, no matter what we think or want."
He nodded his head a little, sniffling. "We're just another one of God's science projects, I guess. Puppets of fate and all that."
"Yeah."
"So we're fatalists, I guess."
"Mhm," I mumbled, and paused a minute for continuing. "Why does there have to be labels for everything?"
He rolled over onto his back. "I don't know. That's a good question."
"Because it's stupid. Everybody's got a label for their religion, their political party, their sexuality, and every different relationship you can imagine. Why can't people just be people?"
"Because when they are, stuff like this happens."
We fell into silence once again, listening to the rain hit the motel window. We had both quit crying a few minutes ago, but my sinuses still hurt and my eyes felt swollen. Frank didn't seem to be too bothered though; laying on his back and stairing up at the orange peel ceiling, finding some beauty in it I could not.
"What are we now?" I asked after several more moments, moving closer to him and resting my head on his shoulder.
"We're best friends," he responded, "just like before."
"But we're more than friends now."
"Not after tonight," he said, shifting a little and crossing his legs at the ankles.
My only responce was a heavy sigh, tilting my head upwards and kissing the side of his neck softly. "We could do this again sometime, maybe, mm? Go back to this motel and have our nights every once-in-awhile, just like this."
"No." He said quickly, not having to think about his answer at all. "I wish we could, Gerard, I really f**king do; but no."
"You're right," I realised, wrapping one arm over his stomach and around him as I spoke. "It'd only make things harder the rest of the time."
He placed his hand over my arm, breathing in fast and out slow. "I wish we could, though."
"Me too," I said, and I really meant it with all my heart. I wished that night would never end, but I knew it would all too soon and it'd never happen again. Like I had said, it would have only made things harder if it had. This was, as I had said earlier, the way things had to be; or at least, should be.
"I think you should go back to California, just for a while," he said after a few minutes.
"I don't want to," And oh god, I really didn't want to go back, to have to be reminded of my life with Lindsey and her leaving me, not even for a short while.
"I know," he told me, "and I understand why not; but you need to, need to go back and get the rest of your stuff, get away from all this for a little while, until we all get back together to start recording the next album."
He was right, I knew, and I gave up on arguing with him any further. Outside it thundered loudly, shaking the window and making lightning streak through the night sky bright enough that it lit up the motel room.
Frank sighed a little and tilted his head to the side, so his cheek was sort of resting on the crown of my head. "I love storms." He said quietly.
"Me too," I said, although I doubted I loved them as much as he did.
"This night is perfect."
"It is. I really do wish it could last forever."
He laughed a little. "Keep on wishin', and maybe it'll happen," he teased me, and I could feel him smiling.
I do believe that was the last thing we said that night, because shortly after that Frank fell asleep, leaving me to lay there beside him and listen to the rain fall. After a few minutes I got up as quietly as possible and lit a cigarette, watching him sleep while I smoked.
It's funny, I thought, how in one night two friends could become so much more, and then revert back to just friends again. Right then we were still more than friends, but by the next morning we'd simply be best friends again, and would never be anything more. I wasn't sure if I was completely happy with that situation, but I knew there was no changing it. Frank had been right when he had said we were puppets of fate. Science projects, if you will.
When I fell asleep that night the rain was still falling, and it was when both Frank and I woke up early the next morning as well. We got up and put our still damp socks and shoes back on and drove back down to the same truckstop we had eaten at the night before to have breakfast. We talked the entire time we ate, enjoying the little bit of time we had left as much as we could. We talked about simple things, about the weather and recording the next album. That would be the next time we saw each other, and we were both looking forward to it for more than one reason.
When we got back to the motel I got my things out of the room while Frank checked out for me, and then we met back out by my car and said our goodbyes.
"I love you," Frank said as we hugged each other, "And I can't wait to see you again."
"Me neither, I responded, "and I love you too."
He smiled, kissing the side of my face briefly. "Until we meet again," he said, and then turn walked away, across the parking lot, to where his car was.
When Frank and I pulled out of that parking lot, going our separate ways, we left behind that everything we had experienced in the past twenty-four hours forever; but even so I knew we'd never be quite the same. For one, I was sort of glad that Lindsey had left me, and I knew that everything would be okay from here on out, even though there might be a few rocky spots. I would go back to California, get the rest of my belongings, and go from there. Life would go on, and so would I. It sounded crazy, but I actually sort of wanted to thank Lyn for leaving. I probably would, someday.
Frank and I would go back to being nothing more than best friends, and although part of me didn't want things to go back, I knew I'd come to be alright with it with time. Frank had Jamia, and always would; and I'd find someone else; even though I was sure that from now on my best friend would always come first. Romantic relationships were questionable, but my friendship with Frank was forever.
And I really couldn't wait to get back together with Frank, Mikey, Ray, and Bob, and get to work on our next record. We had taken a break from music for too long, and I couldn't wait to get back to it.
I was feeling a hundred times more optimistic than I had been when I showed up here, I thought. Everything - literally everything - would work out now. I wasn't even going to mind going back to California all that much, which suprised me, but in a good way.
And just as I hit the Interstate, it stopped raining.
--------
I nearly killed myself over this one.
Comments = love.
Author: Sarah Rody
Rating: PG, I guess.
Point of view: First person, Gerard's
Pairing: Mentions of Gerard/Lyn-Z; Frank/Gerard
Summary: After Lindsey leaves Gerard alone in California, Gerard goes home and figures out a lot about love, life, and and above all, frienship; from someone he never expected.
Author Notes: Inspired by Coconut Records' It's Not You It's Me and West Coast; both of which can be listened to Here. It's a little long, but well worth the time, I think. Enjoy.
-----
And so she left.
And I can't believe she's gone, just like that, leaving me here in this stupid apartment in this stupid city; with nowhere to go and no one to run to, now that she's not here. She left as quickly as she came, and left me in the same emotional state she first found me in, too.
I haven't cried this hard in years, I realised as I packed my things together. It's been years since I sobbed so hard that my throat ached with painful tightness and my chest hurt like it was being ripped in two, like my heart was breaking all over again. I cried until I absolutely couldn't cry anymore, cried until my lips and skin felt dehydrated and my eyes stung from that aweful salthingyer discharge we call tears. This is really what it's like to have your heart shattered in two, to realise that every single "I love you" and "together forever" was a lie; to realise you were living a lie. Because no matter how much you love someone, no matter how beautiful they are to you and no matter how happy you want to make someone, they'll never love you for you. They're just in it for for themselves, for their own selfish gain.
By the time I'm laying on the living room couch later in the evening the heaving-chest cries have stopped, and have been replaced by anger; anger and pain and cold and empty. I don't know which I hate more, honestly; probably the emptiness, because at least when I'm crying and wailing like a child I'm feeling. I've always been an emotional person, and it's been a long time since I've been this dead feeling.
Screw you, Lindsey, I think to myself. not for leaving, but for making me love you so much. Because even though you've broken my heart like no other, I still love you.
I'll have to tell her that someday.
--
I leave for Jersey in the earliest hours of the morning, before the sun's even risen. I don't know why I'm going, I don't know where I'll stay when I get there or how long I'll even stay. It'll take me several days to get there and flying would be easier, but I don't care. I'm going back to where my brother and best friend and bandmates are, back to where I came from.
I'm going home.
--
I took my time getting home, too, and it took me nearly four days to get there. Once at my destination I got a room at the cheapest, trashiest motel I could find and then called Frank. And boy, I've never been happier to talk to him in my life.
We talked for literally hours, and I told him everything that had happened in the past week. Frank's a good listener, and it felt so good to just tell him everything that had been on my mind, to have someone who genuinely cared. We finally had to end our conversation because Jamia got home; but we arranged to meet the next day.
That was the first night since Lyn left that I slept peacefully.
--
Frank showed up at the motel fairly early the next day, and we spent the entire afternoon talking. At first our conversation picked up where we had left off the night before, but before long we began to stray away from our original subject, drifting back to older times - times before Lindsey and Jamia even. For that time, which seemed to last forever but somehow not nearly long enough, Frank and I were just two best friends sitting in a cheap motel room, talking and smoking cigarettes. For the first time since Lindsey had left I was really happy, and for a short while I didn't even care that she was gone. All I cared about was Frank and the conversation I was having with him.
Frank is, like I said earlier, a good listener; but he's also one of the greatest storytellers I've ever met. He loves having someone who will listen to his tales, his adventures, and I love listening to him just as much. Okay, so I had heard most of the stories before and was even a part of some of them, but I didn't care at all. I listened to him not for what he was saying as much as just to hear his voice, to watch his expressions.
Around sunset we left the motel long enough to go to a truckstop a little way down the road and get something to eat. When we left the motel room it was raining a little, one of those kind of rains that isn't enough to get you really wet but raining hard enough to make you cold and miserable if you stayed in it long enough. Fortunately for Frank and I, we didn't, moving quickly to the shelter of his car.
"Could the weather suit this day any more perfectly?" He asked me as we pulled out of the motel parking lot.
"I know," I said, "It's like something out of a movie."
And it was. The slate-grey color of the sky was beautiful and it was like God or the universe or whatever custom-made it for Frank and I. That thought led to a very deep conversation about God and what we thought of him slash her slash it, which carried on for quite a while.
"Here's what I think," Frank said as we walked into the truckstop resturant, "I think it's all one big science project and God's one big scientist."
I smiled. If anyone other than Frank had said that, it'd would've sounded stupid and crazy; but coming from him it somehow sounded... I don't know, genius.
And so we sat there in that old truckstop cafe, drinking cheap, truckstop coffee and smoking some more cigarettes while talking about God and science projects. It was actually an incredibly deep conversation for one being held in such a place, and when we got particularly enthusiastic we earned some funny looks from the few other people in the room; but we didn't care. We were figuring out the meaning of life, the two of us, sitting across from each-other at a booth with a somewhat dirty table.
By the time we left, the meaning of life had somehow progressed onto life on other planets; and as we drove back to the motel, carrying on about aliens, I realised something.
I was in love with Frank.
That simple. I didn't spend that much time thinking about it and it didn't effect me in any profound way or anything; just one of those kind of fleeting thoughts that passes through your mind, like realising you need to buy a new pair of jeans because your current ones are worn out. I was in love with Frank, and there was nothing I could do about it.
All the while the boy in question carried on talking, rambling on about why, if aliens exist, they haven't invaded us yet.
"...I used to have a friend who said, but he was really weird and I mean really weird, man, who said that the reason they don't try to co-exist with us is because it'd be like us living with roaches or something. They're so f**kin' far ahead of us that living with us would be like living with filth, y'know? But then again, I dunno, and that's just what he said."
While he speaks there's this crazy-excited light in his hazel eyes, making them glow in the evening light. I've often wondered about how someone could have eyes like Frank's; so soft and kind but yet so bright just the same. Like a bonfire in the middle of a snowstorm, like it raining while the sun is shining.
Which, speaking of rain. By the time we got back to the motel the nice drizzle had turned into a steady, cold rain, soaking Frank and I as we ran across the parking lot and to my room. We probably wouldn't have gotten nearly as wet if it hadn't taken me over a minute to get the key-card to work; but the stupid thing must have gotten scratched up while it was in my back pocket.
And even though we were cold and wet and Frank didn't even have a change of clothes, neither one of us was bothered much. We just turned the heater on in the room and sat down side-by-side on the bed, pulling our wet shoes and socks off. We continued on talking until I noticed that, despite the heat being on, Frank was shivering in his wet jeans and Misfits T-shirt.
So, without really thinking I pulled the cheap-motel comforter up off the bed, wrapping it around his shoulders and mumbling something about his weak immune system and him catching a cold. He grinned at me a little and said 'thanks', and there we let things drop.
For the first time since he had gotten there, we were quiet. It wasn't awkward or anything though, actually very relaxed and comfortable. Frank and I had known each other so long and seen so much stuff together that there was no way we could be awkward around each other anymore. You can only be awkward around people you aren't completely comfortable being with in the first place, people you're trying to impress; and in no way were Frank and I trying to impress each other. We had passed that stage years ago.
It was then that I realised it had never been this way with Lindsey, and probably never would have been. She hadn't been there for half of the stuff Frank had, and never would be. Even though I had loved her and still did, she could never beat Frank.
Although, I thought, I was beginning to love her a little less and less the longer I was around Frank. He made me realise that there was so much more to the world than I had thought there had been just a few days ago. There was cross-country driving trips and staying in sorry motel rooms and enjoying it and truckstop conversations about God and running through parking lots in the rain and not minding; but above all, there was Frankie himself, there was that crazy diamond I called my best friend.
And on that ending note I leaned over from where I was sitting beside him, putting my arms around his shoulders and back, pulling him close to me in an embrace, and murmuring "I love you" quietly. My only responce was two heavily-tattooed arms wrapping around me, and an "I love you too". We just stayed like that for a few minutes, arms around each other, neither one of us really completely understanding what had just happened. After a minute or so I pulled away from him, looking him in the eye.
"I mean I love you as more than just a friend, Frank."
Frank said nothing but didn't break eye contact with me, taking in what I had just told him.
Now, I return to what I had said earlier about awkwardness and knowing someone well - Frank and I truly knew one another so well that neither could be embarrassed by what the other said or did, if I could tell Frank something that deep and personal and not have him flip out on me. He was far from flipping out, actually, he didn't even seem that suprised or taken aback. He was just thinking, processing what I had said and figuring out how to respond. After a minute or so he broke eye contact with me, leaning back with his hands on the bed and sighing heavily. Then he looked up at me again and smiled a little.
"Well," he said, "I guess I kind of feel the same way."
Before I could figure out how to respond we were interrupted by a loud clap of thunder, making us both jump a little. Without a word Frank got up and went over to the window, cheap bed comforter still wrapped around him, pulling the heavy, flower-print curtain back with a tattooed hand.
"It's storming."
I go over to the window and stand just behind him, my hands instinctively going to rest on his shoulders.
"Yeah."
And we stood there like that for a few minutes, hands-on-shoulders and hands-on-window; before we both went back over to the bed and sat down again; him sitting on the edge of the bed and me sort of behind-beside him. We were silent for a minute or so more, but when I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around him from behind, resting my head on his shoulder; he spoke.
"Are you gonna go back to California?"
When I spoke my voice was soft and sort of weak, almost like my throat had been sore. "Not unless I have to."
He sighed quietly and placed one of his hands on top of mine, not saying anything for a few moments.
"You know that this can't be."
"I know."
And I really did. I knew it couldn't be and that Frank loved Jamia even though he loved me too, apparantly, and I knew that this - whatever the hell it was, exactly - couldn't go on. It'd screw things up way too much. Even though I knew all this, I carried on, barely raising my voice above a whisper.
"But just for tonight."
He echoed my words, nodding his head a little before moving away from me and getting up off the bed, pulling the sheets down and crawling under them. I laid down beside him almost instantly, so that we were facing each other. He grabbed one of my hands and pulled it close to his chest, sighing heavily and shuddering a little; and then my best friend did something I never thought he'd do.
He cried.
It really took me by suprise and I had absolutely no idea what to say or do, so I finally settled for using the hand he wasn't still holding to brush a few stray hairs out of his face. He seemed to take that as an invitation to move closer to me, and scooted forward on the bed until he was as close as he could possibly get, throwing an arm over my side. At a total loss for what else to do I put my arms around him, resting my chin on the top of his head, and started to cry myself. Not like I had cried the other day back at my apartment, no, this was much more controlled and somehow calm. Frank, on the other hand, was now crying uncontrollably, his whole body wracking with each sob. I didn't even try to stop him or calm him down; because somehow I knew this had to happen, we needed this for some reason. Somehow this whole situation was needed, I realised, even Lindsey leaving me. I didn't know how or why, but this was the way things had to be.
Outside the storm kept on raging, and once again I thought it was like the weather was made to suit our situation. It's funny how things work out that way, it really is. Like God just thinks "screw you" to all the people around you and tailors the weather to suit your own situation; or maybe it's just a coincidence. I don't know, and I guess it really doesn't matter.
Frank's trembling voice broke through my thoughts. "Why are we crying?" He asked, looking up at me and trying his best to smile. Frank never seemed to find it hard to smile, not even in a situation like the current one.
I sort of half-laughed-half-sobbed and looked down at him. "I don't know."
He scooted away from me a little, pulling a pillow under his head so our faces could be level. "Because we really shouldn't be. Crying isn't gonna help us any, and really, what is there to help in the first place? It's stupid of us, Gee. Really stupid."
He was right, entirely. Crying like we were was stupid, and it couldn't help a thing. It wouldn't make Frank and I not love each other or make Lindsey love me again or anything. It's a stupid action all around, really, and whoever invented it must have been an idiot; Or maybe he just knew something Frank and I didn't. I don't know.
"I think," Frank said, "We're crying because we don't want things to be this way."
"I don't know what I want, honestly," I told him, shuddering a little and inhaling sharply. "I don't know if I wish Lindsey never left me or not or if I even want to be here with you right now or anything anymore."
"I know - well, I don't mean I know - but - I understand what you mean."
And we fell silent again, lost in our own thoughts. There was so much that needed to be said, so many ideas and dreams and nightmares in our minds, but neither of us could put them into words just yet.
"I think," I said after a several minutes, "that it really doesn't matter what we want. This is the way things are, the way God or Fate or whatever has things set out to be, no matter what we think or want."
He nodded his head a little, sniffling. "We're just another one of God's science projects, I guess. Puppets of fate and all that."
"Yeah."
"So we're fatalists, I guess."
"Mhm," I mumbled, and paused a minute for continuing. "Why does there have to be labels for everything?"
He rolled over onto his back. "I don't know. That's a good question."
"Because it's stupid. Everybody's got a label for their religion, their political party, their sexuality, and every different relationship you can imagine. Why can't people just be people?"
"Because when they are, stuff like this happens."
We fell into silence once again, listening to the rain hit the motel window. We had both quit crying a few minutes ago, but my sinuses still hurt and my eyes felt swollen. Frank didn't seem to be too bothered though; laying on his back and stairing up at the orange peel ceiling, finding some beauty in it I could not.
"What are we now?" I asked after several more moments, moving closer to him and resting my head on his shoulder.
"We're best friends," he responded, "just like before."
"But we're more than friends now."
"Not after tonight," he said, shifting a little and crossing his legs at the ankles.
My only responce was a heavy sigh, tilting my head upwards and kissing the side of his neck softly. "We could do this again sometime, maybe, mm? Go back to this motel and have our nights every once-in-awhile, just like this."
"No." He said quickly, not having to think about his answer at all. "I wish we could, Gerard, I really f**king do; but no."
"You're right," I realised, wrapping one arm over his stomach and around him as I spoke. "It'd only make things harder the rest of the time."
He placed his hand over my arm, breathing in fast and out slow. "I wish we could, though."
"Me too," I said, and I really meant it with all my heart. I wished that night would never end, but I knew it would all too soon and it'd never happen again. Like I had said, it would have only made things harder if it had. This was, as I had said earlier, the way things had to be; or at least, should be.
"I think you should go back to California, just for a while," he said after a few minutes.
"I don't want to," And oh god, I really didn't want to go back, to have to be reminded of my life with Lindsey and her leaving me, not even for a short while.
"I know," he told me, "and I understand why not; but you need to, need to go back and get the rest of your stuff, get away from all this for a little while, until we all get back together to start recording the next album."
He was right, I knew, and I gave up on arguing with him any further. Outside it thundered loudly, shaking the window and making lightning streak through the night sky bright enough that it lit up the motel room.
Frank sighed a little and tilted his head to the side, so his cheek was sort of resting on the crown of my head. "I love storms." He said quietly.
"Me too," I said, although I doubted I loved them as much as he did.
"This night is perfect."
"It is. I really do wish it could last forever."
He laughed a little. "Keep on wishin', and maybe it'll happen," he teased me, and I could feel him smiling.
I do believe that was the last thing we said that night, because shortly after that Frank fell asleep, leaving me to lay there beside him and listen to the rain fall. After a few minutes I got up as quietly as possible and lit a cigarette, watching him sleep while I smoked.
It's funny, I thought, how in one night two friends could become so much more, and then revert back to just friends again. Right then we were still more than friends, but by the next morning we'd simply be best friends again, and would never be anything more. I wasn't sure if I was completely happy with that situation, but I knew there was no changing it. Frank had been right when he had said we were puppets of fate. Science projects, if you will.
When I fell asleep that night the rain was still falling, and it was when both Frank and I woke up early the next morning as well. We got up and put our still damp socks and shoes back on and drove back down to the same truckstop we had eaten at the night before to have breakfast. We talked the entire time we ate, enjoying the little bit of time we had left as much as we could. We talked about simple things, about the weather and recording the next album. That would be the next time we saw each other, and we were both looking forward to it for more than one reason.
When we got back to the motel I got my things out of the room while Frank checked out for me, and then we met back out by my car and said our goodbyes.
"I love you," Frank said as we hugged each other, "And I can't wait to see you again."
"Me neither, I responded, "and I love you too."
He smiled, kissing the side of my face briefly. "Until we meet again," he said, and then turn walked away, across the parking lot, to where his car was.
When Frank and I pulled out of that parking lot, going our separate ways, we left behind that everything we had experienced in the past twenty-four hours forever; but even so I knew we'd never be quite the same. For one, I was sort of glad that Lindsey had left me, and I knew that everything would be okay from here on out, even though there might be a few rocky spots. I would go back to California, get the rest of my belongings, and go from there. Life would go on, and so would I. It sounded crazy, but I actually sort of wanted to thank Lyn for leaving. I probably would, someday.
Frank and I would go back to being nothing more than best friends, and although part of me didn't want things to go back, I knew I'd come to be alright with it with time. Frank had Jamia, and always would; and I'd find someone else; even though I was sure that from now on my best friend would always come first. Romantic relationships were questionable, but my friendship with Frank was forever.
And I really couldn't wait to get back together with Frank, Mikey, Ray, and Bob, and get to work on our next record. We had taken a break from music for too long, and I couldn't wait to get back to it.
I was feeling a hundred times more optimistic than I had been when I showed up here, I thought. Everything - literally everything - would work out now. I wasn't even going to mind going back to California all that much, which suprised me, but in a good way.
And just as I hit the Interstate, it stopped raining.
--------
I nearly killed myself over this one.
Comments = love.