Anonymous

I rarely dream about past memories, but I did last night. I dreamt about the first time we met; the real first time. The first time you weren’t drunk and I wasn’t high, and we were able to hold a coherent conversation that didn’t end in a fight because I was a big mouth and you were a silent lion. We were both in some shitty Jersey comic book store that was crawling with rats and spiders. We had this awful fight the night before which resulted in me punching you in the face; I was too high to remember why I would inflict such violence on a man I only knew from dirty venues and concerts, but I figured whatever you said did not deserve a punch to the face.

You were way in the back, away from the pre-teen patrons. You had to be twenty-four or twenty five who acted years older, and I was twenty with the mindset of a sixteen year old; so we rarely saw eye to eye. We were milk and oil in the beginning of this insane relationship. I dug my hands into my hoody and strolled over to you; arrogant as if I was something back then.

I kicked the back of your leg to get your attention; you didn’t flinch at all.

“What the flying fuck do you want, Iero?”

“Oh, snappy,” I mocked, “are we still pissed because little Frankie was able to get the better of big scary Gerard?”

You turned your head slightly, giving me a nasty look with your green eye. “Fuck off shrimpy. I let you hit me so you could get some satisfaction once in your life.”

“I don’t need free punches; once my band gets big, I’ll have all the satisfaction I need.”

You turned around, an amused look in your eyes, “Your band? With a singing voice like yours, I doubt you’d be getting out of New Jersey.”

I was a little boy with a short temper to match, and that just flew me into a frenzy. I went to punch you in your cavity invested mouth, but you blocked all my vicious attempts by merely places your hand on my head. It had to have been an amusing sight…pathetic on my part however. After the fifth time trying to get to you, I realized two things; either you were too drunk to block me the night before, or you were just trying to humor me. Both did not give me the satisfaction I did desire, so I stopped.

“Are you quite finished acting like an eight year old?” You sighed.

I stood up straight, staring daggers into your eyes, “What exactly did you say last night to make me so mad.”

You shrugged, “Not much…only the truth.”

I cocked my head to the side like a confused child, “Truth?”

“You’re gay…”

“Bullshit, I am not gay!” I stomped my foot like a child- I don’t know who I was trying to convince, you or I. Truth was, I was in denial and had been for a while. I had never had a boyfriend, but I had fucked nearly every guy who gave off that gay vibe…whether it be bandmates or their brothers- or both depending on the situation. Back then, it was the other way around. Boys were the fuck buddies. Boys I never got into a serious relationship with. I just relished in the fact that I could have both guys and girls, but could always go back to being “normal.”

You got this glint in your eyes, like you could see right through my little façade, and grabbed me by the waist. “Come here, you.” You pulled me into a kiss. Our lips smashed together, sending a tingle through my body. Yes, a tingle. That’s how it started. Just a tingle that danced through me as if trying to pull me closer. In shock, I opened my mouth and allowed your tongue to enter my cavern. Is that even a good analogy? Does it even matter? You kissed me, for real. You poured your emotion into me; and it wasn’t the happy kind of emotion as one would hope. It was…sad. So sad. I could feel your heart ache as you kissed me- as if you knew even then that I could never give you everything you wanted.

“Frank…” a meek female voice called for me…

That’s when I remembered my precious girlfriend…waiting outside for me. She must have come in…

We broke the kiss, but our lips hovered near…frozen. Fear of moving because we hoped the voice behind me was just the wind. I watched your eyes move slowly to the figure that I called my “one true love.” From the look of fear and shock, my worse dream was coming true. Everything I had worked to prove was coming undone.

I turned around, peeling your arms off me, and looked right into Jamia’s tearful eyes.

“Mia…” I whispered. She shook her head violently.

“Why Frankie,” She cried, “Why did you lie!”

I guess I was the first liar of My Chemical Romance…

She ran out of the comic book store- and I ran after her as if I could savor my last bit of normalcy. I left you there, stranded, proving everything you thought of me. That I was going to torture you with my yo-yo act; you just knew it, that moment when I choose her over you. I don’t even know why- I think it was respect. I respected Jamia because of everything she went through to be with someone like me. She put up with me…she loved me. I was the one to take her purity. I dirtied her with my filth and she never…never looked at me differently. And I just destroyed her, by not only cheating on her but cheating on her with a man.

And like a moron she took me back, because I promised her I wasn’t gay. I promised her. I lied to her. We stayed together for two more years before I realized how selfish I was by keeping her as nothing more but a cover. I couldn’t do that to her- I couldn’t let her live her life with a man who could only love her half-assed.

Anyway, two days later after the comic book store incident, I was sitting on the hood of my car when you came up to me.

“Thought I’d find you here,” you said as if it were common knowledge that I stayed at the park late and just stared into space. It wasn’t, but I’m sure someone who did know told you.

“What do you want,” I snapped as you took a seat next to me.

“I heard you and your band broke up?”

“Bad chemistry, I don’t work well with others apparently.”

“Well, I can personally vouch for that,” you laughed at me. I hated your mocking laugh; I would have punched you in the face again if it weren’t for the fact I was still high from the kiss.

“Are you here to mock me-“

“No,” you handed me a pile of papers, “I came to ask you to join my band.”

I raised an eyebrow, “You want me to join My Chemical Romance?”

“Yes,” you said with a smile, “I think you would fill up our sound really well. You are a great guitarist and you do have a good voice.”

I could tell you were lying, but at that point I didn’t care. You, Gerard Way, were complementing me. “Yeah, well…I guess I have nothing better to do.”

“We are going to make it big, just watch. We have a message. We have a meaning. We aren’t like these other bands from New Jersey, Frank, I think…I think we can do it.”

You were a dreamer and that’s what first drew me too you. I liked the way you talked, like you were so sure about everything. I liked the way your eyes would glint like the stars, and I could see all your hopes and dreams in your eyes. I believed you, just because your eyes were sure of our ability as a band. Even if, at the time, your words seemed so far-fetched and unbelievable, I was convinced. You sold me on the idea of this band being different, having a message. I think you forgot that message Gerard. I think you forgot what we stood for.

But back then, staring on your on the hood of my car, looking up into the sky…I wanted to be apart of your dream.

“Okay, Way,” I said as I looked through the pieces of crumpled white paper that turned out to be all your thoughts. Your lyrics to our first songs. One caught my eye…the one called “Demolition Lovers…” It wasn’t wrinkled as if it had been hiding in a draw for ages. It was fresh, the ink still wet and filled with life. The words popped out and imbedded themselves in my mind…

“Who’s this song about?” I asked, touching the lyrics with my finger...

“It’s about…” but you stopped yourself, and just looked at me…sad….very said. “A girl a like.”

Like? Those words were not meant for just a girl you liked. They were meant for the person you loved…

So Gerard why…why didn’t you tell me that song…was for me?