Make A Wish

We bear scars of things long past

Defeated by anguish of memories

We recall what we want long destroyed

It makes no difference now

No difference

It haunts; it digs deep

It won’t let go

It feeds on reminiscence

It devours pained remembrance

Pain on pain

Agony is life’s lesson

Will you be crushed?

Somehow, rise above it?

Hold them inside

Contain them within

Memories without remembering

Keep the key hidden

No good comes for dwelling

Hold them inside

Contain them within

Memories without remembering

Keep the key hidden

Easier said than done. He hummed the haunting melody. The tune wasn’t easy to follow, and he still hadn’t quite figured out the notes yet. He was working on it though. This was the song that got to him on the latest album from Gerard Way. This was the song that made his blood sing. He’d figure the bloody sheet music out even if it took him ‘til next Wednesday.

He rested his forehead down on his desk as he felt a hard dizziness slam into his temples. Damn medication. Ruin his concentration, it did. Closing his eyes, he let himself rest his mind just a bit. Besides, it’d give him time to simply listen to the sweet, sweet song. His finger went automatically to the play button and pressed it down.

His earphones were flooded with the silky smoothness of Gerards sexy voice singing his favorite track. It was currently on continuous repeat. How soothing. How bloody stimulating. He’d heard that Gerard Way was bisexual. If so, that’d make his day. Not that he’d ever meet the man. No chance in ruddy hell of that happening. Listening to his voice was enough, it took the edge off his pain-- off his remembering.

Such a damn tragedy he couldn’t accept the scholarship he’d gotten from the Guildhall School of Music. Such a blasted misfortune that he was currently too bloody sick to be away from the hospital for more than a few days at a time. The darn doctors were always pumping too much shit into his system that he hardly got any time conscious, much less any time to actually think about composing. If he ever got that bone marrow transplant, he’d cry with relief.

His brilliant emerald eyes flickered open. Dizzy feeling gone. Good. He lifted his head and picked up his pencil again. Pressing on the back button to start the song over, he listened to the music pelting out of the Sony Discman in waves that made his ears tingle with pleasure. A pleasure that slid down his body when he heard Gerard’s smoky voice rasp out the beginning lyrics.

The tingling sensation settled into his groin like it did sometimes when he was feeling on the better side of the bed. It wasn’t an unwelcome sensation; it at least reminded him that he was still able to feel some pleasant things in life. Too bad he’d never get rid of his virginity to really experience the joy of a sex marathon. Between week long or longer hospital visits and being quarantined to his room when he was at home, he really didn’t get the chance to meet other queers like himself.

He dropped the pencil onto the desk and let it roll off. He wasn’t going to get anymore notes added onto the partially finished sheet music before he had the beginnings of a full blown erection. Resigning himself to this fact of life, he reached into his boxers and started stroking himself lightly. Nice. Too bad it wasn’t someone else’s hand. He definitely wouldn’t mind having Gerard Way jerking him off. But his hand was better than nothing.

“Frank!” he heard his mother’s voice calling out to him. Damn it. “Frank Iero! Open the door right now! You know what we’ve told you! Don’t lock your door! What will we do if you pass out in there?”

His mother was paranoid. He wasn’t going to pass out, but he understood her concern. He sighed and tried to will his hard on down. Not that it was going to do much good, look like he’d have to deal with blue balls. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a good reason to keep his door lock. He didn’t particularly want his parents to walk in on him while he was wanking. What child would?

“Frank Iero! Open this door immediately!” his mother cried out, her voice more anxious than angry. Typical, his parents were both like this now. They’d been like this for the past 5 years. But he’d live with it wouldn’t he? Too bad the sucker had to come out of remission.

“Coming mum,” he grumbled, standing up and grimacing at the ache in his nether regions. “I’m coming, all right?” First, he had to get pants that would hide his erection. He nearly fell over trying to get into his pants in record time and open the door fast enough to stop his mother from bulldozing it open.

His mother was in tears. Shit. He felt awful whenever his mother looked like this, and she was looking like this more and more often. If his father wasn’t such a rock through it all, he’d crack and he couldn’t crack-- not when he needed to be strong for his mother if not for himself.

“Mum,” he whispered softly, holding his arms out to her, “don’t cry. You know I hate it when you cry.”

“I’m sorry,” his mother mumbled as she wrapped her beautiful son in her arms tightly like she never wanted to let go. “It just, there was another phone call from Dr. Bryar.”

Not good news then. He stroked his mother’s back reassuringly. “It’s all right. Why don’t you tell me what he said then? I might as well know. It’s not like I’m a child anymore. I haven’t really been a child since this whole episode began 5 years ago.” He pressed a light kiss on her forehead. “Mum, tell me. Don’t make me have to call Bob now.”

It used to distress him whenever he heard that Bob had called, but he knew that his doctor was doing the best for him that he could-- that he knew how to do. He adored Bob, he was his favourite person in the entire world other than his parents and maybe Gerard Way. That is if he ever met the man. He didn’t really get a chance to hang out with other children, and Bob was a fun and energetic doctor. If he didn’t have him for his doctor, he didn’t know what he’d do.

“You know how you told Dr. Bryar,” his mum began, always calling Bob by his proper name because she didn’t want to be too familiar since it hurt to realize how long they’d been living this nightmare, “to pass you over if your donor proved a better match for someone else? Well, it was for a girl called Lily Green. I know that the match wasn’t that good, but it was still something! We’ve been waiting a year for this, Frank, and…”

“Hush, mum,” Frank murmured consolingly. “Listen to me, you know Bob’s right. If I took that donor, it’d do more harm than good. You always tell me to believe in miracles, well maybe a miracle’s coming soon now that I’ve done this good deed for someone else. Even though the donor theoretically could have worked, Bob’s a brilliant doctor and you know what he says is right. There were more that didn’t match than matched. There was a 70% chance my body would reject it.”

“I know,” his mother sobbed. “I know, but it was still something.”

Frank brushed more kisses on both of his mother’s cheeks. “Why don’t you tell me about what Bob said about the donor matching… Lily… that girl’s bone marrow?” he questioned lightly, easily changing subjects. It wouldn’t do to dwell on long gone possibilities. “What are her chances? I’d like to meet her before the big day,” he commented. “Wish her good luck and all.”

“85% chance, Bob said,” his mother answered him shakily. “She’s got a 85% chance of her body accepting the bone marrow. It’s as perfect of a match as could be had. I don’t know if you’ll be able to see her beforehand or not. I think they’re prepping her right now and stuff. She’ll probably be under sedation soon. They don’t want to waste any time.”

Frank nodded understandingly and continued to rub his mother’s back. It didn’t sound right to his ears to hear his mother’s voice being bitter. That wasn’t like his mother, to be bitter about anything, but he supposed it was only the selfish aspect of her maternal instincts on overload. What parents wanted to see their child die before them?

“It’s good that they aren’t wasting any time.” He said.

His mother shrugged, but didn’t do much more than rest her head on her son’s shoulder. She didn’t want to think about anything anymore, she only wanted to concentrate on her beloved son who she was holding right now in her arms. It wasn’t fair that her poor Frank had to go through this, wasn’t it enough that he’d already gone through it once and it’d nearly killed her precious baby?

Why did the cancer have to come out of remission? Why? It’d been a two year struggle of chemotherapy and radiation to get his cancer into remission, and less than two years later it had unleashed itself to ravage Frank’s body again. The first bout of leukaemia had been devastating enough, pushing Frank back academically so that there was no way he could catch up to his class level.

He’d been pushed back a grade level, and all the medication had ruined his health. He was frail now, forever fragile. Her poor darling, her sweet baby. It was such a blessing that while he was weak now; it did nothing to interfere with his abilities to play the piano. As he’d gotten weaker, that’d been his lifeline-- his music. His way to reach out; his method to communicate with the rest of the world. It was his vent mechanism.

The phone rang, and they sprang apart from each other. A phone call meant two things really. One, more bad news. Two, Frank needed to go to the hospital. There was a possibility that it was good news. That a new donor had been found, but that was unlikely. She took a huge breath, ready to steel herself to answer the phone when Frank patted her on the back and told her, “I’ll get it, mum. Why don’t you go take a rest? You look a tad tired.”

All of them were exhausted. He felt weary everyday, but it hurt him to see his mother running herself ragged. His mother needed to learn to take better care of herself, it was like she was trying to wear herself out. He certainly didn’t want that. Darn phone had to interrupt a bonding moment. It’d been good for his mother, he noted, she’d stop shuddering as much. The phone kept ringing, and he said he’d get it. Life was all about interruptions.