Walk Away A Savior

April 9th, 1995
Mikey Way

The nights seem to be getting longer lately. I have been getting less and less sleep. Things are becoming harder to remember as I am running on less and less. I suppose this is a sort of attempt for me to get organized, a way to remember my train of thought and to file away the memories that I lose after another night of staying out until four in the morning with Ray. I seem to lose my entire recollection once I go to sleep these days, which makes sense, because such eventful things happen in the city during the night. It would only seem natural for one to hold more merit in those events than the trivial ones during the day.

I assume that it is natural that I don’t feel like the same person. It is definitely a process converting from the innocent little geek school boy to, well, me, the significantly less innocent er- vigilante would be the correct word given the circumstances, I believe. It takes a lot of effort to convert from the kid I was before to this downright powerful and able shadow who can actually achieve something on his own. This, god, I don’t even know how to describe it, this curator that juts around as a sidekick, missing countless first hours of Biology.

It used to be the just the opposite. Me used to be this dorky little kid who let everybody walk all over him. Mikey used to be this loser kid who sat in the background being subtle and quiet and not bothering anyone, accepting things the way they were. I guess I didn’t really need to be any different. I always had my brother, Gerard, to protect me when things got tough. I don’t know what I did to make him like me so much, but he really did. There was not a thing he wouldn’t do for me.

I think that may have been why I was so helpless before: the influence of everything crushing down along with Gerard always there to stop it. In that respect, I find it ironic that I turned out how I did. Gerard was always the hero, at least in my eyes. He was the only person in my life that ever did anything worthwhile. I sat back and cowered while he went out standing up for me, just for me really. He was like my own personal bodyguard.

I didn’t need to be strong and I didn’t need to be outspoken. Gerard was happy to do it for me. He would gladly rough up any kid who gave me a hard time, step in with any rift that I had with my parents, walk me through anything that I found threatening. There simply was no need for me to gain a backbone with Gerard around; I always knew that he would take care of anything threatening that came my way.

Perhaps it wasn’t the best mindset, but it was a comforting one. After all, I was only a kid when he was around. I guess I still am I kid, technically. But I was younger then, eight, and a few months when he was put away. That seems really young, I suppose, but I always felt like I was older than that, partly from always hanging around a guy some three years older than me, and I can only presume that the environment in which I grew up forced a maturing process much earlier than most children my age. It changed even more so when Gerard left.

We lived with my parents, when he was around, in a two bedroom apartment in Newark, we used to share a bedroom obviously, which is probably why we were so close. We hardly spent any time apart, and when we did, it was mainly because we were in classes. Our mom and dad just weren’t around very much and when they were, they weren’t the most paternally altruistic pair in the world. Mom was addicted to painkillers I think. She always kind of sat around void like a zombie. Dad was unemployed. He must have traded our welfare stamps for money, because he spent a lot of time at the bar.

Gerard and I seemed to avoid them as much as possible, sometimes mom got violent when she was having withdrawals and she scared me when she took too much OxyContin. I remember, when I was seven, she gripped my arm so hard that her nails dug into the skin. She kept saying something about how I owed her money. I guess her steady stream of opiate into her bloodstream was wearing thin and she needed to shoot up again. I started crying I was so scared. Gerard had to twist her arm around to get her off of me. I thought he might have broken it, he did it so hard.

He hurried me from the apartment and took me to this park that we always used to go to together. We sat on a bench and he rubbed my back while I cried. I told him that if I had the money, I’d buy her as much of the oxy and crack as I could so that she would overdose and die. He told me not to say that, but that he’d get me out of there as soon as he could. I guess he did ultimately.

A year or so after the incident with the withdrawal, things had gotten worse in the apartment. Dad was around more, which neither Gerard or I could be happy about. The man was violent and smelled like liquor constantly. He made the apartment reek like cigarettes and made the air too thick to breath. Gerard and I constantly passed him arguing with the landlord about our rent. Though I can only remember the skewed faces and angry voices vaguely over Gerard’s talk of comic books and superheroes.

I think he meant it to be that way. I’m very grateful for his distraction. I’m grateful for his attempt at giving me a pleasant childhood. I have no hesitation in saying that he was fully aware of what he was doing for me when he took me away from everything we had to deal with at home. I’m almost certain that he knew the comic books that he stole for me were more or less an escape from the real world for me, as they were for him.

As much as he tried though, he could not keep me as unharmed as he would have liked. He was only a twelve year old kid when I last saw him. I was eight, almost nine when it happened. It was summer, and according to city curfew, we had to be inside after eight o’clock, so we sat in our bedrooms, our window open, barred since we were a second level apartment, reading comics, occasionally sharing a few panels with each other. Gerard had nicked the newest issue of Unknown Soldier for me, he was reading the previous issue, we were going to switch when I was done. I only remember because that was the last comic he gave me. They didn’t let me talk to him once he got taken to the detention center.

We were reading our comics in any case, as we often did. I remember hearing my father in another raucous argument with the landlord in the background. Gerard put a towel under the door to lessen the noise, but it was still upsetting. I knew that he’d suggested reading to take my mind off of it. It was a common solution to a lot of the problems that we seemed to have.

The yelling was so loud that I couldn’t avoid hearing most of it. Gerard seemed restless too. We both heard words like ‘eviction’ and ‘children’ thrown into the mix, mainly by the landlord. “I don’t want to throw your family out into the street” I clearly heard him say.

Family was not a word that we commonly referred to each other as. Gerard was my family, of course. He was my provider, my caretaker, my brother, and my best friend. I could hardly say the same about the other two. Clearly, my father complied.

“My family?” Gerard set down his comic as we heard his footsteps trudge toward us. I did the same, moving closer to him on for protection. He moved a bit in front of me and clenched his fist. We watched as our door swung open. He advanced and hesitated a moment or two, watching as Gerard moved forward again, more. All three of us knew that I was smaller, weaker, easier to control. So dad ignored Gerard and reached past him for me. I could feel his fingers twist through my hair. I started to cry as he pulled me to my feet.

“My family?” He repeated, shaking my hair in his hand, “Does it look like I give a flying fuck what you do with them?”

I squeezed my eyes closed as he grasped my hair still in his hand. I could feel blades ripping and hear the landlord beg him to release me, I could hear Gerard behind us, threatening death if he didn’t do so. Moments later, I was on the ground. As I looked back, I saw my dad, convulsing under Gerard, who was pulling his fist back in order to bring it again into our father's face.

My mom and the landlord tried to pull him off. I just backed into a corner, my legs pulled to my chest. I watched Gerard elbow the landlord in the groin, my mother sharply in the gut. As each clutched themselves in pain, he brought his fist down again to dad’s face. I heard a terrible crack and several teeth appeared to be missing. His mouth dripped with blood as Gerard pulled him to his feet, shoving him against a wall, bringing a knee to his crotch.

He crumpled to the floor; Gerard brought his foot to his venter. I watched him shake as he growled down at my father, crumpled and gasping. As he spoke, I could tell that he was crying.

“He’s not your family.” Gerard said. He brought his sleeve up to wipe his nose, then brought his foot into dad’s gut again, “Don’t touch him again.”

Then he walked to me and reached his hand out. My mother and the landlord just watched as I took it, most likely too scared to do anything to anger Gerard further. He pulled me to my feet and asked me if I was okay. I just nodded, and he took me back to our room. We sat in silence for a while. Later I would find out that we were waiting for the police to come take him away. He simply smiled as he heard the sirens.

“Took them long enough.” he chuckled.

Moments later, I watched as he was fitted with handcuffs by a police officer. Another one had to restrain me as they did so. I tried to bite his arm as they two others lead Gerard from the room.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon enough,” Gerard called back to me as I screamed his name.

He lied. I haven’t seen him since.

I sat alone as the remaining police officers questioned my parents and the landlord about what happened. My parents attempted to lie, painting Gerard as a psychopath who attacked out of nowhere. The landlord contradicted them. After a very long time, a female officer came into the room, probably because she was capable of being gentler about the whole thing. She asked me a few questions about my life with Gerard and my parents, writing down my answers.

I left in the back of her police car that night with a small bag of clothing and a few of my comic books. The last time I saw either of my parents was in court. I lived in a foster home until I was thirteen. I’ll get into the rest of that later though.

My point is, that I will never understand why he did all of it, but there are no words to express the appreciation that I have toward him and his actions. My brother will always be more of a hero than I or anyone I know, ficionally or otherwise ever was or will be and I will always feel as if I put him in prison as my thanks to him. Which is why I do this I suppose, run around in a silly costume like my favorite comic book heroes did. I suppose I do it for Gerard, or at least to be like Gerard.

Considering my involvement at the other end of the spectrum, I feel that since I now have the resources to be the hero, it would only be selfish to hold back from helping others like Gerard did me. It would seem morally askew to see injustice and let it happen when I can stop it. Gerard refused to see it happen to his brother. I refuse to see it happen to everyone else.

This whole world needs something better; I’m only out to show them that someone cares.

The Patron Saint Of Newark,
Mikey

P.S. I just remembered. Gerard’s birthday is today. He’s eighteen. I wonder what he’s doing right now. I’ll make sure to go see him soon once I can figure out where he is. If he's still in jail, I'm going to convince Ray to spring him out. If he's not, or even if he is, we have a lot of catching up to do.