Walk Away A Savior

April 9, 1995
Some time in the night
Gerard Way

I went to the house earlier, like I said I was going to. It was a stupid lead. Really stupid. I should have known better than to go back. My parents must have been the ones to request a restraining order. They knew I was getting out yesterday. I guess I should have figured that Mikey wouldn’t have been able to stay around there either. Plain and simple the move was just stupid, not entirely wasted, but stupid. I’ll tell ya, I really know how to get myself in a shit-hole of a position.

Lemme start from the beginning.

I went from the park to the old house, the apartment that I used to live in with all of them, around sunset. I grew up there, so I could still remember exactly where everything was. I let myself into the complex and climbed a flight of stairs. That’s all I had to; the apartment was on the second floor, which I couldn’t stand when I was a kid. We had these horrible barred windows that kept me and Mikey from leaving that way. I guess they were for protection though, so people wouldn’t break in.

It was kind of eerie how little had changed since I’d last been there. I mean, it had changed of course (things seemed dingier than I remembered and the paint around the bottom of the door and on the numbers ‘208’ had started peeling in the time that I’d been gone), but the sun hit the floor in the same way it used to and the (slightly less lively) plants in the hallways looked like the same ones that had been there six years ago.

I guess I got distracted looking at all of it though, because I didn’t even notice an old woman on the same level until she cleared her throat loudly for me to move out of the middle of the narrow hallway so that she could pass. I quickly uttered an apology and backed against the wall for her to make her way past me.

“That’s quite alright.” She made eye contact with me and her lips pulled back into a small, tired smile before she continued walking.

I blushed at her courtesy. I wasn’t used to that sort of thing. I guess it’s from being around a ton of guys for six years. And stupid guys at that. Delinquents. The kind of kids who just make you wonder what kind of parents raised THAT kind of child. Eh, but hey, look who’s talking, right? It’s not like I had the best parents to raise me and I turned out pretty good I think. And Mikey better have toed the line pretty well or he’ll get it good from me.

Anyway, I guess I felt pretty dumb after lulling around like an idiot in the middle of the hallway, so after the woman passed by me, I moved forward to the apartment door that I used to open so freely when I was a kid and stood back a little to wait after one or two raps on the wood.

As I waited, I twittered uncomfortably, thinking about how much of the hall I was blocking. I awkwardly tried to space myself close enough to the door to let people pass behind me, but far enough away from it so that I wasn’t face to face with whoever opened it. I must have looked ridiculous shuffling around to try and find the perfect median. My eyes were still on my feet when the door opened. I let them drift up to the crack in the door; I observed an old night gown and bare feet. Several seconds passed in silence, but I couldn’t quite bring my eyes up to face-level. I shifted my weight uncomfortably as I waited for the inspiration to do so.

“They said you’d get getting out today.”

These few words allowed me to lift my gaze to meet my mother’s face. I suppose I wasn’t surprised by her lack of enthusiasm to see me, especially since her eyes were so dazed and listless. Except for a few newly adorned wrinkles and a few grey tufts of hair, she was exactly as I remembered her and her answer fit perfectly with what I had expected her to say.

She backed as I moved forward, and adopted a subtle expression of fear in her features. I continued regardless, ignoring her statement. Instead, I offered a more productive topic:

“I came to see Mikey.” She blinked as if she had not heard me, but clutched the doorknob tighter. I moved forward again, raising my voice, but only slightly. “Is he here?”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to come around here…”

I clenched my fist, an odd feeling in my gut. I could feel my muscles starting to tense. The way she spoke made me question Mikey’s well-being. She made it sound as if she was keeping something from me. Scenarios of possible outcomes made my teeth clench, my mind seethe. I think she saw how frustrated I was getting because she started to close the door. I immediately wedged my foot in between the door and the frame, then forced it back open. I watched her back away slowly as I moved in, my eyes narrow, my lip curled.

“I came here to see Mikey.” I repeated as I advanced, “Is he here?”

Only after being scared into compliance did she actually respond. “He hasn’t been here in years.”

“Fine.” I surveyed her, she seemed to be telling the truth, so I nodded, relaxing myself a bit, I suppose in order to come off less threatening. “Where’s he been then?”

She looked me lazily up and down, then blinked once or twice. Nothing much had changed about her. I’m sure I would have found a needle and some OxyCotin tablets powered under a spoon if I would have cared to look. “State took him… years ago.” She said lazily, watching me from behind horribly glassy eyes, “He’s not been here in years…”

I asked her if she had a phone number, an address, some way to contact him. She just blinked and thought about her answers, taking her sweet time answering anything. I gave up eventually and took to scouring the kitchen for a number that could set me in the right direction. My mother murmured something in the background occasionally. I didn’t bother to listen.

I sifted through cupboards and drawers, picking up any spare bits of paper to check if they contained addresses, notes, anything to give me a clue to where exactly I could find my brother. I found unopened bills, stale notebook paper, dry pens, a checkbook browning with age, only one or two vouchers actually torn from it.

Some cupboards were full of chipped china, others with dusty bottles of gin and whiskey. Another drawer possessed a flask, an unmarked pill-bottle with only a subtle white powder in the bottom creases of it. I could feel my mother continue to gaze at me from behind. I ignored her mumblings and rummaged further. My ears only perked upon hearing approaching police sirens.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I turned, my attention now directed toward the living room. The sun had fully set, so only the glow from the street-lamps spread into the room.

“Good god, you didn’t…” I breathed.

“Hasn’t been here in years…” She swayed a bit on her feet, her head turned to the size. More like a zombie than anything I’d seen at the movies and ten times more frightening. She held a phone loosely in one hand and her head crooked to the side as her eyes drifted over me and the kitchen, clearly taking in whatever she choose to view, “up and bothering me… dirtying up my kitchen.”

“Goddamn it, goddamn it…” I shook my head to focus as the sirens came closer. I still had to find a number to see about Mikey. I overturned the trash, fumbling through it, picking out any paper that I could. My eyes settled on an envelope with the word ‘childcare’ on it. I pocketed the letter, not bothering to read the other words. I could hear the doors slam shut on the police cars. The flash of the red and blue lights illuminated the living room. I advanced to the main room, my eyes searching for an escape.

I heard heavy footsteps advancing from the stairwell; the main door wouldn’t work. I wasn’t armed, the officers were never really afraid to shoot. If I ever wanted to see Mikey again, it wasn’t something that I could risk. I cut my eyes to find another solution.

The windows were barred. They always had been. I couldn’t squeeze through them when I was twelve, it’s not as if I’m a body builder or even half that big, but there’s no way I’m small enough now to get through them, but if I could somehow sever the bars…

I passed my mother, mumbling and wheezing from her drugs, as I made my way to the first window. I pulled it open and shook the tubes of iron that prevented my escape. They were too sturdy.

There was a rap on the door, I could feel my pulse start to quicken as a masculine voice came from the other side of it, I didn’t have much time… “Gerard Way, you’re under arrest for violation of a state-mandated restraining order. You have until the count of three to open the door.”

I moved on to the next set as my mother advanced to the door. “Goddamn it I swear if you open that door you won’t live long enough to regret it!” She stopped dead as I shook the iron on my new window. Again, too sturdy. I moved to the bathroom.

(“One”)

I pulled the window open, shook the bars. No good.

(“Two”)

I entered me and Mikey’s old room. It was the same under a heap of junk now stored in it. I didn’t bother to observe further, but instead threw the window open, shaking the bars. Sturdy, but it was my last shot. I stood back and centered to get ready, scoping out the weakest area.

“Three-“ a loud crack filled the air on the last number, I could only assume they shot the lock.

As I brought my foot to the bottom of the barred segment on the window, I could hear several sets of footsteps storm the apartment. “Where is he?” Asked the same male voice. His question was answered by the clack of the bars hitting the cement. I climbed up, my feet hanging out the window as quickly as I could. They’d be in soon, I knew. “Come on, this way.” He instructed.

I surveyed the cars, they all seemed to be in the building, which was a stupid move by them, but gave me the break I needed. I dropped down onto the pavement, despite the height. My ankles stung as I hit the ground, but I couldn’t be bothered by it at the time. I ducked off into a doorway, out of view instead, my back pressed against the brick in it. I heard the same voice again over head.

“No sign of him… let’s get back down to ground level, search the area. Hopefully he didn’t get far.”

I waited a few minutes then booked it down the street, my right ankle still throbbing from the fall. I ignored it as I ran though, if I didn’t, I’d have gotten caught for sure, so I replaced thoughts of the pain with thoughts of my next move: where to go to avoid being caught. They’d search alleyways for certain and I didn’t like the prospect of hiding out in a bar. I thought of my old friend’s houses from when I was a kid, but they’d probably be moved out, if not, their parents wouldn’t be too keen on holding a felon. It’d just be a police chase all over again, I assured myself as I pressed myself against a wall in the alleyway to avoid being caught in the spotlights of a car that I heard approaching, and with a busted ankle, I was sure that I couldn’t outrun them again.

I ended up coming back to the park, racing while avoiding the glow from the yellowing streetlights, dodging and hiding upon approach from both vehicles and pedestrians alike, as not to give the police any eye-witnesses to seeing a ridiculously hobbling kid high-tailing it to the city park. It sounds like a weird place to hide, but it’s got a lot of trees for cover and those play-structures for kids that most would feel ridiculous climbing up in at my age.

Thankfully I’m above feeling stupid, at least for a good place to hide, so I’m writing from the top of this tower-like thing in the structure that’s pretty enclosed except for a spot at the top for kids to look out from which luckily, that gives enough light from the streetlamp nearby for me to see, making my latest entry possible.

I feel like a PBS announcement right now, like the ones at the end of those cartoons for toddlers; ‘special thanks to the tower for its convenient proximity to the light post and equally helpful view of the sky for making this journal entry possible for viewers like me.’ Right, now that that’s out of my system.

A much more serious thought has occurred to me. I can’t really stay here. Hell, it’s a great hide-out for night, but tomorrow when some lady brings her kid to the park to play, I don’t want to be busted for some other bullshit offense upon being spotted in a little kids play structure. They’ll probably attempt to pin me with child molestation or something, which of course will be great fun. At that rate, I’m sure I could spend the entirety of my life in prison… that’d be a good time.

No, it’s best to find somewhere to go tonight, before that fiasco can even occur, but I’m stuck to hell and back on where. As I said before, I don’t have anywhere to go. I guess I could wait until some coffee-shop opens in the morning and ask to use their phone to look up this agency on the letter I got from the apartment.

‘Department of Foster and Childcare’ the envelope says. It’s worth a shot. Until then, I’m not sure what’s going on. I’m scared to drift off to sleep; I might not wake up in time to get out of here. I’ll just wait, I guess, walk around when it seems alright to. Maybe try to fix this stupid ankle of mine. I’ll update soon in any case.

Not much a poet, but a criminal,
Gerard.