Tongue Tied

It’s a classic image, really. Almost nauseatingly classic. Boy on porch; foamy beer in hand and heavy heart in chest. His girl is lying in the half-empty bed – both still warm.
I’m pathetically classic – cliché, even.
I take another swig and try not to go too nostalgic and fucking pathetic by gazing up at the stars and the moon and dream my way into his arms.
I stare at the floor boards.
I’ve tried so many times to tell him, but each time I’ve fucked it up. For myself, that is. If I actually told him, I’d fuck something much larger up. This way, it’s only myself I fuck up.
But that’s not what keeps me from telling him.
It’s myself.
Every time I’ve gathered the guts to tell him, I can’t. My tongue twists around itself and my throat glues shut. No words can escape. I just can’t say it.

“Hey Gee!” I’m gonna do this now! I can’t sit around and keep doing nothing! I need to say it – whether it kills me or not.
He turns around and my guts plummet.
“Can I-“ My throat cuts off – the walls gluing themselves together.
“Can I talk to you?” I ask with a mouse’s voice. It’s so tiny and timid that I can’t blame Gerard for his concern.

“Sure,” he says as he puts down his beer and turns to me.
“Is everything okay?” He places a hand on my shoulder. I’m sure it’s meant as a supportive gesture, but all it does is add more weight to what I’m already carrying around.

“I-“ No? Yes? Am I okay? I am with him, but then again; I’m not – ‘cause I’m not with him.
“I ne-“ I lose my breath. My lungs seem to collapse on me as my throat keeps blocking all oxygen.
“I shoud.” That’s how it comes out. The ‘L’ is completely omitted from that last word, since my tongue seems to twist around itself and screw up my attempt to speak.

I wish there was just one word I could say – just one word I could utter to tell him everything. But no; I have to utter an entire sentence.
And it’s not just those three little words. No; it’s 6 – two can become one and make it 5, but originally it’s 6.
6 words keeps me from him. It seems like nothing, but it isn’t – it’s everything; too much.
And it’s not just the words, but the way that they exit my mouth that is the toughest task of all. When you say those words, you almost exhale the ‘I’. The ‘M’ makes your lips buzz. Your tongue gets stuck to the roof of your mouth at the ‘N’. The ‘L’ rolls off your tongue. Your teeth slide over your lip at the ‘V’. Your mouth forms a circle as you exhale the ‘W’. The ‘U’ comes out as a pout.
And really, once I’ve uttered those five or six words, so much more has to follow. All the unspoken emotions have to be formed into words – secret moments have to become literal images.
Maybe a picture would do. Maybe one picture could say those thousand words I’ve always wished to have the guts to say myself.
I’ve never said it – any of it.
I’ve had a thousand chances, and I’ve failed a thousand-and-one. My tongue has cowered away, my mind abandoned me and my heart still has everything to say.
And now he’s going away. He’s already gone – halfway around the world, it seems. At least it’s all the way across a country. He went to record a song with someone else and came back with a lease.
I’m just a classic, pathetic, cliché case of missed chances and unspoken words. 6 words separates me from…possible disaster.
So I should keep my mouth shut. I should praise my twisted tongue and glued throat. I should thank my lack of guts.
I should be happy with what I’ve got. ‘Cause I’ve got a wife I can say those 6 words to – every day.
Does that mean I don’t mean them?

“Oh, there you are.” I turn my head to see Jamia in the doorway. Her nightgown is tiny – barely hidden by her robe that’s hanging open.
“What’re you doing out here?” I look around, down at my beer, up at the sky, down at the floor boards – all with my mouth hanging agape. I close it and look up at her.
“Never mind. Gerard’s on the phone.” I raise my eyebrows so quickly that I’m surprised they don’t rip right off of my face – continuing their fast flee upwards.
She hold the white receiver out towards me. We tried getting it in black, then pink, but no; they only had white – no exceptions or custom made ones.
I take the phone with shaking hands. I’m cold, but not that cold.
“Don’t catch a cold,” Jamia says – so much care in her voice – before she goes back inside.
I put the receiver to my ear, and just then I hear Jamia’s cute, little squeak she always exclaims at the end of a yawn. I find myself flushing.

“Hello?” I ask – my voice slightly shaking.

“Dude, I’m so sorry for calling this late. I know it’s late there. It kinda is here too, but not as late. Anyway, I’m at this club, and this band is playing and I just thought I’d call you and have you listen to them, because not only do they sound precisely like LeATHERMØUTH, but they’re also singing one of your song, and even if they’re not ripping you off or anything, I still thought you’d wanna hear and maybe hate them a little.”
He finally shuts up. He always rambles after a show – when his adrenalin is still pumping. I wish I did the same. I wish I couldn’t shut up after a show.
But I can. And I do.

“Gerar-“ I don’t even get the ‘d’-sound out before my throat closes and my tongue goes into a coma.

“Can you hear it alright?” He’s yelling into the phone and I have to pull my head away from the receiver for a second and make sure my ear is still attached to the side of my head.

“Gee!” I yell back, even though I’m not entirely breathing.

“What?” he yells.

“I’m i-ur,” my throat tightens so hard that I almost throw up.

“What?” he yells again.
I open my mouth to yell the words, but my vocal cords aren’t working. I can’t get the words out! I can’t say an entire sentence filled with them! I can only choke out one! My throat will only allow one! Think of one!
“Frank?” he yells again.
Just think of one word! Something that fits. Not love. Not heart. Not rose. It’s all too vague! It could mean anything! Even just I love you is too vague. The two little…adverbs? Prepositions? Additions! Those two little additions to that one sentence is enough to change everything.
In.
With.
“Are you there?”
Love.
In.
With.
I.
You.
“Say something!”

“Frerard!”