Playing God

Michael’s twelve years old.
Not too many times has he gone to the basement where his brother sleeps, and it’s always so dark down there that Michael can hardly see the lines of the bed, or the contours of the desk where Gerard draws and writes so much. Michael remembers the day their grandmother made them both draw, side by side, and the two drawings weren’t exactly amazingly beautiful. They were only sticky figures and surroundings, the same amount of effort from the two brothers, but the older one practiced a lot more from that day on, because apparently he found out that drawing made his mind clearer and he liked it that way. That was how Gerard became an awesome artist, and he’d only get better with time and the said practice.

That’s also Michael’s dream; that his big brother draws for the rest of his life and remains happy and joyful, while drawing random pictures of people he cares about or just imagines, because that’s the brother Michael wants to see smiling back at him forever.

Today, then, after being a good boy and finishing his homework immediately after lunch, Michael descends the stairs and enters the basement bedroom that belongs to the older brother, and he’s calling Gerard’s name. He just wants to try and hang out a bit with his brother, because he’s alright, he’s wise and a perfect companion for whatever they feel like doing, but what Michael meets is a totally different brother.

The desk is the closest to the door and he sees a drawing he doesn’t imagine possible, or real for that matter. Gerard usually drew characters, from famous comics, sometimes his own or others inspired by people he knows in real life, and they’re always clear and bright, and seem to have a purpose, but this drawing is full of hurt and confusion. It all brings a little pain to the bottom of Michael’s heart because there’s just too much red, and there aren’t enough serious people, because all the faces there seem scared of something mortal. There are body forms Michael doesn’t recognize, and spectrums he’s not sure he wants to comprehend, and also too many shades of black, and too many unfinished circles, or too many spirals, which Michael prefers to ignore before his head turns dizzy.

Michael, then, looks toward the bed and Gerard seems to be asleep, lying on his stomach, but there’s something on his hand and the younger brother gets closer to him to try and remove it from his hand, before Gerard hurts himself in his sleep. It’s a bottle, Michael recognizes it when he’s close enough, and he can’t be exactly sure he knows what ‘VODKA’ means, but he grabs it and smells it and it’s not good. It’s unpleasant, it’s raw and it’s just awful. There’s that cavernous odor he can’t enjoy at all as it comes up through his nose, and a cough is his immediate reaction; his stomach walls constrict to a sickness he tries to keep down and, with one hand over his mouth and the thumb cautiously protecting his nose, Michael puts the bottle on the desk.

That’s when he glances at the drawing again and he just knows the sickness will never go away now, because the smell and the images and the I-don’t-know-what-to-think-or-do feeling are just too strong for his young Catholic mind, but Michael doesn’t go away. He stares at his sleeping brother for a little longer, carefully watching his breathing movements, and Gerard’s position suggests peace and rest, so Michael smiles and turns around to leave.

There’s a sound, though.

Michael stops, but he doesn’t turn around again. He keeps his back to the dark insides of the bedroom and just listens, watchfully, vigilantly to whatever may come from there. There are whimpers and Michael knows it is obviously some pain, so he flinches. There’s shuffling and Mikey guesses Gerard is just turning around in his sleep, so he’s ready to take one step forward.

More sounds stop him, though.

Michael finally turns around because he doesn’t trust his ears anymore, since he can miss important sounds as he’s still so crept out about what he found downstairs. But Michael is now facing the bed again and the darkness seems less profound now, possibly because he’s used to the touch of it against his glasses lens. And Gerard’s position is not the same, that’s for sure. If he was previously sprawled out on the bed, he was now laying on his side, knees folded up to his chest; a very awkward position for a man, Michael tells himself. Gerard seems restless and searching out for something with his wide open hands, and Michael’s eyes instinctively focus on the bottle now on top of the desk. Whatever is in it, it has put Gerard like that, so Michael just grabs it again.

He closes the door and goes upstairs. The impact of what he found downstairs still lingers on his brain, and Michael doesn’t know exactly how to interpret it all. He looks at the bottle in his hands and thinks of what it may represent; he’s previously heard the word that’s central on the label, but he can’t exactly put his finger on what it means. And it doesn’t matter that much, because he just gets to the kitchen and puts it there; on the table must be fine. And he leaves for his own bedroom, mind focused on his brother’s weird position, on Gerard’s restlessness and on his own afternoon.

**

Michael’s seventeen years old.
He’s a senior in High School and his parents expect another amazing year, of good grades and proper behavior, of great smiles and a healthy pride, of growing up and also learning more. It isn’t asking for too much at all and Michael is willing to give them that too, in some kind of a reciprocal exercise, because his parents gave him his life and allowed him to have a proper conscience of things, so Michael has no hard feelings. And he also likes to see, and obviously make, his parents happy, and this reciprocally amazing school-year is one of the ways to do that.

However, there’s something bothering Michael for a long time, and it affects his daytime mood and behavior, as well as his nighttime sleep, and Michael doesn’t know if he can live with that. It’s something very perturbing; something that steals his best ideas, because he’s tried everything he could think of to do things and help, and nothing seems to work. It’s compulsive and very time-and-mind-consuming, in such a way that Michael can’t tell if he’s strong enough and capable of dealing with it.

It’s Gerard. Only the name and the thought make Michael flinch, everywhere, no matter what he might be doing. He’s always restless about his brother, mostly because he cares and is absolutely worried, but also because he has no solution. The means he has tried so far have only been useless, because the problem is still there, and it gives Michael nothing but uneasiness.

Gerard has been getting sick a lot of times, and the idea may not be problematic in itself, because everybody gets sick during the autumn and the winter, but these symptoms don’t give any rest to Gerard. Therefore, they give no rest to Michael, because he’s seen his brother vomiting too many times, none of them during daytime. It feels like Michael has to function as a living guardian angel, because he always wakes up in the middle of the night and finds Gerard in the bathroom, but always when he’s already cleaning himself up. It means that Michael takes too long to figure out what he’s seeing and to make a proper move in response, so when he does, Gerard’s already standing up and walking out of the room, with a smile to comfort Michael, but still no explanation.

That’s the other side of the situation; Michael doesn’t have a solution, or a plan to reverse his brother’s condition. It gives him worried chills and creepy feelings of loss everywhere, because he can only stay focused and watch as Gerard keeps getting sick, and quiet, and too skinny. Michael knows Gerard’s not like that, or at least didn’t use to be like that, but apparently things are changing; he doesn’t remember when it all started, and he doesn’t remember either when was the last time Gerard had dinner with the family. There’s something wrong with his brother and Michael wants to figure it out.

So, Michael chooses one random weekend afternoon and goes downstairs, through the basement door to Gerard’s bedroom. There’s music sounding everywhere and he recognizes the Smashing Pumpkins sounds, and smiles, because that’s one of the obsessions he shares with his brother. Michael can already glance inside the bedroom door and, when he’s close enough, he knocks, but he doesn’t wait for any permission; Michael opens the door and enters the room, with a soft and small smile.

Gerard’s there, obviously, because he doesn’t come out of there if it isn’t an extraordinary necessity. He’s sitting at his desk, apparently writing, but he can be drawing too, and he’s humming along with the song. Michael greets him and everything stops, except for the Smashing Pumpkins; Gerard greets Michael back and they stare at each other for some moments, the older brother waiting for any response and the youngest analyzing the items on the desk. There’s the usual mess of papers and supplies for an art lover, and there’s a bunch of comics too, and surprisingly an old picture of the family together, of when Michael was too young to remember, but that’s not what catches his attention. It’s the bottle, and Michael isn’t twelve years old anymore; he knows perfectly well what ‘VODKA’ means, but he just doesn’t understand why it is there, anyway. And he probably won’t ask.

“Mikey, what’s up?” Gerard interrupts their silence, and Michael’s thoughts, and they find their gazes again because it seems like they weren’t looking at each other anymore. “Do you need anything?”

“No, since when do I need a reason to see my brother?” Michael asks, with a smile, but what he’s really trying to imply is a question about the reason why Gerard hides himself down there most of the time; but he only says, “Just came here to talk, hang out, that sort of things.”

Gerard puts his pencil down on the desk and smiles a little, making Michael think that he’s contented with that answer. “How thoughtful,” Gerard muses while Michael sits on the very edge of the bed. The older brother turns his chair around and sits, facing him. “So, how have you been?” Gerard asks, probably because Michael doesn’t look like he can start a conversation.

“I’ve been okay; just worried, though,” he answers, looking carefully at his brother in search of a sign, something weird, or suspicious. Gerard’s staring back at him, his signature of questioning and examining deep in his eyes, and Michael doesn’t feel exactly comfortable underneath such a gaze.

“About what?” Gerard only asks, before looking back through his desk items for a long moment of silence. He finally motions for something out of Michael’s vision angle and it’s not pretty when he turns around again. He carries his sketchbook and another pencil, of plain charcoal, studies Michael’s expression again and brings his knees up in a weird angle; Michael knows Gerard’s ready to draw him and it makes him uncomfortable again. He isn’t exactly fond of modeling, so he speaks,

“About you, Gerard; what else could it be?”

At the echo of that, Gerard lifts his head up and looks at Michael, but he’s not ready to talk; he’s watching the younger brother through his dark hair locks and only drawing randomly. Michael doesn’t know what he’s doing and he can’t understand the reason that makes Gerard draw, and in his head there’s only discomfort at sitting there doing nothing but being observed. He just clears his throat, not because he needs to, but to get Gerard’s attention; his brother, though, only shrugs and keeps drawing, and looking at Michael, and drawing again. They both know what it means; Gerard’s avoiding what Michael said.

“Gee, stop,” Michael orders sweetly, a brotherly tone in his voice, making it obvious that worry really has brought him downstairs. Gerard doesn’t react and the younger brother only sighs, and watches as Gerard draws. He decides to voice his question, then, trying to see if there’ll be any response.

“Gee, I’m your brother; you can talk to me.”

Nothing comes.

“Tell me how you’ve been.” Still nothing, even if Gerard looks at Michael; he just goes back to his art, shielding everything behind each charcoal stroke apart from the “Okay,” that he mumbles. Michael puts his hands on the bed by his sides, to lean forward, get closer to Gerard’s concentrated figure and murmur, “Don’t lie to me.”

Finally, Gerard stops drawing and looks at Michael sternly, but also painfully because his eyes are just too profound to hide anything behind a mad face. It only worries Michael more.

“I’m not-“

“What did you eat today?” Michael decides to interrupt and express his serious worry at last.

“Enough,” Gerard only says and grabs the pencil again, and draws. Michael is not satisfied, and he doesn’t like Gerard’s attitude because they used to have a proper and healthy brotherly relationship, but apparently it’s all broken now.

Michael breathes out. “I don’t know what’s going on and I wish you would tell me, because that’s what you would have done years ago. I wish you would trust me again,” he just says, sadly, and Gerard releases a deep breath too, as though they’re sharing feelings.

“It’s not like that, Mikey.” Gerard looks up at him for some time, meeting Michael’s uneasiness through his eyes. “I mean it, I’m okay.”

“I don’t believe that,” Michael replies immediately; “You keep avoiding me, you avoid everyone, and you don’t answer any questions; not even from me.”

“Because there’s nothing to worry about; I’m healthy, I’m okay,” is Gerard’s reaction, still drawing, then silent and apparently annoyed with the situation.

Michael insists, though. “I have to disagree; I don’t think you’re healthy. You get sick all the time, Gerard, and don’t try to fool me with indisposition, or food poisoning, or your weak stomach as an excuse, because those things don’t happen every night.” Michael is more than worried; he’s losing his cool because it’s not something they should be discussing. “It’s clear enough to me that you’re angry at something, or upset, or maybe you’re protesting against something, but I don’t think that risking your health, risking your life, is an option.”

“Mikey, you’re overreacting…” Gerard only answers, before focusing completely on his art again. Michael sighs because his brother is not going to tell him anything, no matter how much he asks him. Therefore, Michael thinks his best response is to wait for something; he knows his brother and how he doesn’t like to be pressured about things, so letting Gerard do his thing under attentive eyes of a caring brother is possibly the best way to have some answers and think of a proper solution.

So, Michael waits in silence, allowing Gerard his occasion to draw even if he does that all day long; those drawings are Gerard’s escape from something and Michael ponders if it is dangerous, since it can lead him to very wrong and low ways of existing. He watches Gerard carefully again and he looks sick, his usually pale skin holds now a weird tone of white that scares Michael, but he just swallows any comments he may have to say. The only sound in the bedroom is the repeating wave of the Smashing Pumpkins, human breaths and pencil-on-paper scratches, until -

“Mikey, does God forgive us all our sins?” The question catches Michael off guard, not only because it was asked, but because of what it questions. It’s probably the first time Gerard asks something so directly about God and, no matter how much it pleases Michael, and would please the rest of the family, it’s still… strange, but Michael is receptive to these moments.

“Of course, Gee,” he says, finally with a true smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, as Gerard drops the art supplies on the desk again. The brothers stare at each other when Michael continues, “If you repent; if you show sorrow, He’ll always forgive you.” It seems so simple to Michael. “Why do you ask?”

“I might need that assurance,” Gerard answers, bringing two hands to his face to hide whatever he’s feeling. His fingertips turn white after some time and Michael knows his brother’s having a deep struggle within his mind. Michael knows that, but he doesn’t expect the following question; “Mikey, what if we don’t believe?”

Michael smiles his little smile, though. “I don’t think God sees that as an offense, no matter how many people try to tell me the opposite. Gerard, I believe in Him because He exists anonymously to rescue and save all kinds of souls,” he says simply and watches as Gerard lifts his head back up to listen to him cautiously, or at least he looks attentive and yearning for the words.

Michael is not finished yet. “He’ll always save us, even from self-destruction.”

**

Michael’s still nineteen years old.
He’s in his bedroom, late one Saturday night, and he’s lost in thoughts he can’t organize. Michael seriously wants to sleep, but his mind is refusing to allow him that, to give him a rest from everything going on inside his house and his head. His job’s fine, he doesn’t need anything specific in his life except for his family to be okay, and the only other thing in his mind is God. He wants Him to be there all the time, to give Michael his faith and his strength, because all the secrets floating around Michael’s existence are way too much for his mental stability.

Michael sighs; he knows he really needs to sleep too, because all that lack of his usual eight-hours time to rest is making him go crazy and intensely tired. As every ordinary worker, he should enjoy the free weekends to do that, to rest his body and mind, but he just can’t avoid all that worry that’s already part of him, for having lived within Michael for so long.

Michael sighs again and he finally checks his nightstand clock; it reads 3am. Only knowing that makes him feel dizzy and so, he makes sure his bedroom is okay, he straightens his pajama shirt and tucks it into his matching pants; then, he climbs on to his bed, getting himself under the duvet, only to release another long breath and enjoy the silence.

“Mikey?” someone calls from the other side of the door, interrupting the night-y ambiance around him. “Mikes, are you awake?” It sounds like Frank, but really low and really muffled.

“Yeah, I guess,” Michael mumbles in his nearly-sleepy state and he gets up again, to go open the door and let him in, because it is Frank indeed. Michael doesn’t care to ask him how he got there, because he knows his and Gerard’s secret. “Frank, you look awful,” Michael states instead as he closes the door and watches Frank making himself comfortable as usual, by sitting on Michael’s chair in front of the desk he once used to do school works on. Michael sits on the bed and looks at Frank; “What’s wrong?”

“Can we talk?” Frank asks worriedly, or at least that’s what Michael can read from his lowered gaze and how he fidgets around a lot; he recognizes the symptoms.

“He did it again,” Michael says, more a sigh than a question and Frank nods in such a defeated sight. He’s still looking down and Michael’s so worried about his brother to read the same concern and sadness in a great friend’s eyes. “You came here and found him like that?”

Michael’s question isn’t exactly clear, but Frank knows what he means, because it’s not the first time they talk about it. However, it seems worse now, because it’s been happening often. It’s nothing new for either of them; both Michael and Frank have walked in more than once on Gerard passed out on his bed, surrounded by bottles, pills or empty-and-small plastic bags - how he gets them, no one knows, and Michael feels that Frank wouldn’t be here with him if he did know.

“I even told him I’d be coming. The window was open as any other times we talked about me sneaking in, which means that he knew and remembered I was coming,” Frank answers in a very tiny, low voice, as though not pronouncing such words will make them less true. “I guess he has a serious problem, Mikes; he hasn’t been himself.”

“He’s always down, Frank,” Michael states, looking at Frank, but not meeting his eyes; it seems that Frank doesn’t like to admit that he feels very, very bad.

“Alright, but he didn’t use to do this so often and now he snaps at everyone,” Frank keeps whispering and Michael has to put extra effort into listening and understanding the actual words. “He used to go out with me, but now he just refuses to leave his bedroom; or should I say his bed, because from what I found today, he’s been pissing on himself too. It’s so awful, Mikes,” Frank breaks down and his body slips off the chair, falling on the floor with a very weird bang. He finally looks up, “He’s so sick.”

Frank’s eyes are so deep and full of emotions that Michael flinches and whimpers, before stepping down and sitting by Frank’s side. Michael doesn’t know what to think, or what he can say, because nothing will change the situation now; only Gerard can and he’s not stable enough to change by himself. “I think it’s because Nan is so sick this time,” Michael says softly and feeling that pang that had many times led him to his knees, his folded hands and his prayers. So, with that image in his mind, he leans in to the side and finds Frank’s ear, to whisper, “And my father.”

Frank looks up again, but he doesn’t meet Michael’s eyes; they’re too high on his face, so Frank’s staring at his nose from his half-curled-up position. “Oh.”

“Yeah, he still doesn’t accept it,” Michael clarifies, watching Frank as he looks down again. “My Mom keeps it low-key and doesn’t manifest her opinion, but I think she just really accepts your relationship, but Dad…” he hesitates and sighs, “Yeah.”

“Those old bruises?” Frank meets Michael’s nose again and recalls the times when they both would find suspicious marks across Gerard’s body. Michael tried to lie to himself, but he just can’t forget the scene between his father and Gerard that he watched years ago; his brother isn’t as safe or healthy. So, Michael nods. “Oh my God, Mikey, what’s going to happen to him?”

Michael looks down, at last, and their eyes touch profoundly. “We gotta help him, bring Gerard back up,” he states in a suggestion. “I don’t know; we could get Gerard out of here for a while, hide the booze and everything else, talk to him…”

“Yeah,” Frank agrees with Michael’s list of possibilities; “We’ve got to do something.”

Then, for some time, there’s only silence and Michael thinks Frank may leave the room at any second since they don’t seem to have an answer right now. Michael wants to ask him something too, but he can’t find the proper words, or organize his mind to give them any sense. Michael looks at Frank again and he’s fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, and shaking his head before finally getting up.

Suddenly, Michael finds the words: “Does he eat when you’re around?”

Frank answers his broken “No,” and Michael keeps following his thoughts, sharing with Frank how he once saw Gerard eat his breakfast. Frank wiggles his eyebrows, widening his eyes, at what comes next. “He grabbed an apple, cut it in half, cut one of those in half again and then cut a thin slice to eat it and drink a cup of water.” Michael’s eyes are on the ceiling, afraid of what his buds can bring to his face. And with those same eyes brotherly watching, Michael finishes with an “It’s so horrible.”

Frank sits on the chair again, as though the information is too much. Hands over his face and, then, a long sigh anticipated his only answer, “I don’t dare to touch him now, I’m afraid of breaking him.”

Michael touches one of his arms. “I know. We gotta - I’ve got to save him, Frank.”

After a moment of silence, the second one for the same conversation, Frank goes back downstairs to make sure Gerard has someone there when he wakes up with no sense of any reality and Michael goes tobed the window; flicking the curtains and the blinds open, he looks outside and finds an empty street. It’s calm enough to contrast with his feelings, so Michael focuses on that to start his prayers for his grandmother, who needs to get better in the hospital, but mostly for Gerard. Michael wants him to get better at home and, in his head and heart, God is a trustworthy friend.

He prays and the morning comes; it’s Sunday, so he gets ready to go to Mass and goes with his mother. She seems oblivious about Gerard’s situation; she knows her son hasn’t been healthy or stable, only without details, as Michael won’t tell her about those. Nan’s in the hospital and he doesn’t want another family member in deeper sickness; it’s unbearable, inside of him, but Michael asks for a greater faith and a greater strength during Mass.

Back at home, he helps with lunch and, when he’s in the living room to go downstairs and check on Gerard, Frank walks in too. He shakes his head and somehow Michael knows what he means. They go back to the kitchen together and Michael’s mother smiles and greets Frank politely. Later, they all have lunch in silence. The father’s usual place is empty because he started working on Sundays too, possibly to avoid the tension flying everywhere in that family house. Gerard’s spot is also empty; the mother asks for him and Frank answers “He’s not feeling well,” before looking at Michael. He flinches and shifts in his seat, grabbing the huge napkin and placing it in his lap.

Michael eats calmly, as the silence corrupts them and sits with them at the table, and his movements are normal; he gets the food with his fork, into his mouth, and chews slowly, before getting the napkin and cleaning his lips. He repeats that every single time and Frank eyes him weirdly, but what he can’t see if that Michael is hiding the food he gets in that huge napkin. Michael admits that it’s gross, but it’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make because he believes in that power as much as in Gerard getting better.

Neither Michael nor Frank eat much, one blaming his stomach, other blaming his lack of sleep, and everyone watches as Frank excuses himself out before they’re finished. The mother thinks that it’s rude and she voices it before a “That was unnecessary.”

“Mom, leave it; Frank’s trying to help Gerard. He’s not feeling well today,” Michael explains his lie and watches as the tension and weirdness doesn’t go away until his mother finishes her meal. “You can go, Mom, I’ll take care of this.”

She thanks him and leaves with a hand on one of her temples; headache, Michael thinks, and he thanks God in his mind. He wants to be alone to clean the table and put the napkin to the trashcan with the lunch he supposedly ate; he sighs and tries to soothe his growling stomach with some song-humming.

When it’s all ready in the kitchen and Michael stops, the house seems empty, making him shiver on his spot. He thinks of going downstairs to see Gerard, but he stops as he gets to the bedroom door. He can hear two voices and they’re not pleasant to hear. Gerard and Frank are arguing, Michael assumes to himself and, suddenly, he hears Frank yell a “Fine!” and the door opens ajar. Out comes Frank and he sees no one, he says nothing; he just leaves and Michael watches. The door closes again with a bang and he can hear Gerard cussing and smashing things, so Michael thinks it’s better to not interrupt directly.

He’ll do what he can do best. He gets upstairs to his bedroom and stays there for the rest of the day; he prays during the entire afternoon, during dinner time and part of the night until he falls asleep, thinking of Gerard, God and how it will all be alright.