All I Wanted Was You

Jet-black hair; creamy pale skin; lips and pumps the same aggressive shade of red – Lindsay Way entered the high school with her year-old daughter, Bandit, bouncing on her hip.

Lindsay and her daughter could have been the perfect suburban pair – like that stereotypical soccer-mom, she had taken some time off from work to spend with her new child; she brought Bandit with her grocery shopping and on day trips to the park and aquarium; she cooked for her husband and made their bed. However, the job Lindsay was taking a small vacation from was playing bass in a band with a genre so ambiguous she and her band mates were self-described as producing “'Industrial Jungle Pussy Punk” style music. She and her husband were not a minivan-and-Disney-World sort of suburban family. For heaven’s sake, their child’s name was Bandit.

The woman sitting behind the front desk in the high school lobby squinted at Lindsay’s attire, scrutinizing the vaguely-gruesome skeletal image on the frayed shirt she wore beneath a bright yellow pea-coat.

“Hello, my niece Mikayla Ballato is sick,” Lindsay spoke and the receptionist was surprised by the cheerful, friendly tone coming from a woman dressed in such a fashion, “I was called to dismiss her.”

“Of course,” she answered before calling down to the nurse’s office to have Mikayla sent down.

Lindsay took a seat on a bench by the front doors, bouncing Bandit on her knee as she waited for Mikayla. She hadn’t been very surprised when the guidance office called her – as she was Mikayla’s emergency contact when her brother and sister-in-law were working – and described the panic attack that had had people at the school recommending Mikayla take off the remainder of the day and just rest. Lindsay had, in fact, been worrying about her niece for a while – the overload of AP classes, the obsession with perfection, the day a few months back when her best friends ditched her, the fact that she didn’t spend quite as much time as she used to hanging around with Lindsay and her uncle because she spend it all up studying and worrying herself sick.

Lindsay had only been twelve years old when Mikayla was born; she was the first baby Lindsay ever remembered holding and she had grown into a smart, determined young adult who Lindsay prided for being “almost as cool as I am.” Mikayla’s anxiety broke her heart and she was always trying to iron some of the obsessive and self-scrutinizing traits out of her niece’s disposition.

“Well you’ve looked better,” Lindsay chuckled sympathetically when Mikayla emerged from around the corner, swollen book bag hanging from her shoulder and still a generous stack of books and binders in her arms. Mikayla’s brown hair hung behind her in a braid cascading to the small of her back; she wore no makeup and drowned in a denim jacket despite the fact that it looked to be about a size four. “What’s eating ya?”

“All the things,” Mikayla offered with a halfhearted sarcastic smile and followed her aunt outside to the car. It was not before they had pulled out of the school parking lot when Mikayla succumbed to a fresh wave of hysterics in the passenger seat. “It’s just too much!” she sobbed, muffled by breathless tears.

“Shh, baby,” Lindsay tried to comfort her, putting her hand on Mikayla’s knee as she drove.
Mikayla’s sobs began to get heavier, though, and soon she was panting: “I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t.”

“MmKayA?” Bandit called with concern from the backseat.

“Cousin’s gonna be okay, Babe.” Lindsay called back. She spent the whole fifteen-minute car ride back to her house coaxing Mikayla into deep breaths and trying to explain that complete academic perfection wasn’t necessary, especially it resulted in forgetting how to do or enjoy much of anything else.

When they pulled into the driveway, Mikayla had been lulled into exhaustion by all the crying and even managed a smile as Lindsay wiped away a few stray tears, saying lightly, “I know it’s hard work being as fabulous as you are, honey. But sometimes we all just need to chill out and act like fuck ups, okay?”

“Uh huh,” Mikayla giggled.

“So today, my dear, is your day off to be a lazy failure and give the middle finger your teachers and their assignments ‘cause you sure as hell aren’t stressing out over school work at my house tonight, because it’s okay to just say ‘fuck it, this is too much’ sometimes. You think you can do that?”

“Uh huh.” She didn’t say anything about how she worried that her teachers might look at her accusingly the next day or think poorly of her when she didn’t hand in a few assignments. Instead, she took a deep breath and went around to get her cousin out of her car seat. “Is Gee home?” she inquired about her uncle Gerard as she carried Bandit up the long drive towards the house, Lindsay walked alongside with the diaper bag and Mikayla’s backpack.

Lindsay and Gerard’s home was located in a wealthy New Jersey suburb. With a finished attic, it was a three-story brick building with green shutters and a huge grassy yard with a swing-set and sandbox outback and a garage they usually kept full of clutter rather than cars. Gerard’s red mustang was in the driveway, though he wasn’t there.

Lindsay answered, “No, he’s out with Mikey and Frank,” as they came through the garage door into the ‘1950s-style kitchen complete with black-and-white tile flooring and a retro laminate dinette set. “Now, I think it’s time for a nice, relaxing nap for both of you,” Lindsay advised, taking Bandit from Mikayla’s arms and setting off up the stairs.

Mikayla helped her aunt put Bandit down for naptime and then the two settled into the master bedroom, each wearing some of Lindsay’s sweats, with the Johnny Depp movie Blow on the TV. Mikayla was drifting off as Johnny’s character began to switch his trade from smuggling dope to cocaine.



When Mikayla woke up, the setting sun was rendered milder still by thick brown drapes hanging before the wall-length windows. They television was off and the left side of Lindsay and Gerard’s king-sized bed was vacant so Mikayla got up and began wandering towards the voices downstairs.

“Whoa!” her uncle’s brother Mikey mock-sneered when she reached them in the kitchen, “What’s she doing here?” He was sitting at the counter, supervising high-chair-confined Bandit and her bowl of mac n’ cheese.

“She’s observing you for a science project,” Lindsay offered, pulling a big stack of paper plates from deep within a cabinet. “Did you have a good rest?” she asked, guiding Mikayla into a seat at the table, “Gerard’s out picking up pizza for dinner and I talked to your mom: she agrees with me that taking another day off tomorrow isn’t gonna kill anybody and it’s probably what you need so, if you want, it’s okay if you sleep here tonight and we can spend the day together again tomorrow.”

“That sounds good.” Mikayla said, “Thank you.”

“C’mere, baby doll,” Lindsay requested, leaning over to hug her before returning to organizing for Gerard’s arrival with dinner. “I’m gonna go give Bandit a quick bath before Gee gets back,” Lindsay announced to Mikey and Mikayla, taking her daughter from the high-chair and, lugging Bandit at her hip, ascending the stairs.

“Heard you had a shitty day,” Mikey noted, flipping his long straight hair from his eyes. His light brown locks were pin-strait – long on the top with the sides shaved – and it was always getting in his eyes. He played bass in the same band as Mikayla’s uncle Gerard and had been in her life going on seven years.

“Yeah, it definitely started out that way,” Mikayla laughed, “Tell me about yours instead.”
“Okay… Well, Gerard and I went out with Frank. He got another puppy.”
“What’s that, like, ten now?” she joked.
“Three,” he amended, chuckling. “I told him that’s the last one. Our house is gonna start to smell if he brings in any more animals.”
“Think he needs a girlfriend.”

“You might be on to something there.” Mikey mused. Frank and his singleness were beginning to haunt the nights when Mikey's girlfriend Alicia visited their house planning, only, to hang out with her boyfriend. But what could they say? Frank was Mikey's best friend; his roommate; guitarist in his and Gerard's band.

“Where is he anyways?” she asked.
“Outside with the dog.”
“It’s here?” she didn’t wait for an answer before finding shoes and shuffling quickly outside to meet the puppy.

Outside, Frank Iero was sitting on the front steps with a tiny husky puppy in his lap. With one hand he scratched under the dog’s chin and the other held his cigarette. Mikayla stepped out and sat beside him, ogling the pup.

“Hello Mikayla,” Frank breathed a smoky smile.