Postcards From No Man's Land
Whiskey and Coke
Frank was there on the day the Way brothers died. Strangely enough, it seemed, he was on that exact same planet, breathing the same hazy polluted New Jersey air, feeling the same cold breeze. He was in that atmosphere. Not at the scenes, but he was there in the background.
He was in the same class as Mikey when they phoned him up to the front office. He was more curious than anyone else as to why the shy, quirky boy was being singled out. And he took the same hallways and stairs that Mikey took as his path, the wooden bathroom pass his visible excuse. His invisible excuse was not exactly in his mind. No, it wasn't even in his sub-conscience, it was a secret to all. His invisible excuse pounded along with the beat of his heart, strong and erratic, and the clips of his shoes on the cracked sidewalk, soft and steady. He loved Mikey Way, but it was a secret as silent and as known as his smile.
Frank was there in the front office when they handed Mikey the telephone. He pretended to be looking in their English teacher's mailbox for some quizzes that he told the woman behind the desk he was supposed to be picking up. He listened as the too-loud receiver blared the static-filled message to the entire office.
Your brother is dead. His body is as cold and as white as the patch of blood-stained snow he was found in. He crashed his car going 98 miles per hour, per heart beat, doped up on Whiskey and Coke.
You're only seventeen years old and he's gone. I guess he proved he was human by the splatters of the blood you shared on the trunks of trees that have stood at the side of that road for over 150 years. Yeah, that was proof enough.
And you’re dead too because you wanted to be him. You always wanted to be your brother.
Frank was there when Mikey let out an ear-splitting wail and crashed through the great wooden doors. He was there to hear the telephone smash into the linoleum floor. He was there to forget about the quizzes he was pretending to be looking for and his visible excuse, the wooden bathroom pass that smelled like piss and rot.
His invisible excuse was too invisible to be forgotten.
Mikey ran fast, but grief sent him tumbling. Frank ran fast, and it was his grief that kept his feet pounding out the erratic beating of his heart. And he was there on that very same planet to catch Mikey as he fell. He was there to watch that boy he loved die. Because Gerard Way was dead, it was echoing through the line that was back at the office where the world had collapsed. It was in the blood that they shared, and Mikey had died too. His blood wasn’t painted on the highway, but his tears were trapped in the fabric of Frank’s shirt, and that was proof enough.
Frank was there, but Mikey, Mikey was already gone.
He was in the same class as Mikey when they phoned him up to the front office. He was more curious than anyone else as to why the shy, quirky boy was being singled out. And he took the same hallways and stairs that Mikey took as his path, the wooden bathroom pass his visible excuse. His invisible excuse was not exactly in his mind. No, it wasn't even in his sub-conscience, it was a secret to all. His invisible excuse pounded along with the beat of his heart, strong and erratic, and the clips of his shoes on the cracked sidewalk, soft and steady. He loved Mikey Way, but it was a secret as silent and as known as his smile.
Frank was there in the front office when they handed Mikey the telephone. He pretended to be looking in their English teacher's mailbox for some quizzes that he told the woman behind the desk he was supposed to be picking up. He listened as the too-loud receiver blared the static-filled message to the entire office.
Your brother is dead. His body is as cold and as white as the patch of blood-stained snow he was found in. He crashed his car going 98 miles per hour, per heart beat, doped up on Whiskey and Coke.
You're only seventeen years old and he's gone. I guess he proved he was human by the splatters of the blood you shared on the trunks of trees that have stood at the side of that road for over 150 years. Yeah, that was proof enough.
And you’re dead too because you wanted to be him. You always wanted to be your brother.
Frank was there when Mikey let out an ear-splitting wail and crashed through the great wooden doors. He was there to hear the telephone smash into the linoleum floor. He was there to forget about the quizzes he was pretending to be looking for and his visible excuse, the wooden bathroom pass that smelled like piss and rot.
His invisible excuse was too invisible to be forgotten.
Mikey ran fast, but grief sent him tumbling. Frank ran fast, and it was his grief that kept his feet pounding out the erratic beating of his heart. And he was there on that very same planet to catch Mikey as he fell. He was there to watch that boy he loved die. Because Gerard Way was dead, it was echoing through the line that was back at the office where the world had collapsed. It was in the blood that they shared, and Mikey had died too. His blood wasn’t painted on the highway, but his tears were trapped in the fabric of Frank’s shirt, and that was proof enough.
Frank was there, but Mikey, Mikey was already gone.