Keep the Faith
I Never Got The Chance
When Gerard grabbed his own throat with his left hand no one noticed – or thought of it as unusual. He was always known for doing uncommon things on stage – tonight; choking himself seemed no different.
Gerard stopped singing, let go of the microphone, squeezed on his neck with both hands and fell to his knees with a thud onto the hard wooden stage. What just happened?
I counted 13 seconds – 13 seconds for the band to stop playing. Another 2 for the crowd to stop cheering and screaming. The only sound left in the old renovated theatre was Gerard gagging, choking. Oh shit.
It took another 15 seconds for the dead stale silence to break. “Someone do something! Stop him!” Frank’s sharp voice broke and cracked. Squeaking high and shrill at the end.
Mikey took a step forward. Looked like he was going to do something then took 3 rushed steps back. He stumbled and almost fell into one of the amps. Ray ran off stage into the dark shadows shouting something no one could understand. Bob’s eyes looked too big as he sat – stunned. He just stared with both drumsticks in his hands hovering about the snare and cymbal. I counted again: 10 seconds.
“Why won’t someone do something?! Do something!” Frank’s voice was loud and high pitched scratching into the silence. He choked out a sob from the back of his throat and clutched to his guitar. “Someone help him! Someone help him!” this time his voice was small like a child lost in the big world. Lost in the park surrounded by people 10 times bigger than himself.
“When I was, a young boy my father, took me into the city to see a marching band. He said, Son when you grow up, will you be the saviour of the broken, the beaten and the damned?"
The crowd starting singing without the beat of the drum, or the grind of the guitars, without the voice that led them through the night. The lights flickered in the theatre. Onstage Gerard’s face turned pale white – the sobs of Mikey and Frank could be heard and Bob’s face was still dead still staring like he’d just seen an angel fall from Heaven. The gagging stopped onstage and Gerard fell to his side. The whole crowd shook as they continued singing; “Give a cheer, for all the broken. Listen here, because it’s who we are! I'm just a man; I'm not a hero! Just a boy, whose meant to sing this song! I'm just a man; I'm not a hero! I! Don't! Care!”
The lights on stage shut off and all you could see was the shadows of people rushing – confused, scared. I strained my eyes and saw a tall slender figure wrap his too-skinny-arms around the body on the stage. In the distance everyone could hear the screams and sobs from backstage. The wails of fear and shock.
“We'll carry on! We'll carry on! And though you're dead and gone believe me - your memory will carry on! We'll carry on! And though your broken and defeated - your weary widow marches on!”
When the crowd, we, stopped singing – in the silence I whispered to myself – to someone; “Why – why’d you go home so soon angel?”
“Why?”
Gerard stopped singing, let go of the microphone, squeezed on his neck with both hands and fell to his knees with a thud onto the hard wooden stage. What just happened?
I counted 13 seconds – 13 seconds for the band to stop playing. Another 2 for the crowd to stop cheering and screaming. The only sound left in the old renovated theatre was Gerard gagging, choking. Oh shit.
It took another 15 seconds for the dead stale silence to break. “Someone do something! Stop him!” Frank’s sharp voice broke and cracked. Squeaking high and shrill at the end.
Mikey took a step forward. Looked like he was going to do something then took 3 rushed steps back. He stumbled and almost fell into one of the amps. Ray ran off stage into the dark shadows shouting something no one could understand. Bob’s eyes looked too big as he sat – stunned. He just stared with both drumsticks in his hands hovering about the snare and cymbal. I counted again: 10 seconds.
“Why won’t someone do something?! Do something!” Frank’s voice was loud and high pitched scratching into the silence. He choked out a sob from the back of his throat and clutched to his guitar. “Someone help him! Someone help him!” this time his voice was small like a child lost in the big world. Lost in the park surrounded by people 10 times bigger than himself.
“When I was, a young boy my father, took me into the city to see a marching band. He said, Son when you grow up, will you be the saviour of the broken, the beaten and the damned?"
The crowd starting singing without the beat of the drum, or the grind of the guitars, without the voice that led them through the night. The lights flickered in the theatre. Onstage Gerard’s face turned pale white – the sobs of Mikey and Frank could be heard and Bob’s face was still dead still staring like he’d just seen an angel fall from Heaven. The gagging stopped onstage and Gerard fell to his side. The whole crowd shook as they continued singing; “Give a cheer, for all the broken. Listen here, because it’s who we are! I'm just a man; I'm not a hero! Just a boy, whose meant to sing this song! I'm just a man; I'm not a hero! I! Don't! Care!”
The lights on stage shut off and all you could see was the shadows of people rushing – confused, scared. I strained my eyes and saw a tall slender figure wrap his too-skinny-arms around the body on the stage. In the distance everyone could hear the screams and sobs from backstage. The wails of fear and shock.
“We'll carry on! We'll carry on! And though you're dead and gone believe me - your memory will carry on! We'll carry on! And though your broken and defeated - your weary widow marches on!”
When the crowd, we, stopped singing – in the silence I whispered to myself – to someone; “Why – why’d you go home so soon angel?”
“Why?”
♠ ♠ ♠
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