Keep the Faith

Must Get Out

Gerard sat comfortably on the squatty sofa they kept backstage and observed the mini scenarios happening in different areas of the plain dressing room from a stranger’s point of view.

Ray was strumming on his beloved guitar near enough right next to him. Still on the guitar, even when the concert had finished nearly twenty minutes ago. He twangs single strings, and every once in a ten minutes, belts into a placid riff mellowed by the fact that there was no spark of electricity running through it. It sometimes caught Gerard off guard.

Through the eyes of an average everyday man, Gerard would see a guy who was genuinely great on the guitar, knew how to make music and make it good. Nothing was weird there, for sure. Ray was a musician. He was obliged to handle his guitar if it meant more harmonious rhythms.

Bob was chatting with Matt by the dressers and large, shining mirrors. It was huge seeing a familiar face playing the drums whenever he turned his back to the audience that night, after such a long time. He couldn’t even recall the day the doctor, and Brian, told him that Bob would not be playing anything for a long while. Not until he got better, at least.

Again, through the eyes of a stranger, it was just two men talking. Friends exchanging pleasantries, or something like that.

Mikey and Frank… Who knew what they were doing. They were up by the piled black boxes of packed instruments nearer to Gerard’s left, and they were huddled by the nearest case. Their shoulders would shake as they let out high-pitched giggles (Frank even got all dewy-eyed and complained it hurt to breathe at one point, to which Bob called, “That’s nice, Frank,” without even looking over his shoulder or breaking his conversation short. Mikey just sat there and laughed some more.)

With both their backs turned to him, it was kind of hard for Gerard to see what exactly was so funny. Their shoulders would bounce, and something was switched between hands while they stared down at something, before falling into another pit of sniggering.

Now if someone were to come in and watch them two for a good couple of minutes, they were most likely to gaze blankly and think they were weird.

But Gerard was no stranger.

He quickly let the act drop, and he was in his own point of view like always. He took in his surroundings once again, and smiled.

These guys were amazing. His life was amazing, and Gerard would say it everyday. In his thoughts, dreams, on a drawing, on a Post-It note, out loud… It didn’t matter, as long as he got to say it in his own special way.

Except…

Sellouts. Sellouts. My Chemical Romance- sellouts. They were never as good as they used to be. The Black Parade? What a joke! They’ve ruined it for themselves now. Sellouts. Sellouts.

He was sure he heard it throughout the concert audience. It was a single boo through a million cheers, a ping against a mountain of crystal wine glasses. That’s what it sounded like to Gerard. It was small, but it still knocked around his eardrums. He was sure he heard it. But after all, this was his – their – night. He was Gerard the amazing, Gerard the invincible, Gerard the hero, Gerard the guy who didn’t really give a care to the haters, and the show had to go on.

They had completed the setlist without any further occurrences of hate, spite, and anything in between going on through Gerard’s ears, and as they trawled off stage that night to collect their much needed sweat towels and water bottles, they agreed that it was, indeed, an exhilarating show for everyone.

Gerard had put it all down to paranoia in the end.

Sellouts. Sellouts. What happened to Gerard’s hair? He should have kept it black. It was better like that. Mikey doesn’t have glasses anymore. Everyone loved those glasses. Why don’t they sing about revenge anymore? He’s changed. They’ve changed. They’re not allowed to change. They’re so arrogant now. They totally blanked me when I was calling out to them. Selfish. They’ve changed. They’ve changed. Changed for the worse. Changed for-

The thoughts of dread and deceit started to creep back. And it was all to the due fact that Gerard was becoming more aware and cautious of what was going on in the heads of his own fans. It wasn’t just a one-time thing, and it scared him to some extent. And now those stupid, stupid manifestations of mistrust were skipping in his head like a broken record.

He was meant to be the singer from My Chemical Romance who wasn’t supposed to give a damn about what people thought; he was meant to be strong. It gave his fans, his dedicated, loyal fans, the hope that maybe they had that hidden strength somewhere inside of them, something they could use to carry on themselves. He was looked up to everywhere, monitored at every move. If he cracked up, if he told the crowd that in fact he wasn’t this incredible superhero they’d all grown to know and love… What effect would that do to his fans? Some of them would probably start to hate, for whatever invalid explanation. That was the worst thing, Gerard thought.

Maybe what he heard from amongst the screaming fans wasn’t a figment of his imagination at all.

He wanted the leisurely, warm, post-concert glow to come back.

He should have the expected the anxiety to kick in after a short while. His face flustered a blush pink while his stomach began to churn, making him feel a tad queasy. In normal circumstances, Gerard would take some Xanax (of the correct dosage, of course) or take a long walk somewhere quiet and serene. But his medication was squeezed within the confines of his backpack back at the hotel, and taking a lengthy stroll to clear his mind was out in the question, being in a foreign country he had never been to before could cause all kind of attention and trouble if luck wasn’t on his side. He was stuck with the natural method of taking calm deep breaths.

Was it him or was the room getting smaller and hotter?

As he pulled on his denim jacket collar to let his skin breathe, the thought suddenly occurred to him that the rental car keys would prove quite useful in this situation. He decided to go for it.

He twisted his head around to see Ray, resting his guitar gently upon his lap and a flicker of concern shining in his eyes. “You alright?”

“Yeah…yeah. Totally. Hey, I think I’m going to go back to the hotel, okay? I feel really blown out after today’s performance and I think I’m just gonna go and chill.” Gerard was already standing and straightening himself up.

“Oh, sure. I mean, Bob, Matt and me agreed we were going to go and find a local store for supplies and stuff and then find a nice diner to eat at.”

“Really? What about those two?” Gerard pointed his thumb at the two youngest band members.

“We were going to ask Frank and Mikey in like two minutes.”

“Oh. Well, yeah. Not for me tonight. Fucking tired, ya know. But I’ll see you in the morning. See you later, Toro.” His mouth tugged into a quick, lazy smile and made his way to the door, his hand jingling the keys in his pocket.

“Where you going, Gee?” Mikey had piped up.

“Um.” Gerard kind of wished nobody would ask him anything as he paced his way out of the building, but Mikey was just too damn inquisitive. He should have known that, of course, but Mikey’s curiosity had given him other thoughts about driving around like a lost soul on his own.

“Hey, Mikey,” he glanced over his shoulder, to make sure no one was listening in to whatever Gerard had to say, and satisfied that everyone was too pre-occupied with their own personal activities, he stepped closer to his younger brother and said in a hushed voice. “Fancy a car trip?”

Mikey was good with maps.

-

He had spent nearly half an hour – seriously – twisting the knob on the car stereo trying to find a good radio station tuning. All Gerard had come up with so far was some Asian music by artists Gerard had never heard of before. He had nothing against the cultural – and sometimes poppy – tunes they chose to play, but he found it a little awkward when he didn’t understand a word of anything that was emanating from the speakers. All he wanted was some English music, something to brush away the thoughts for all but a few minutes if need be. Gerard was close to giving up after finding nothing but static whichever way he tuned it, but eventually the crackling subsided into an overly cheerful, American DJ who was about to present his next song.

Gerard sighed a ‘finally’ and leaned back in his seat. It was a decent song that was floating out of the speakers; suited the mood just right. The piano keys fit in conjunction with the beat of drums, and a then a voice emerged. The singer was definitely a male, and with his raspy voice he possessed a tinge of falsetto. It was a good combination.

It was different, and soothing.

I’ve been the needle and the thread,
Weaving figure eights and circles round your head.
I try to laugh but cry instead,
Patiently wait to hear the words you’ve never said.


Not too sickly, not too heavy. It was a perfect song.

He shifted his eyes from the dimly light road to the passenger seat where Mikey was sitting. He’d been particularly quiet throughout the ride, only giving one-word answers when faced with a question. Gerard thought it was kind of peculiar from a man who had been giggling like an embarrassed schoolgirl only a short time ago.

The younger man was leaning his head against the cool glass window, his eyes looking upwards as he watched the Vietnamese night sky rush by. He clutched a folded up map, which they had picked up at the hotel reception, and pinched at the edges until they were frayed and untidy. Gerard reached over and poked him in the arm, “You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to.”

Mikey found it hard to look away from the bright, white full moon, which was why it took him a little more time than necessary to register, that yes, he was being prodded at. “What- I mean, no, no. I wanted to come.”

“Okay, well, can you tell me what street we’re on then? Because I completely lost track of where we were going when I was trying to find music.”

“You kept on going straight down, right? No turns?” Mikey asks.

“Yes. And no.”

“Then we’re fine. All we have to do is just turn the car around when we have to go back.”

I’m lifting you up
I’m letting you down
I’m dancing ‘til dawn
I’m fooling around
I’m not giving up
I’m making your love.


Everyone was such a big fan of the Bullets album, but then they went and got mainstream and changed. Changed for the worse. Sell outs. The shows aren’t that intimate anymore, they only play in big arenas now because they’re huge megastars. Sellouts. The Black Parade was the worst album because they started getting new fans, but they don’t count as proper fans because they weren’t around for the first two. They’re not as dedicated. Fakes.

Maybe Gerard was looking too deep in the lyrics, or the beat was getting old. Either way, he was beginning to dislike the song.

A comfortable silence hung over their heads, the song’s sweet melody echoing softly through their ears. Occasionally, when Gerard would drive over bumps, there would be a soft thud before Mikey’s mumblings of ow broke the silence.

“Gerard, are you okay?”

“What?”

“You. Are you okay?”

Gerard thought about his words for a moment, as he continued to stare down the darkened road illuminated by orange streetlamp. “Fine. Perfect. Peachy. Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Mikey didn’t respond; only let his back cushion into the leather upholstery before shuffling back into his original position with his head pressed against the window. “Just worried.”

“You shouldn’t be. Today has been awesome; that show was one of the best we’ve done, regardless o-” Gerard faltered.

“Regardless of… what?”

“Nothing. It was a great gig. End of story.”

This city’s made us crazy and we must get out.

Mikey was watching the moon again. It was like watching a small boy catching a glimpse of it for the first time in his entire life; his eyes shifted from side to side, memorizing each crater, how many he was able to see and count, the magnitude it must really be up close, how luminosity that blinding was able to reach Earth from so high up in space. To Mikey, knowing that thousands of people across this side of the world were looking at the same rock in the sky as he was right now made him feel slightly giddy, a little bit special and important too. He couldn’t explain in words how things like that made him feel, but it was those scarce little moments that made him such a carefree kid again.

He grinned, and bit his lip before opening his mouth to say what he had wanted – needed – to say since this morning.

“You just need to keep a little faith, Gee. I think you underestimate our fans a little, and that they are, in fact, more amazing than we realize.”

Gerard gathered all of this in his head, engraved it on his brain, and as he turned the car into an empty cul-de-sac to make his way back to the hotel, he couldn’t help but find it a little odd – if not creepy – that Mikey would just blurt out something so wise and whimsical like that, when in actual fact, had told him nothing at all.

Maybe it was the moon’s doing, Gerard surmised. His little brother was a weird kid, so it seemed reasonable.

It was strangely comforting, though, and that was all Gerard cared about for the long drive back. The temptations of feather pillows and thick duvets weaving their way through his mind sounded like a good idea right about now.

-

It was 4.33am, and My Chemical Romance were aboard a flight bound for Southeast Asia. Three gruelling hours on a plane sitting next to Frank while he teased Bob endlessly was not Mikey’s idea of ‘just to kick back, and sleep away the hours awake’ as Brian had the nerve to put it. Who was able to sleep when Frank was rattling complimentary peanut packets around and making every other noise imaginable?

That’s why Mikey was so, so glad that time was gradually getting shorter, and they would soon arrive at Vietnam airport. He really hated flying sometimes.

The chattering of other passengers on board had slowly diminished by the time midnight had struck; even his band mates must have felt the lack of sleep take effect on their senses by that time, as one by one they fell into a hesitant, light sleep.

Mikey, however, couldn’t.

There was a tune pulsating through the airplane cabin, but hardly audible, as the volume had been lowered considerably. He figured it must have been playing all day, probably for calming effects. To help those who had trouble flying and control nausea or something. It was a nice little song- by Maroon 5, he was pretty sure. It was easy listening, and it helped chase away the creeping boredom for a couple of minutes. He inwardly hoped it’d make him just a little sleepy as well.

There’s only so much I can do for you,
after all of the things you put me through.


That was when he started hearing the hitched breathing and wet sniffles sounding from the seat in front of him. Gerard’s seat.

On instinct and reaction, Mikey was going to sit up and ask what was wrong in that brotherly concerned manner he’d grown into over the years. But when Gerard started mumbling and whispering between wavered silences, he hesitantly sank back into his chair and couldn’t help feeling he’d wandered across something he shouldn’t have, something he shouldn’t get into or interrupt. So he did only what he could do: sit, listen, and pretend he was sleeping like a fucking angel.

They hate me. I know they do. But a million people can’t be wrong, can they? A million could be. Maybe the cheers of approval were out of pity. Maybe Frank, Ray and Bob only stuck around for the same reason. They don’t like what I’ve turned out to be… Should I change for them?

Mikey felt the overwhelming urge to strangle the person who had put those words into his head. Or, you know, whoever he could find that wasn’t twice his size and sure to beat him back. Gerard was doubting. Mikey didn’t like the doubting, especially when it came to the band and everyone associated with it. Gerard adored the band to the very bottom of his ‘little black heart,’ and to see him get into an emotional wreck for the one thing he loved most…well.

But maybe it was best for him to let it out. Pent up anxiety and worry weren’t exactly pleasant feelings to keep locked away, and could lead to even worse circumstances. Mikey knew. He had had his fair share.

If only it were so easy to demolish these problems for good.

Gotta do what I gotta do, though. I’m Gerard the invincible. Gotta carry on, whatever shit goes down.

Mikey sighed through his nose and cracked an eye open to check his cell phone. It was 4.52am.

Fumbling through your dresser draw forgot what I was looking for
Try to guide me in the right direction
Making use of all this time,
keeping everything inside
Close my eyes and listen to you crying.


As dawn rolled out from above the clouds, Mikey had also scrunched his eyes shut, put his hands tight over his ears and blocked out the gentle, muffled crying coming from the seat in front as he willed for sleep to come and knock him out already.