Troubles

Steps

The drive was awkward, and I know it’s my fault. I could’ve just talked to Gerard. I know that as soon as I mention cartoons or music that he hates, he can’t shut up. He just has to criticize them and tell everyone which ones are better and so on. I could’ve just mentioned some sucky band, then he’d start rambling and eventually, we’d all laugh.

But I don’t feel like laughing. Gerard can make me laugh anytime he wants, but I don’t want to laugh, so I never ask him to make me laugh.
I don’t want to laugh. There’s nothing to laugh at. And yet, I laugh with him.

I turn left and walk down the steps to the door. Only now, there’s a gate over it. I frown at it, before I spot a piece of paper on the wooden door behind the gate.

‘Closed’

That’s it. That’s all it says. ‘Closed’. No explanation. No ‘please, go here instead’. Just ‘closed’.

I sit down on the steps and bury my head in my hands. I hear a few people walk past me on the sidewalk behind me, laughing. I’m sure they’re not laughing at me. Nothing is funny about me.

My stomach hurts, as if to tell me to keep on looking. Or to spend the five bucks I’ve got in my pocket on something more fulfilling than what I’ve saved them for.

But nothing is more fulfilling. Nothing is more satisfying or important than playing on that guitar. That beautiful guitar. It’s white with a black panel on it. The strings are brand new and fucking expensive, and yet, the owner of the shop lets me play on the beauty anytime I want in exchange for five bucks.

And so I get up. If I can’t satisfy the hunger in my stomach, than I can at least satisfy the hunger in my ears.

“Frank?” I look up and see Gerard. What is he doing here?
“What’re you doing here?” he asks, looking down at the stairs I just came from.
“Does your grandma live here?”

“Did you follow me?” I ask, quickly answering a question with a question. Even though it’s not an answer. Just a question.

“Yeah. You forgot your bag,” he says and extends his arm towards me, my backpack dangling from his hand.
I quickly take it.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He once again looks down the stairs.
He thinks I’m poor. He thinks I need a soup kitchen to get food. And even though I do, he can’t think that I do.

“I work here,” I quickly blurt out, diverting his attention away from the stairs and back to me.
“I volunteer here with my grandma, but now they’re closed.” He suddenly looks surprised.

“Really?” he asks, surprised and utterly amazed. He doesn’t sound bitter at all. He doesn’t spot my lie at all.

“Yeah,” I say quickly, amazed that he hasn’t seen right through me already.
“But now it’s closed, so I should go find my grandma,” I quickly say, before I turn around and walk away from him – conveniently towards the cemetery.

When I cast a glance over my shoulder, checking if Gerard looks as if he’s figured me out and feels sorry for me, all I see is a smile and something that oddly resembles admiration in his eyes.
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I feel like updating frequently. I love that feeling. =D