Welcome to Your Parade

"Frank was an amazing person to play with. He was the best guitarist I've ever worked with, and he just made every day so much more interesting and exciting. I know that wherever he is, he'll still be playing guitar. No matter when, Frank Iero will always be remembered by many people."

Ray finishes his speech shakily and Bob stands up and makes his way slowly to the podium. He pulls out his speech and lays it on the lectern.

"Frank Iero was an amazing person, to everyone who knew him. He was an inspiration. There was never a day that went by when he wasn't happy and energetic and brightening everyone who was around him. He-"

Bob bites his lip and his voice shakes, before continuing.

"-He was a great friend, a great bandmate, a great-"

His voice chokes up and a single tear runs down his face.

No. Bob can't cry. Bob's the tough guy, the muscle-

"-And we'll all miss the little guy."

Mikey replaces Bob, hands shaking slightly.

"Frank was one of my best friends. He was into the same things as I was. He loved comics and horror movies, he loved making people laugh. No one will ever live up to Frank..."

Mikey's soft voice washes over me, and as I listen to his story, I think of you. You riding on my shoulders. Your little giggle. Your tiara and your cowboy hat and your feathery boa...

"-Thank you," Mikey says, and now it's my turn.

"Frank was more than a friend," I begin. "He was the best person I had ever met. Everyone he met loved him, and he had more than enough love for everyone. He was special. He played guitar like it was the last thing he'd ever do, and when he laughed, everyone around him couldn't help laughing.
Death comes to people in the way they most want, and I hope Frank is happy. He was a true inspiration, and-" My voice breaks, and tears start sliding down my face.

"-And-and, we'll all miss him, so, so much," I choke, turning away.

I can't do this any more. I can't. I stumble down the stairs as best I can, finding my seat and futilely trying to hold back my tears.

Frank, how could you do this to me? I loved you, I swear I loved you. Remember when you caught me jacking off, and you asked me who it was, and I laughed and said it was that girl from the nightclub? It wasn't. It was you, and it was always you. I never thought about anyone else.

I can't handle this. I think of the letter in my pocket that I've folded and unfolded and read and reread and memorised.

I'm sorry, Gerard. You almost never called me Gerard. It was always Gee, or some other little variation that I'd get annoyed at you at, but I loved you calling me, because it meant you thought I was special enough for you to make a nickname for.

I'm sorry, Gerard. Were those really your last words? You wasted your last words on someone as pathetic and worthless as me? I'm not worth it Frankie. I was never worth it, I was too scared and too weak to tell you how I felt. Remember that fanfiction we read together, Frankie?

They called us Frerard, and I loved the idea of us being like one person, of us being together. But you laughed at that, and you said they obviously didn't realise you were engaged to Jamia. I wanted to tell you so badly. But the story made it seem simple. I kissed you and you kissed back. It wasn't simple in real life, it was nowhere near.

"Gerard." It's Mikey, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Gerard, it's finished. You can go see Frank now."

For a moment, I imagine that you've just come back from a visit and I'll see you, smiling at me, or playing guitar, or jumping up on me. Then reality hits me. You're not going to be moving, you're going to be a still corpse inside a coffin.

Suddenly the need to see you hits me like a physical blow, and I follow the line snaking up to your coffin until I finally see it. You're in a suit. You always hated suits, they made you feel constricted in a way that your favourite tight jeans never did. But no matter what you wore, you were beautiful. You are beautiful. I don't think I ever said that to you. You're beautiful, you were perfection incarnate. And now you're not here.

You're holding a single, long-stemmed, red rose. You look almost peaceful, but not quite. Your face is still, devoid of the life that made you who you were, Frank. I gaze at your still face, and eventually all the mourners have left. Even Jamia.

How did death come to you, Frank? I can see how you summoned death. I can see the sharp, shining knife that you put to your wrists. But how did you see death? As a desert sky? As the Black Parade? As us together? What was it, Frank?

What happened? When did you start wanting to end everything? What happened to 'I am not afraid to keep on living'? You can't just leave me here, alone. I can't live without you. I can't live without you, Frank. I can't.