Almost Crying
Chapter One
He’s getting worse. It used to be every few weeks; now he comes to me nearly every weekend.
I’m afraid to leave the house, just in case he shows up. Just in case he needs me.
I have nightmares about him showing up one day when I’m not there, drunk or high like he has been the last few times, and feeling so alone that he takes his own life.
I hear a knock at my front door and look up from my book in surprise. He usually doesn’t come around until after ten, and it’s only seven. I laugh as I stand up, reminding myself that people other than Gerard might want to see me, but my shock returns when I pull open the door and see him there. He doesn’t look like he’s drunk or stoned, he just looks… tired.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he replies with a weak smile. “You busy?”
“Never to busy for you. Come on in.”
I hold the door open and he steps in, looking around. “Did you change something?”
“New couch.”
“Oh, yeah. Mind if I try it out?”
“Be my guest,” I respond, knowing we’ll end up there anyway. I close and lock the door and he strides over to the new furniture in my small apartment living room. He sits slowly and allows it to envelop him in comfort.
“It’s nice,” he comments with a smile. I join him and quietly think of what to say next.
“So, how have you been?” I ask lamely.
“Busy. They have me working hard,” he tells me, referring to his job as a cartoonist for the cartoon network. He lets out a wistful sigh and I scoot closer to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He relaxes into my embrace and I can almost see his content smile, even with his head facing away from me.
“How about you?” he inquires quietly after a moment of silence.
“I’ve been alright. I started a new book.”
“Oh, how is it?”
“It’s good. It’s called Ecstasy and it’s these three different short stories. I found it at the bookstore. I think they’re making a movie out of it.”
“You’re always reading these days.”
“I need something to do while I wait up for you.”
He turns his head ninety degrees clockwise so he can look up at me out of the corner of his eye.
“You wait up for me?”
I nod. “I worry about you, Gee.”
“… Oh.”
I stroke his hair and he turns his head back to where it was.
“Mikes?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“I know, Gee.”
“Do you love me?”
“Not like that.”
The same few words we exchange every time.
I’m afraid to leave the house, just in case he shows up. Just in case he needs me.
I have nightmares about him showing up one day when I’m not there, drunk or high like he has been the last few times, and feeling so alone that he takes his own life.
I hear a knock at my front door and look up from my book in surprise. He usually doesn’t come around until after ten, and it’s only seven. I laugh as I stand up, reminding myself that people other than Gerard might want to see me, but my shock returns when I pull open the door and see him there. He doesn’t look like he’s drunk or stoned, he just looks… tired.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he replies with a weak smile. “You busy?”
“Never to busy for you. Come on in.”
I hold the door open and he steps in, looking around. “Did you change something?”
“New couch.”
“Oh, yeah. Mind if I try it out?”
“Be my guest,” I respond, knowing we’ll end up there anyway. I close and lock the door and he strides over to the new furniture in my small apartment living room. He sits slowly and allows it to envelop him in comfort.
“It’s nice,” he comments with a smile. I join him and quietly think of what to say next.
“So, how have you been?” I ask lamely.
“Busy. They have me working hard,” he tells me, referring to his job as a cartoonist for the cartoon network. He lets out a wistful sigh and I scoot closer to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He relaxes into my embrace and I can almost see his content smile, even with his head facing away from me.
“How about you?” he inquires quietly after a moment of silence.
“I’ve been alright. I started a new book.”
“Oh, how is it?”
“It’s good. It’s called Ecstasy and it’s these three different short stories. I found it at the bookstore. I think they’re making a movie out of it.”
“You’re always reading these days.”
“I need something to do while I wait up for you.”
He turns his head ninety degrees clockwise so he can look up at me out of the corner of his eye.
“You wait up for me?”
I nod. “I worry about you, Gee.”
“… Oh.”
I stroke his hair and he turns his head back to where it was.
“Mikes?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“I know, Gee.”
“Do you love me?”
“Not like that.”
The same few words we exchange every time.