Another Memory

Gerard’s P.O.V.:

Morning came. Morning always came. Alison was still fast asleep beside me, but I couldn't rest another minute if I tried. She stirred as I got up to find a shirt, my mum having finally done the washing, and woke as I went to leave the room.

“Gerard? What time is it?”

“I dunno. Early?”

“Why are you up?”

“Can't sleep.”

“Ohh. Well I might get going anyway. I'll get out of your hair.” She wasn't bothering me, but perhaps it was best.

“Alright then. Mikey's lazy ass is probably still in bed.” Alison laughed, nodding her head in agreement. She got up, stretched, and went to pass me to leave the room.

“Hey can I borrow a jacket or something? It's really cold out there,” she said, the draft from the now open door chilling us both.

“Sure, here.” I handed her my warmest jacket, which happened to be my favourite. It was the jacket I wore every morning when I went out for a smoke, the jacket I lived in at Art school, and the jacket I wrapped myself in on those long walks in the rain. I'd had it for years. She took it but didn't put it on straight away. She looked to me, to the jacket, and then she blushed a deep red. I had to give her credit for trying to hide it behind her hair that was falling all about her face, but, I’d still seen it. Her wide eyes met mine and I thought for a second she was about to have a panic attack, but realised she wasn’t breathing at all, let alone fast enough to be having an attack of any sort. Without a word she turned, heading through the door I held open and up the stairs in what seemed a trance. I smiled after her as I followed, but she didn’t seem to want to stay all that long. I thought she’d at least have a coffee with me. She was half way down the hall as I caught up and by the time I’d realised where she was headed to, she was already out the front door. Perhaps she just wasn’t a morning person, I thought.

I sat in my lecture class listening to the professor go on and on about brush techniques, most of which I already knew, wishing now that I’d just skipped as I’d planned to earlier. He had up projections of various artworks but each picture would slowly become a blur the longer it was up for. I peered out the window beside me to the bright and sunny day, the cloudless sky full of birds which were practically calling my name with each sound they made, then back to the balding man before me. I wondered how I passed the time in school, stuck inside for 8 hours a day with no fresh air on the days it was snowing. That just so happened to be quite a few of them. This lecture was only an hour long and already, it was killing me.

I thought back to my school days as I remembered what it was that got me through the days, regretting that I’d bothered to search for that part of my mind once more. I’d managed to lock it someplace safe with the last psychiatrist I saw, not wanting them to think I was worse than I am. I’m perfectly fine, I told myself. I tended to tell myself that a lot.

I remembered Nathan and that skinny kid; I think his name was Sean. Nowadays they both work at the same fast food restaurant for 10 bucks an hour, but their future didn’t seem so relevant when we were in school. At that time what was relevant was their strength compared to mine; their friends compared to mine; their appearance; their endurance. I could continue. Each morning they’d back me up against my locker and demand my lunch money, because the fat kid didn’t need to eat, and then beat on me, because the shy kid didn’t have a voice. That was their reasoning, anyway. Not one day passed in high school that I didn’t come home with fresh bruises. Not one day passed where I’d not come home crying. Not one day passed when I’d have to find another excuse to save my mum the trouble. Not one day that is, except the day I didn’t come home.