Brick by Boring Brick

I was, once again, on the mountain hill where my Frankie and I used to stand, talking for endless hours, before rolling down through it and, simply, be all romantic and dreamy; well, that kinda makes sense, since this was, obviously, another product of my dreams.

This time, though, I was all alone, staring at the grey sky and wondering if my Frankie was really gone, if it hadn’t been just a really bad dream, last time… But I guess bad dreams are also a part of this alternative reality, right? They’re ‘real’, on this side of the world.

This realization made me cringe; I really had lost the love of my dream life, hadn’t I? I wouldn’t have a chance of seeing him, ever again, as he was; all I had, now, was the real Frank to save me from the darkness that awaited me, and that wasn’t a really welcoming perspective, as much as I tried to see it that way…

It’s not that I didn’t think that Frank – not my Frankie, real Frank – was cool and pretty, but… Real Frank was different. He wasn’t the innocent boy from my dreams, for sure; he seemed vainer, stronger, more… I don’t know - manlier, I guess.

He was blunter to. My dream Frankie always made everything around beautiful words and soft whispers, while real Frank just goes straight to business and says it with no fears of hurting anyone, or to let them be shocked… just like he did, yesterday, before going home. He just straight out said that he was still freaked out about the drawings I had made of him, and that he’d kick me straight in the balls if I ever drew him again; it was rather frightening.

“Gerard.” I heard a voice say, waking me from my wandering thoughts - most likely, it was my conscience, ‘cause it seemed exactly like my own voice, yet more mature.

I looked around and found someone who looked just like me. The thing is, this guy who was staring at me with lost eyes was precisely me – but, somehow, changed.

He looked better; he looked as if he was out of the gutter. He looked stronger, and as if he could reach anything with that killer look of his. He exhaled confidence and determination; he was surrounded by an aura of awesomeness that sent me off the edge. Summing up, he was everything I was not, even though he was me.

“Who are you? I mean, who am I? I mean… Aff, you get it” I tried to ask, but nothing seemed adequate enough to explain myself; this vision of myself – of my other self, apparently – was too confusing – too much for me to handle.

“I’m you, obviously - your ‘future’ you, or something like that; just call me Geezy, okay? It’s easier” The guy replied, walking slowly to me and sitting by my side; we were silent for a while, as I tried to comprehend what was going on, but, suddenly, he interrupted the blissful and thoughtful silence that surrounded us. “Ah, I still remember when I used to come here with him…” He whispered, almost as if I wasn’t supposed to hear.

“Him?” I asked, my face showing off the obvious confusion that I felt.

“Yes, with him… You don’t need to know who. All you need to know – all that I’m here to tell you – is that everything will get better” he said, getting up and cleaning the grass off his pants. “It will get better.” He whispered, closing his eyes for a second as he took a soft breath.

“And what’s that even supposed to mean?” I asked, getting up as well and following him around as he tried to get away from me – he was obviously trying to escape my unfortunate questions, but I wouldn’t let him go that easily.

“You’ll know what it means when it’s due time…” He said, stopping abruptly. “Oh, and, just one more thing: break Frank’s heart, and I’ll kill you. Dreams can become real, after all.” He warned, looking at me dangerously, and then walking away as I stood, petrified, in my place.

Which Frank was he talking about?

He was a creation of my dreams, right? So, he could only be talking about my dream Frankie… but that one… he was… dead.

I woke up sweating, the scream that wanted to break free from my enclosing throat leaving my body in the form of tears.

My Frankie was dead, and I still couldn’t believe it properly. I couldn’t have him dying on me, after all that he had made me survive – he had been the reason I was alive, but, now, he was gone. How could a person that only exists in your goddamn dreams die?

Getting up, I had to make a true effort not to just get back to bed, ‘cause, in the end, that’s all I wanted – get back to bed, sleep, and dream of Frankie again. Dream of his pretty face, and of his sweet voice, and of everything we had seen together, in that dream land of mine; although I knew, deep in my heart, that he wasn’t going to be there, I still wanted to make sure he really was gone. It was like I was trying to hurt myself even more, by constantly searching the places I knew Frankie wouldn’t be – not because he despised them, but because he couldn’t frequent them anymore… He was dead.

As those words, once again, stroke through me, a new wave of sorrowful feelings washed through me, and a new-born cascade of tears ran through my face, leaving my tired eyes to sulk in themselves. As I walked to the bathroom, I tried not to make too much noise, as to not wake my brother ever-so-early, even though my sobs were making it hard to stay low.

I only let the pain wash over me completely when I had the bathroom door closed behind me, and, in that instant, I let myself fall to the ground, my back to the wooden piece of privacy, my heart thumping hard and loud in my chest, waiting to be set free from that dark cave within me. My lungs were giving out, my breath hitched and difficult to manage, and my already stingy eyes were two focus of pain that could barely compare to the one within my soul.

As much as I tried to keep myself the quietest I could, I didn’t succeed, because, almost a minute after I had been the bathroom, driving myself away in the ocean of sorrow I was swimming in, I heard a soft knock on the door, and a soft caring voice ask “Mikey, is everything okay?”.

The simple question threw me off the edge, my mouth unable to close itself as the anger and pain took over me, once again.

“I’m not Mikey!” I screamed, even though I didn’t move from my spot on the floor, keeping the door closed to my mother. “I’m Gerard… I’m not Mikey…” I whispered, wishing that my name would remind her, many years later, that she had another son.

“Oh, I’m sorry… Well, is everything okay, Jared?” She asked, the hurry and concern in her voice dying completely; when I didn’t answer her question, not wanting to break down even further, she continued. “I know it’s weird to talk to a friend’s mother, but I’ll be downstairs if you need me…” She finished, and I could hear her footsteps lower their volume as she descended the stairs.

When I couldn’t hear her simple steps anymore, I sunk myself further to the ground, my knees reaching higher in the space in front of me and my arms sneaking around my careless legs, my head falling in between them and the tears slithering to the floor like poisoned snakes, willing to kill whatever stood in their way.

After a long time of just sitting down and crying, I cleaned my tears away and got to my feet, deciding against drowning myself in my pain as I took a quick shower. This cold shower – literally cold, since I couldn’t bother to turn on the hot water, neither did I want to –, lasted no longer than fifteen minutes and, as soon as I was done, I tiptoed my way back to my room, where I got dressed in a simple outfit – a black shirt, my black leather jacket and black jeans –; after that, I put everything I needed for the day in my schoolbag, and walked down the stairs, trying to make as less noise as possible, as to not get any attention from my so-called mother.

Unfortunately, it didn’t go as I expected, since I ended up crashing against her as she was travelling from the kitchen to the living room, a hot coffee in her hands.

“Fuck!” I said as the coffee burned the skin that was covered by my shirt, the material not being thick enough to protect my sensible pale skin.

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry!” She said, dragging me to the kitchen and cleaning my shirt off.

It felt weird to have my mother pay me any attention and, for a delirious second, I wondered if she had remembered who I was, what our bond was. Maybe she had heard me cry in the bathroom, and the resemblance to the cries I gave out when a very young child sparked a memory in her, and she realized that Mikey was not her only child.

As hope started to build up inside me – and, eventually, be shown in my death covered eyes –, she started to apologize, and I felt like crying.

“Oh, darling, I’m so sorry!” She claimed, regret filling her face as she looked at my face.

After that, though, she broke me apart as she dragged me to my younger brother’s room, knocking lightly on the door as she still held my arm; at the time, I wasn’t too sure what was to happen, but I figured that she wanted to ask Mikey something about me, or anything like that – it was only logical.

“Mikey, honey” she called my brother, as she opened the door; Mikey was in the process of buttoning his jeans – still topless –, and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me and our mother by the door, her holding my arm carefully. “Could you lend a shirt to your friend…? Jared? I just ruined his shirt with hot coffee…”

I heard a crash, a loud thump in my ears, but I knew nothing had been broken, but the remaining pieces of my already destroyed heart – her words flew through my ears, to my damaged brain and, then, affected my heart like the sun to a vampire, turning it to ashes and destroying any chance of revival.

I broke free from my mother’s loosened grip on my arm, yanking it away in such a manner that it unbalanced her and made her step back fearfully; right after, I ran away from both of them, from that dreadful and embarrassing moment of hope, from that heartbreaking scene between my mother and I.

I ran until my lungs gave out, until my eyes broke into rivers again, until I couldn’t see straight anymore – I ran until I was far from that house, even though it still didn’t feel far enough.

I realized I was near my school – the path that leads me there being memorable –, just by the record store and, for a few seconds, I wondered if I could go inside and go unnoticed, but decided against it as yet more tears fell to the ground. I lowered my head as to hide those tears, and instantly turned around when I heard the door to the record store being opened and closed, once.

I started walking, but didn’t make it too far before a hand touched my shoulder, spinning me around, forcing me to face whoever was trying to communicate with me.

“Are you okay?” I heard Frank’s voice break through my walls, and I wanted to break down and tell him the truth but, instead, I nodded my hair, never once talking so he wouldn’t hear my wrecking voice. “Don’t lie to me” he begged, his eyes showing more that he was imploring than his voice did; if I wasn’t such an expert in reading eyes, I probably would’ve missed the plead. “Now, are you okay, Gerard?”

“No.” I replied truthfully, unable to lie as such pretty pearls gazed into my soul. “My life’s a fucking wreck, Frank – I am a fucking wreck” I continued, probably already saying too much, but not caring for a single moment as the words spilled from my lips. “I miss my grandmother so damn much, you have no idea! So fucking much it stings my chest to only think of her…” I said, not truly lying to him, but not telling the real reason why I was crying, right then.

“Oh, Gerard…” He said, sympathetic, taking his hand off my shoulder and hugging me tightly.

The contact with his warm body threw me off the edge as more tears came streaming down my messed up face – which I let fall onto his shoulder –, and I couldn’t help but hug him back, as if it was the only thing that could hold me up in the world.

Right then, I wanted to tell him everything – how my parents seemed to unnotice my existence, how my dream love, an exact replica of him, had died of cancer just a few hours ago, how I wanted to die because I was so damn pissed off and depressed from all this… But, for the first time ever, the jocks saved me, calling out on us before I got a chance to perform such an embarrassing moment as I was thinking of doing.

“Aw, aren’t they cute?” I heard Samuel’s voice say, from behind me, and, instantly, I tried to get away from Frank’s grip… unfortunately, he wasn’t having any of it, and just kept holding me.

“Aw, is someone jealous?” Frank asked, smiling sweetly to Samuel; even though I couldn’t see our enemy’s face, I was pretty sure he had an angered look on his face, which scared me.

“What the fuck did you just say, pansy?!” Our opponent demanded to know, his voice just as fuming as I expected it to be; I trembled against Frank’s body, and he made circles in my back as a soothing motion.

“Oh, you’re not jealous? The way you keep bothering us, I’d really say you were…” The young boy I held in my arms said, his voice sounding loud and clear in my ears, as I refused to take my head off his shoulder, so I wouldn’t have to face the others. “Aren’t you jealous of this?” He asked, his hand coming to my neck, caressing it slightly.

As Frank smoothed the skin in my neck, a shiver went down my spine, and I wanted to purr out – just like kittens do when they’re being petted. He must’ve felt my calmed and happy emotions on my body language, ‘cause, right then, he took my head off his shoulder and instantly kissed my lips, taking not only the jocks by surprise, but also me.

It was a short kiss, just a touch of lips, but it still sparkled so many things inside of me – recognition, missing, fondness; everything at once, all enlarged by that soft, engrained feeling of love that beat in my heart, pumping my veins with something I didn’t want to feel, right there.

If kissing real Frank felt the same as kissing my dream boy, did that mean the feelings would transpose from one to another, as well?