The Plague of Popularity

The next day of school was utter chaos. I don’t even remember getting to school, all I remember is I didn’t see Mikey or Gerard that morning. I hadn’t seen them all day. It wasn’t until about fourth period that I figured out why.

‘Frank Iero, please report to the front office.’

This was all too similar to the time I had to take them home—but now they weren’t even here. I noticed a police officer in the office when it came in to view. I felt my heart quicken and fear overtake my body.

That bitchy receptionist, she pulled me into a hug saying ‘sorry, I’m so sorry’ over and over. The police officer just stared at me, taking in my appearance; almost to say ‘I was chosen to come talk to this pathetic waste of space?’

“Frank Iero?”

I just nodded.

“Have a seat kid, you’ll need it for what I’m about to tell you.”

I just shook my head—if he wanted to treat me like an ass he could, but I didn’t want to move.

“Your father is Anthony Iero correct?”

I just nodded dumbly; his face told me that I really should have taken that seat.

“He was found this morning by one of your housemaids, face down in his own puddle of vomit. He was just recently taken out of the hospital correct?”

I could only nod in response—was he dead?

“I’m sorry son, paramedics did everything they could to revive him. The current medications they had him on were not to be mixed with alochol and it was apparent he had a large amount in his system. I’m sorry.”

=-=-=-=

I’ve been sitting on my bed, back in the corner just staring out into space. My house door has been dead-bolted, my mother cannot get inside. I don’t want to go to her. I’ll admit I’ve cried, he was my father after all.

I didn’t really know him personally, but yesterday will be my fondest memory of him. I hadn’t stepped foot into my parents room since I was six years old—I’ve never had the need to.

I’ve heard the phone—the house and my cell—ring off and on non-stop since I set foot inside today. It took seventeen years for my father to finally show me how much he loved me—seventeen years.

I never wanted to do that to my kids—if I ever had kids. I want them, but well, I can’t exactly have them the most ‘natural’ way. I could never sleep with a girl so she could give me a child—I can’t do that.

My father was dead. That cop, he took me home, my car’s still at school. I still haven’t talked to Mikey or Gerard since being home. I’ve heard their voices ring out of our answering machine—Donna’s too.

How do you mourn someone you never really knew? How do you mourn someone you’re not sure if you loved or hated? How do you mourn someone when you wish you could be in their place instead of here?