Stoplight Eyes

Sometimes, I wish I could be a dog.

They’re so cute and innocent and naive, as if life is all about sunny days and chewed-up bones and having a loyal servant to scratch that perfect spot right between their ears. They never worry about each other unless another dog (or person) is hurt, and all they seem to care about is happiness. To me, that’s what life is about--being happy--but of course, it’s not as easy as it sounds. You see, if I were a dog, happiness would come to me on a silver platter, with the only exceptions being a few fleas and the occasional bath when I got too muddy. That’s why I wish I could become a dog. I think my neighbors’ St. Bernard, Lucy, agrees with me. Sometimes I’m convinced that she’s my best (and only) friend, because all I have to do is rub her ears, and suddenly I’m the best person she’s ever met.

However, Lucy can only distract me for so long; eventually, I have to turn back to the reason why I can’t have my ‘happiness’. If I really want to point fingers, I’ll blame it all on him, that tall boy in my math class, with the raven-feather hair and the eyes derived from a stoplight stuck right between green and yellow. Gerard Way is his name, but to me he’s just Stoplight Eyes, because that’s all I see when I look at him. He’s nothing else but beauty, emotion, and distance--those yards between us in classes, in the hallways, on the bus, are far too many for my lonely skin. Every once in a while, he might look at me; I might even catch a smile, as if I were a dreamcatcher and those were his fantasies, those little grins that are so honest but yet so hidden. Usually, I’m just thin air, only there for him to walk through.

My phone buzzes the moment I turn it on, and I quickly check my texts: Mom, Mom, Mom, Ray, Mom, Ray, Mom, Dad. Dad? I ignore the other messages, all reminding me of where who will be when and the like, and read the lone text from my faraway father.

Hey Frankie. Just wanted 2 make sure yr doing OK. Anything u want 4 yr birthday? I don’t have many ideas...

I can’t help but smile, because he’s the first of my many fretful relatives to remember that my birthday is in a month; usually, I receive many more requests for ‘birthday lists’ before he asks if another twenty will be okay. Then I laugh at his text grammar, and it takes most of my limited self-control to keep from texting him back to remind him that ‘yr stands for year, if you want to say your, say ur.’ However, at this point, I’ve got other things to worry about, because my mom had to go to work early, and I’m left alone to get my lazy ass to school. I heave an irritable sigh and find myself a decent outfit, combing my bangs in that perfect flip that falls smoothly over my forehead. The other boys at school consider my signature hairstyle incredibly gay, but I figure that since I am pretty darn gay, that’s okay with me. At least I don’t look too much like Justin Bieber, unlike some of them.

Within twenty minutes, I’m shoving the key into my car and igniting the engine, listening to its pleasant hum as the ancient contraption greets me. It appears to be working today, to my significant luck. My foot hits the pedal and I’m finally away from home, out to explore what little freedom I have as a sixteen-year-old StereotyipiGay. That’s what Ray calls me, even though he knows it hurts my feelings sometimes; but boys aren’t supposed to have feelings, are they?

As I draw closer to the school, the stop signs change to lights, each blinking glow reminding me for another second of that fantasy that makes my heart go funny. Two blocks before my destination, I come to a light that I maybe, just maybe, could’ve run, but the green turned to yellow just in time, stopping me. Shit. I’m gonna be late. The car next to me could’ve made the light, I know, but they stopped too. I try to ignore the face I see in the corner of my eye as its owner rolls down the window and peeks their head out. As far as I’m concerned, it’s just going to be another man-bitch trying to turn me into the very wrong kind of center of attention. Then I hear my name being called in an oh-so-familiar voice, and I start to panic, but at the same time my finger flies to the window-opening button thing.

“Frank,” calls Gerard, “there you are. I’m glad I found you.”

My heart shudders for a moment before finally starting to relax. This is not a dream, this is real. This boy, this boy that is everything, his face alone a map of my world, is speaking to me, at a green-yellow stoplight next to the school where talking to me is sin, except for Ray, whose hair is so cool that he’s allowed to be my friend. “Y-you know my name?” I stutter, and he laughs.

“Of course I do. I need to talk to you when we get to school, okay?” I nod, the thought of lateness suddenly eradicated from my memory. My car pulls into the parking lot on its own accord, and everything else is a daze as he pulls me into a secluded spot on the side of the school building, his lips flashing me that smile so many times it hurts...

“Sorry I had to be so mysterious about that... I just need to ask you something,” he says, gasping for oxygen after the brief run. I giggle under my breath, because it’s somehow funny to me that he’s not in shape enough to run around the school without breaking a sweat. The other boys would scorn him for it. He continues to gaze at me questioningly, and I nod to indicate that I’m paying attention.

“I just... You’re gay, right?”

“Y-yes,” I reply softly, my elation starting to fade. He doesn’t care about me, he’s just making fun of me. Shit.

“What’s it like?” he blurts. “I mean, being gay. No, not being gay, being open about it. Is it really horrible, or can you... Is it not that bad?”

I gape at him for a moment, wondering what he’s getting at, and then my mouth starts to move on its own. “W-w-well, you get teased for it sometimes, but mostly it just makes you feel free, and sometimes there are other guys out there who are gay, and if you’re lucky they-they’re not that bad... It’s better than hiding it and having to deny it all the time, honestly.” His eyes flick downward at this, almost as if I’ve accused him. My ribcage is now trembling from the abuse of my erratic heart.

“Th-thanks, Frankie. I just wanted to know, ‘cause... Well... Please don’t tell anyone?”

I nod, unable to manage anything else.

“I-I’m gay too. I was just... too scared to tell anybody, so I figured I’d ask you about it before I admitted to it.”

There’s dead silence as my head bobs up and down stupidly, then stops. We just stand there staring at each other’s feet, taking in the battered Converse and filthy, mismatched socks, until I finally clear my throat awkwardly and start to walk away.

“Frank,” Gerard cries. “Please, wait, there’s something else...”

I turn, my throat suddenly filled with an absurd lump. He’s leading me on, isn’t he? He knows I love him, so he’s trying to convince me that we could be together just so that he can break my heart and up his image with the Popular Dudes (and ladies, who fawn over him just as much as me). I open my mouth and close it again sadly, unable to speak to this traitor in an angel’s skin.

His eyes catch mine like krill in a whale’s mouth, and it’s as if he’s swallowing me whole; Gerard Way has kidnapped me and, fuck it, I’ll never be able to get away. “Th-that’s not why I wanted to talk to you,” he whispers, stepping toward me until we’re closer than I’ve ever expected, even in my wildest silly-schoolboy daydreams.

“Gerard...?”

Then his lips are pressed against mine, and my breath hitches once, twice, and then I turn it around and send it through his slightly parted lips as if I’m breathing life into him. My hands reach up to tangle in his hair, which is so much softer than I ever dreamed, and he pulls me even closer to him and lets our tongues melt into one another’s, and it all tastes like light, a bit of yellow but mostly just green.

Just go.