Who Gives A Damn If We Lose The War

I remember the first time I saw this girl.

We were both seniors at Bellevue High. The only class I’d had with her was art and it was fine by me. Art was my favorite class, it was the only escape I had from the dicks who ruled the school. She always sat near the back and I’d sit maybe one or two rows behind her. I didn’t want her to think I actually liked her.

I’d watch her translate the pain from her soul to her canvas, every swipe of her paintbrush a masterpiece.

Why would she like me, the pale, fat nerd?

No one else did. I had my friends of course, but I never had a girlfriend. I knew I’d never have her, but that didn’t mean I could dream, right?

And I dreamt. I dreamt of her and me, happily together, I’d gaze into her icy blues and run my hands through her silky blond hair. We’d run away together and become artists, make enough to live another day and live it as if it were our last.

But that’s not how it went down at all. If it weren’t for that one time I dropped my pencil and she passed it back to me, without a sound, without a glance, I’d never have known she existed. She was a ghost. She was there but only if you looked close enough.

That single moment was all I needed to get myself through my last year, heart and wrists intact. I tried to talk to her a couple times, but my teenage stupidity held me back every time. My friends Bob and Ray never suspected a thing, and my brother Mikey thought she was just another character I’d thought up and had taken to doodling.

She was the type to stay away from crowds; she’d eat alone, and walk home alone. When she roamed the hallways, there seemed to be an unintentional bubble created around her. No one ever spoke to her, they hardly ever saw her.

Eventually we graduated, and I moved on. She was just another teenage fantasy. I went to the School of Visual Arts in New York City. I was working towards a degree in Cartooning; it was my dream to make my own comics. Comics kept me sane, the thought of making my own drove me insane, but it was a good insane.

So on this particular day, I was told that I had been taking the wrong class for the last two weeks. The first two weeks of the last semester here.

After getting pissed off and arguing with people at the school’s office, I took my new schedule and stomped off to find my correct fucking classroom. Room 42, Building 3A.

I was so engrossed in my delayed journey that I didn’t notice someone coming my way. She knocked me down onto the sidewalk and immediately freaked out. “I’m so sorry!” I looked up to see her.

Her.

Of course she doesn’t fucking remember me, the fat, pasty nerd. I pick myself off the New York street and smile, waving it off, “It’s okay, don’t sweat it.” She smiled back and I swear to God, I felt my heart in my shoes. I’d never seen her smile before; I’d never really seen her express happiness, now that I think of it.

I watched as she skipped on her way wherever and out of my life again.

After walking into three random classrooms, I found the one I was supposed to have been attending already.

I turned the knob and found my way over to the teacher’s desk at the front. ‘Mr.Soule’, his little name thing said. It took him a while to notice me, so I cleared my throat to help him out a bit. He looked up at me and smiled. I explained my situation and stood up.

Shit, I hate these introduction things.

“Guys, listen over here for a sec.” Every single head in the small classroom turned to analyze me.

Mr.Soule put his hand on my shoulder, “Okay, this is our new student, Gerard Way. I know most of you guys have already partnered up, so I’ll need a show of hands from who hasn’t gotten anywhere on their project yet.”

I watched as they hesitated to answer till one hand waved at us.

Her hand.

I suck at poker. You could’ve totally known that I recognized her. She blushed, but I only because she’d knocked me down earlier.

“Okay, Mr. Way, you can team up with Ms. Rozze over there. There aren’t any instructions; I just need a comic book turned in by the end of the semester. Seriously, you can’t mess this up.” I raised an eyebrow.

I figured that since she didn’t recognize me, what the hell? I wasn’t the same wuss I’d been in high school and she didn’t know me.

I took deep breath and turned in her direction. Confidence on high, I walked over to her station, leaned down, and smirked, “Hi, I’m Gerard. Didn’t get to introduce myself at our last little run in.”

She raised an eyebrow and laughed, holding out her hand. “Hi, I’m Maddie Rozze.”