Arrangements

I'm not into organized religion. Used to be, but not anymore. I wasn't into it, I was born into it, and then raised on it. 

I don't believe in praying to one God. I don't believe in waiting on a spiritual guidance to save or help you. You need to go out and actually do something to change the world around you.

I was 15 when I finally opened my eyes to exactly what my parents were into. We were Catholics, special Catholics. Um... Well, I wouldn't actually say special, it was just a special branch that was "discovered" by our church.

It was a mixture between a Hindu practice and some other shit I don't believe in or know about. My parents, along with a hundred others that followed this bullshit practice. 

The practice didn't actually have a name. We were just known as Catholics. But, our version of being Catholics, was that we believed in sacred marriages. We "believed" in arranged marriages and divorce is out of the question. No matter how bad your marriage is, if you divorce, you are shunned from the convent forever.

I stopped practicing when I was 15. I was in high school, and I had read up on our shitty religion and decided then that it made absolutely no sense. What really got me into reading and searching was that I had met the man I was being forced to marry.

Gerard Arthur Way. He was 15 too, bad attitude and smelled like an ashtray. He was actually very handsome, and I didn't mind marrying him. He was rude, and gosh, that was an even bigger turn on. It was just that he said that it was bullshit that he had to marry me. It sort of hurt my feelings and I decided to read up on it. He was right.

Our parents had set up our marriage when our mothers were pregnant. Mrs. Way was 7 months, and my mother was 5. She had just found out that I was to be a little girl, and Mrs. Way was having a boy. They all talked and decided to pair and make sure that we'd be the ones to marry.

Gerard and I had met when we were 5, then when we were 10, and the last meeting when we were 15. I don't really remember much before the last meeting, only that getting married, in my small circle, was normal. I went to school with a bunch of girls who all had arranged marriages too, and they were all excited. They all dreamed of being married and having babies.

Me? Well, I thought about art, I read a lot of books, and wrote, and painted. I loved fine art and pop art. It was different that anything I had grown up around. 

My parents; Ladonna and Krist, both loved that I was an artist. My parents had been artist, but gave it up once my mom gotten pregnant with me when she was 19, during her first year in college. They gave up everything to give me a nice, religious upbringing. 

When I was 5, they had my little sister Astrid. Astrid was always the rebel. She dyed her hair green, because of Tre Cool from Green Day, and she listened to a lot of metal and rock music. I liked that stuff too, but not as much as her. When she was 13, I bought her a bass guitar and she had started to play in rock bands. Now that she's 20, she's in her third band -Exit to Adam (an all girl punk band)- and she loves her life. I'm extremely proud of her. My parents are proud too, but not as much as me.

I was well behaved growing up, got good grades, and did my chores. I never talked back and kept to myself. I had plenty of weird friends growing up, aside from the Catholic chicks. At 15, I slowly began to rebel -after meeting Gerard- and focused on my fine art, I still got good grades. I wished I had, had the guts Astrid did to be different, but I didn't.

At 18, I left home for college; I went to Berkley, in California and majored in Art and Literature. My parents were proud, but they still expected me to marry Gerard. I never thought about him until I was 20; because my mom called me and told me that it was time to see the Ways again. I refused, telling my mom that school was on my ass; really it wasn't. I felt horrible, but I didn't want to see that guy... in a way, he ruined my religion and beliefs for me.

I graduated when I was 23, and I became a starving artist of sorts. I wasn't broke, but it was hard selling my art. My father supported me, just a little, but helping with my rent and cable bill here and there. Around Christmas that same year, I got my work put in a gallery and I finally didn't have to take checks from my father. Astrid came to live with me too, to check out schools, but she joined a band and loved the feeling of being on stage. It made me happy to see her happy.

It was a month before my 25th birthday; May 16th, when my mom called. She always calls me, every week to see how I and/or Astrid are, since Astrid was always off and on tour. I answered at the gallery; I was setting up my gallery for the showing that night.

"Mama," I said nicely, "How are you?"

"Oh, Stormy, I'm well. How are you and Astrid?" Her Italian accent was small, but there. She had grown up in Italy, and moved to America when she was 16.

"We are fine mama, well, I am at least. Astrid is on tour in Florida, she hasn't called me yet."

"That's too bad, how is the art coming along?"

"I'm having a showing tonight. How's papa?" I didn't like to talk about my art too much; it felt weird telling my mom about my work.

"Papa is just fine. Y'know, we talked to the Way's this morning..."

Shit; I haven't thought about them in years.

"Yes?"

"We know you don't practice anymore, you or Astrid, but we were wondering if you'd like to come at the end of the month to have dinner with us and them."

I bit my lip, I hated going, but I hated lying. I love my mom, I truly do, and I hated to disappoint.

"I have to see how my schedule is, mama."

"Alright, honey, just call me when you know."

"I will."

Me and my mom talked for another 15 minutes before we hung up. I went through my planner and hoped that I had something -anything- planned. Just my luck, I didn't.

Great.