Heavy

For two months, Frances and I lived happily. We were close, and she often took me out to the clubs and to drink, then we'd come home. A lot of the time, she brought a guy home, while I cuddle with Kruger.

My parents met Frances and were pleased that I finally had a friend. They were happy that I wasn't alone at home, and had someone to talk to. I was happy too, almost too happy. I hated that I was happy without Gerard, and I wanted to be miserable. I don't know why, I just wanted to. 

I missed him dearly; I felt like that old woman from the Titanic. Pathetic, I know, but I lost my love. What would you do in my shoes?

I wasn't a poet. I don't come across on the right words at times, but I knew Gerard was my soulmate. I meant all those things I said; him being half of myself. I felt lost without him, and that's why I scolded myself when I had a good time.

It was an early day in September, when Frances met me in the kitchen. I woke up late for my job, and I tried calling my job, to explain I would be late, but no one answered. Frances looked kind of shocked to see me home.

"My alarm didn't go off." I told her.

Frances opened her mouth to speak, but immediately, she stopped. I looked at her, she pointed at the window without a word. I saw dark clouds billowing the sky. I slowly went out into the dock, hearing loud sirens and the overwhelming smell of ash.

"What's on fire?" 

The sky was so thick with the black clouds and the ash; it was falling down like snow. I grabbed Kruger and went back inside; I saw Frances on the phone; "Mrs. Fredrick, calm down, October is right here."

I was confused, I took the phone from Frances and set Kruger down, "What's wrong, mom?"

"Oh my god, October, you didn't go into work?" My mom sounded frantic.

I couldn't keep my gaze from the windows at the falling ash, "My alarm didn't go off." I repeated.

"A plane crashed into the World Trade Center right by your job." She explained.

My head spun, "What?"

She sobbed, "Another one just crashed into the other!"

"How? What's going on?" I was so confused.

"We thought you were dead, October. Oh my lord."

That day is still hard to think about. I could have been dead, and I didn't even have Gerard. I can't really explain what happened after I got off the phone with my mom and dad. I think I told Frances, but I know I turned on the TV.

My job was right across the street from the Trade Center, next door to a coffee shop. The entire place had been blown nearly to pieces. I learned that my co-workers hadn't gone in that day, al for various reasons; I think we got lucky.

A lot of people died that day, and I couldn't imagine myself dying. Even before when I didn't care if I died, I couldn't picture myself in a casket. Now that I had the memory of Gerard, I didn't want to die; I love him too much. It was scary, the thought of leaving him behind. Leaving anyone behind was frightening.

That day, Frances took me into her arms and hugged me while I cried. I was just scared and felt terrible about the lives lost. My life changed that day, and I wondered what Gerard was thinking and if he was okay.


Another few months passed, and I was slowly healing. I had a fear of leaving my house, but I did. I began designing for a fashion house in SoHo, as a new trendy artist. I put on joint fashion shows, and kept my mind on my work. Everyday, it got a bit easier, and I couldn't thank Frances enough for helping me.

A lot of times I thought of moving from New York, because of the fear and the cold weather in December. I tried to make excuses for a lot of things; that's when I began to cut myself. I wasn't disgusted, I was scared and it felt like the only thing that I had control of.

I would sit in my bathroom and look at my thighs. The scars were faded, so I went over them. The cutting was slow, at first, but after a while, I started to do it a lot. Almost to the point of not caring of anyone saw me do it.

I poked my fingers a lot with pins, to control my hunger for pain. I was so sick of being scared all the time. Frances decided to help me, to get me help, so she took me to a doctor.

I was prescribed Ativan to help my anxiety, and it helped. My cutting reduced a lot, and I was happily on the road to recovery, once again. I was glad to have Frances there.

Really, I was.


March came in, and the snow was gone. Frances' job as a proudction assistant had her working all over. At first, she worked for a place called Eyeball Records, off and on. She was on her way to working for Warner Brother's Music, to get paid a higher salary. I was proud of her, she was making something of herself.

Frances called me, excitedly, during the first week of March. I was sitting in my sowing room, working on a new dress. I picked up my phone, "Hello?"

"October, I need to know what your lover's name was." She spoke fast and the excitement in her voice was apparent.

The Ativan didn't make me as excited or anxious as her, "Uh, Gerard Way." I answered, "Why?"

"I knew it! I knew it!" She squealed, "I ran into him, love! I just didn't know if his name was Gerard."

My heart nearly bounced from my ribcage, "What?"

"He's in a band, I'm helping his band produce a record! I'm on the train home, I'll explain when I get there, alright?"

I exhaled, happily, "Okay. Thank you, Fran."

"You're welcome!"