Frank Iero: P.A.

We sit together on Gerard’s office floor for two hours. He cries the whole time. Unlike other people when they cry, he doesn’t have periods of time where he’s somewhat composed; it’s just an endless stream of tears and sobs. Occasionally he’d utter a few words, but they were so coated with sobs that I could barely comprehend what he was saying.

“Tell me what I can do, Gerard...” I say, rubbing his shoulder affectionately with both my hands. It’s the first thing I’ve said to him in hours; he’s calmed down significantly.

He shakes his head in the crook of my neck. “Keep my brother alive.”

I squeeze him tighter. “I wish I could.”

His body starts to shake in my arms; he’s crying again. I rub his back soothingly and let him cry it out. Being an only child I really have no idea what the closeness between siblings feels like; this must be destroying him.

This bout of crying lasts about fifteen minutes. When he sobers he starts to shift in my arms and I loosen my grip. I turn my head to look at him; his face is blotchy and silent tears continue to roll down his cheeks.

“Come on,” I say gently, “let’s go somewhere more comfortable.”

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, he just remains motionless beside me. I get to my feet and shake his shoulder.

“Gerard, please?” I try again.

Once again he remains still. I sigh. I take hold of his arm and shoulder and pull him up to his feet, hoping that he won’t be a dead weight in my arms. To my relief once I started tugging him up he gives in and moves of his own accord. I curl my arm around his shoulders and lead him out through the offices, along the hallway, and into the kitchen. He sits himself down on one of the barstools and covers his face with his hands. My heart breaks for him. While he sits there I go about fixing him a cup of coffee; let’s face it, it’s the only thing I can fix for him right now. When it’s ready I push it toward him; he wraps his hands around the steaming mug but doesn’t make any attempt to drink it.

“Thanks,” he mumbles a few seconds later.

I’m stunned to receive a thank you, but I appreciate it none the less. “You’re welcome.” I wait a few seconds before saying, “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head. I should have seen that coming. So I resume the silence and let my eyes wander the room. It occurs to me that Ellie isn’t here, therefore she doesn’t know about Mikey – she’ll be absolutely devastated when she finds out. Will Gerard have to be the one to tell her? I really hope not. Maybe I should call her and tell her so he doesn’t have to...

“Why does it have to be him?” Gerard says suddenly. I look to his face and see the sadness from before has been replaced with indignation. “He’s twenty fucking years old – he’s not even old enough to drink or vote – and he’s going to die! It’s not fair!” He yells. “He’s never done a thing wrong in his life – why is he being punished like this?”

“I wish I knew the answer – but maybe in this case there just isn’t one.”

“There should be – there should be a reason why a young man who has never done anything wrong, has never had any health problems before, is dying of cancer,” he snaps.

I reach out to rest my hand on his clasped fist; he doesn’t pull away. “It’s a shitty situation that shouldn’t be happening, Gerard. But it is happening, so we’ve got to find a way to deal with it.”
He lifts his head up to me my eyes. “We?”

“Well, I’m not going to leave you to deal with it on your own.”

His fisted hand uncurls and takes mine in his; his fingers rub lightly over my knuckles. The action brings back memories from our mountain get away, specifically, that moment when his lips met mine. My stomach feels queasy but I push through the feeling; right now this is what Gerard needs.

“Thanks, Frank,” he says softly, not looking at my eyes – not that he’d be able to anyway; mine are fixed on our connected hands.

We stay silent for a while longer, his hand holding mine firmly in place. I let my mind wander to thoughts of who will be affected by Mikey’s impending death. Alicia would be number one – she’ll be losing her husband and the father of her unborn child; Mikey might not even survive long enough to see the baby outside of her womb. I can’t imagine how she would feeling right now – surely she would have reacted in a similar fashion to Gerard. Putting Gerard aside, Ellie would be the next one affected. Mikey’s like a son to her. He has grown up by her, been nurtured by her – she cared for him when his parents wouldn’t. Does she even know? I should go find out.

“Gerard, will you be okay by yourself for a while?” I ask gingerly.

Watery hazel eyes look up to meet mine; they’re begging me not to go.

“I thought I’d better see if Ellie’s been told yet,” I explain.

He nods, but I can tell he’s still concerned about being alone. I pry his fingers from my own hand and squeeze his trembling one reassuringly.

“I’ll be five minutes,” I promise him.

I let his hand fall away from mine and head out of the kitchen. On the way out I can’t help but look back over my shoulder; Gerard’s hand is lying limp across the granite bench top poised as if I were still holding it, his shoulders are slumped and his head hangs low. I feel so guilty about leaving him in this state, but I need to ensure Ellie knows what’s going on.

Knowing that she’s not downstairs, I climb the marble staircase and check each of the rooms coming off the hallway. I reach Gerard’s room and cautiously step inside; I still feel weird about being in there. As I was expecting, Ellie is in there. I watch her for a moment as she straightens the duvet and arranges the throw cushions on Gerard’s bed. She has a relaxed expression on her face; there’s no way she’s been told.

“Ellie?” I call to her.

She lifts her head and smiles. “Frank, ce qui vous amène ici?”



“Ellie,” I say sadly. Her expression changes as she realises something is wrong. “Gerard got a phone call from Mikey earlier...” Her fingers fly to her parted lips and she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Ellie, I’m really sorry, but his cancer is now terminal.”

She drops down to sit on the edge of the bed, her pale blue skirt fanning out around her. Her thin, spindly hands tremble against her lips. Blue eyes, usually wise and bright, become watery and tears fall from her eyes, running own her pale cheeks. I walk around the end of the bed and take a seat beside her; I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her into my side so I can comfort her. Her body shakes in my arms as soft sobs escape her lips.

“Mon fils ... mon beau fils,” she whispers hopelessly.



I hug her tighter and fight back the tears clouding my eyes. I knew it wouldn’t be easy to tell Ellie about Mikey’s condition, I expected her to be upset, to cry, but I didn’t realise just how difficult it would be to watch her, to feel her, fall apart. More than anything I want to be able to tell her that everything will be alright, but nothing could be further from the truth. Mikey is going to die – there is no possible way to sugar coat that fact. Anyone who knows him, anyone who calls him a friend or calls him family will not go by unaffected by his death; right now, for the foreseeable future, and for months and years after he’s gone those people will not be okay.

“Gerard?” she asks after a minute or two in my arms, pulling away so she can look me in the eyes.

I shake my head and exhale a shaky breath. “He’s not taking it well at all.”

She detaches herself from me and pushes herself up off the bed, wiping harshly at her eyes. “J'ai besoin d'être là pour lui.”



Moving quickly, I get up and take hold of her gently. I guide her back to the bed and force her to sit down. She looks so fragile and vulnerable.

“Stay here, take some time to compose yourself and let everything sink in; I’ll go look after Gerard, I promise.”

“Okay,” she says, wringing her hands in her lap nervously.

I leave her on the bed and exit Gerard’s bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind me so Ellie can have some privacy. As I walk down the hallway to the staircase I dig my phone out of my pocket and check the time. To my disappointment, I discover I’ve been away from Gerard longer than the five minutes I promised him. I jog down the stairs hurriedly and take a right to continue on to the kitchen where I left him. As I enter the kitchen I spot Gerard slumped over the island bench top crying uncontrollably.

“Gerard?” I ask, concerned, moving quickly toward him.

I place a hand lightly on his back and say his name again. Before I even have a chance to predict what’s going to happen, he rises and throws himself at me, clutching me tightly to him. What am I meant to do? I put my arms around his back loosely and pat his back awkwardly. Gerard and I have shared some intimate experiences together, and most of those moments have caught me off guard, but none of them have been this surprising and this desperate.

“You lied – you said you’d only be five minutes!” he yells accusingly through his tears and sobs. “I can’t lose you, too.”

I can’t lose you, too.

What does he mean by that? Does he think I’d abandon him or something? What a ridiculous notion; I’d never leave him while he’s going through this – I told him as much just ten minutes ago. He must be really terrified of being alone...

“You’re not going to lose me,” I say, changing my pats to gentle rubs instead. “I promise you, I’ll never be far away when you need me.”

He balls my shirt up in his hands buries his head deeper in my chest. My shirt becomes damp as he cries into me. All I can do is hold him and let him get all of his emotions out.