Frank Iero: P.A.

The shopping complex is abuzz with activity this morning as I arrive at work for my shift. I enter through the automatic doors to find workers assembling a stage. I must have been extra oblivious this past week, because usually when there’s a performance being held here posters are put on display for a week or more prior to it and I haven’t noticed a single one. I just hope that it’s not another round of the New York Idol, a pathetic attempt at a spinoff of American Idol, that they held here a couple of weeks ago. As if working at Wal-Mart wasn’t tedious enough as it is, try doing it to a soundtrack of bad, tone deaf covers of Justin Bieber and Usher.

I walk past the bad tempered Wal-Mart greeter and head to the back of the store to drop off my backpack in the break room. Chloe and Stacey are in there when I come in, their feet resting up on the table while they read trashy chick magazines and blow bubbles with their gum. I roll my eyes upon seeing them and shuffle past them to the cubby holes, placing my bag in my assigned square. My shift doesn’t start for another ten minutes, but I’d rather walk around the store aimlessly than sit in here with these two lazy bimbos.

“We’ll hit the food court after I finish this page, ‘kay Stace?” Chloe announces just as I reach the doorway.

Usually, I’d ignore their actions and their conversations for the sake of keeping my job, but after ruining things with Gerard I’ve given up on keeping my true feelings hidden; there’ll be no more lying to myself and those around me.

“Don’t you two ever work?” I snap, turning around to glare at them.

Chloe narrows her eyes at me and pops a bubble pointedly. “We’re on our break.”

“From what?” I ask incredulously. “Your shifts started at nine and it’s not even ten yet, and knowing you both, you would have arrived late for them anyway!”

Chloe gets to her feet and drops her Cosmopolitan down on the card table. She keeps her blue eyes narrowed at me as she places her manicured hands on her hips. This is what she does to intimidate people so she gets her way. Today, it’s not working on me. I mimic her stance and glare back at her twice as hard.

“Listen here, Frank,” she says, my name coated in acid, “me and Stacey work very hard to keep this place running like a well oiled machine, and if you want to keep your job here, then I suggest you put your name badge on and get behind the register before I tell Daddy to fire you.”

Fire me? I consider the prospect of no longer working at Wal-Mart. There’s still a significant amount of my wages saved up in my bank account from when I worked for Gerard; I could easily live off that for a few months if I wanted to. Maybe I’ll get a job somewhere else doing something that isn’t so monotonous – move to California... no chance of running into Gerard there. Hey, I could even apply for college and get some proper qualifications. I mean, why not? I have the money and could very well soon have the time. I’ll be twenty-four in a little over a month – why limit myself when I don’t have to? Why keep letting Chloe and Stacey use me as their tool? I could be so much more than that... I could be happy.

I let my hands fall from my hips, shrug my shoulders and smile. “Fine, have me fired.” Chloe’s mouth gapes open, dumbfounded; no one has ever spoken to her like this before. “And if I haven’t been fired by the end of my shift, I quit.” I turn to leave the break room, throwing over my shoulder, “You two enjoy your break – it’ll be the last one you get to take for a while.”

I head from the break room to the front of the store, feeling lighter and empowered. Why didn’t I do this earlier? I’ve been wasting the best years of my life behind a register serving people and being ordered about by bitches when I could have been out there making something of myself. Maybe I’ve subconsciously been holding onto Gerard, staying here in New York and taking shit in the hopes that he’ll ride up on his steel horse and rescue me like Prince Charming in some weird boy-on-boy fairytale, but after what happened last week, I know that any chance of us sorting out our problems has been quashed. I’m not going to say I’m okay with that, because I’m not – it hurts – but I need to move on with my life, even if that means uprooting myself from New York.

After passing several long lines of customers, I step into register four and open it up. Within a few seconds a line has formed and a customer begins to unload her cart.

“Hi, how are you?” I recite as I reach for a bag of tomatoes.

“Fine,” the middle aged woman replies offhandedly, taking out her phone.

I scan the rest of her groceries, filling four bags, then tell her the total of her purchases; she slides her card through the debit machine immediately, as if price is no object. I hand her the receipt as she collects her bags and wish her a nice day while she walks away. The next customer is waiting patiently when I turn my head back to the conveyor belt.

This routine continues with very few differences. Usually I’m annoyed with the constant disrespect and as the day goes on my smile would become more and more fake, but today I’m not bothered by it; I’m liberated. My smile is genuine for once, and instead of rolling my eyes at the people I serve, I take the time to look them over and figure out there personalities. There are some customers I actually find myself having proper conversations with.

“You look very happy,” an elderly woman remarks as I begin scanning her items.

“I quit my job this morning,” I beam at her. “Do you want the milk in a separate bag?”

“Uh, yes... yes dear,” she answers distractedly. “You quit this job?”

“Yep. This is my last shift.” I place her last item in a bag. “That comes to $15.42. How would you like to pay?”

“Cash, dear,” she says while fumbling in her brown handbag for her purse.

She hands me a twenty; I collect her change and tear off her receipt from the dispenser. “Here you are. Have a good day.”

“You, too,” she replies with a smile, “and good luck.”

What a nice woman.

Just before midday, as I’m scanning what appears to be a vegan’s groceries, I hear a sound check being performed outside the store. Judging by the sound of the guitars and drums drifting out of the speakers, my early fears that New York Idol would be back can now be confirmed. I may be more upbeat about this shift than I was earlier, but that doesn’t change my perspective on that joke of singing competition.

“What’s happening out there?” the customer I’m serving asks me.

I glance at the stage where a small crowd has now gathered as one of the sound techs tests the microphone, and then return my focus to the tins of tuna I’m scanning. “I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I think it’s another round of New York Idol,” I inform the man.

A smile forms on his lips. “Oh, good! I really enjoyed it last time.”

Enjoyed it? He’s got to be kidding. The look on his face is one of excitement and he’s craning his neck to get a better look at the stage; nope, he is genuinely excited. Once I hand him his change and receipt he makes a dash for the crowd. I laugh to myself and turn back to my line of customers.

The noise from the sound check disappears a minute later, leaving only the bad supermarket music and the muffled conversations of hundreds of midday shoppers. I finish serving another customer and look up to see that, for the first time during my shift, there is no one lined up at my register. Letting out a sigh of relief, I reach for my bottle of water and take a lengthy swig of cool liquid.

“Are you open?” a thirty-something woman pushing a stroller asks me; she has a basket hooked onto her arm.

I swallow my water and put the bottle back. “Yep.”

“Oh, good,” she says, beginning to unload her items onto the conveyor belt. “I really didn’t want to lug this lot up to the other end of the store.

It’s as she puts up a loaf of bread that I notice there’s another child with her, a little girl, holding on to the side of the stroller. I smile at her; she shies away behind the stroller and grabs onto her mother’s knee-length denim skirt. She’s certainly not as confident as Emma-Lea.

Emma-Lea...

God, I miss that kid.

“Cute kids,” I remark to the brunette as I grab a tin of baby formula from the front of the belt.

She looks awkward and flashes her left hand at me. “Uh... I’m married.”

What? She thinks I’m hitting on her!

“I’m gay,” I defend quickly.

Whoa... this is the first time I’ve ever said those words aloud to anyone. I always thought it would be harder than this, but it’s actually quite easy.

“Oh,” her hand flies to her chest and lets out a small laugh, “I’m sorry – I just get that line so often from guys trying to get a date.” She pauses. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Gerard.

His name comes to mind instantly. I wish I could answer ‘yes’ to this question. I wish I could say yes and then tell her how he’s gorgeous with black hair and hazel eyes, kind, selfless, artistic, sarcastic, and only a set of angel wings away from being perfect. Funny how all I want is Gerard, but yet I’m about to run as far away from him as I can get.

“Uh, no... no I don’t,”

Her eyes widen. “Really? You’re very cute; it surprises me that no one has snapped you up.”

A cheer erupts from outside the store as I thank her for the compliment and confirm that I do not have a boyfriend; the emcee must have just stepped out onto the stage. I put the last of her items into a plastic bag and swing it up onto the counter.

“That comes to $31.72,” I say. “Will you be paying by cash or–”

I stop mid-sentence as music erupts from the speakers. I recognise the tune, but it can’t be what I think it is... there’s no way. Ignoring the customer before me, I close my eyes and listen intently to the tune. No... that’s definitely–

“My song...” I mumble to myself.

“Excuse me?” the woman asks, sounding confused, as she holds out her American Express card waiting for me to activate the debit machine.

That’s my song!

I quickly finish the transaction with the woman and hand her the receipt, wishing her a good day.

“Sorry, this register is closed!” I shout hurriedly to the two people who have just lined up at my register, one of whom has just started unloading their cart. I know I sound like Chloe, and in a few minutes I’ll probably feel guilty about it, but right now I need to find out what my song is doing being played live in a shopping complex.

As I make my way out from behind the register a beautifully perfect – or is it perfectly beautiful? – voice starts singing the lyrics to my song. Surely it can’t be... but it has to...

Gerard.

There he is, elevated above the crowd by the stage with a microphone in hand as he sings my song. My mouth gapes open as I take this moment in. He’s dressed in tight black skinny jeans, a loose-fitting charcoal grey shirt that’s tucked in behind a large bat belt buckle, and a leather jacket that’s been left completely unzipped and has small badges pinned to the collar. God, he’s sexy. He stands at the front of the stage with a micstand in front of him. Behind him a band plays. On the CD I gave him it was just me and my guitar, but he’s improved on that by adding drums and a bass. As I scan the stage, I notice that the person playing the guitar is none other than Ray – and he is amazing!

“For every one of us, there’s an army of them... but you’ll never fight alone...” Gerard sings, “’cause I wanted you to know...”

The first chorus is approaching; I take in a sharp breath as I prepare for the beauty of Gerard’s voice singing it.

“That the world is ugly, but you’re beautiful to me... are you thinking of me now?”

Oh, God, yes, Gerard, I’m thinking of you now – I’m always thinking of you!

“These are the nights and the lights that we fade in, these are the words but the words aren’t coming out – they burn ‘cause they are hard to say...” he continues perfectly, “For every failing sun there’s a morning after... though I’m empty when you go... I just wanted you to know...”

He starts to pumps out the chorus for the second time and it sounds more amazing than it did the first. And then as he reaches the end of it, his tone changes, sounding desperate...

“I just want you to know-ow! I wanted you to know-ow! I wanted you to know...” is ripped from his chest. The sound sends goose bumps down my spine. “I’m thinking of you every night, every day.” He tears the microphone from the stand and works the stage. “These are the eyes and the lies of the taken. These are their hearts but their hearts don’t beat like ours... they burn ‘cause they are all afraid, when mine beats twice as hard!”

Suddenly, he looks out across the crowd and locates me. Our eyes lock and I’m paralysed.

“’cause the world is ugly, but you’re beautiful to me...” he sings softly, maintaining his intense stare.

The crowd seems to follow his line of vision and soon there are hundreds of sets of eyes on me, watching a moment that they’re slowly realising is just for me.

“Are you thinking of me? Like I’m thinking of you?” I know he is genuinely asking me and I whisper a ‘yes’, hoping he can lip read from there. “I would say I’m sorry though, though I really need to go, I just wanted you to know!” He continues, “That the world is ugly, but you’re beautiful to me...”

Ray starts singing backup vocals to the chorus, making the song even more beautiful than it already was. Before I get too used to it, though, he stops, and suddenly Gerard jumps from the stage. The audience erupts in applause, but I remain silent, frantically searching the throng of people with my eyes for some sign of Gerard’s whereabouts.

“Stop your crying, helpless feeling, dry your eyes and start believing, there’s one thing they’ll never take from you...” Gerard sings, and as he does, the crowd begins to part down the centre to reveal the man in question as he comes closer to me.

My heart is hammering in my chest as the songs plays out in the background. Gerard lets the microphone fall to the ground. He walks determinedly to me. I’m still paralysed.

“What are you doing?” I ask slowly, drawing out each word as I try to comprehend the last five minutes.

“Fixing things, I hope.” He pauses, taking one more step toward me. “I love you, Frank.”

My heart stops – literally stops – when he says it. I try to form a response, but words are failing me.

“Shh, just listen,” he says, putting a finger lightly against my lips. “I’ve had feelings for you since the night I told you about Mikey’s cancer when I came home to find you waiting up for me. I did my best to forget my feelings for you because I knew you weren’t gay and there was too much going on with the Toby drama and Mikey... but it’s hard not to fall for someone who stuck by me the way you did, who stopped me from committing suicide, who helped me bury my family...” He takes a breath. “Then that last day, when you told me you were leaving and you gave me that CD, I let you go because I told myself it was for the best, but then I listened to the song... and I found myself crying.”

I made Gerard Way cry?

“I was crying for Mikey, and Alicia, and the life that Emma-Lea would be forced to live without them, but most of all I was crying because I realised I’d just let go of the person I loved and there was no way I could ever get you back,” he tells me, his hazel eyes boring into mine. “And then I saw you here the other week and I knew I couldn’t let you out of my life again.” He swallows hard. “I know you think I don’t have room in my life for anything other than Emma-Lea and my art, but I–”

I grab Gerard’s face in my hands and pull him to me, crushing my lips against his. Everything I’m feeling about him, everything I’ve ever felt about him, I throw into the kiss. It’s a delayed reaction, but he soon wraps his arms around my torso and squeezes me to him, kissing me back with as much vigour and passion as I’m giving him.

He pulls away gently, a smirk on his lips as he looks at me. “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to have you kiss me like that.” He strokes my cheek. “So, are you going to say that you love me, too?”

Cocky bastard...

I shake my head. “No.” He cocks his eyebrow while smirking, then leans in to kiss me again, making my knees turn to jelly. Fuck it. “I love you, Gerard.”

He pulls me to him again and kisses me repeatedly. I return every kiss with as much enthusiasm as I can muster; I’ve got five years to make up for. This is the happiest moment of my life...

“So,” he says when we break apart a minute later, putting his arm around my shoulder possessively, “where to from here?”

I think about it for a moment. A smile forms on my face as I think of the perfect place.

“How about the cemetery?”

He looks down at me, confused. “The cemetery?” he repeats.

“Yeah,” I nod, taking his hand in mine. “I think Mikey and Alicia would like to hear about this.”