Our Last Summer

The young man shuts off his computer and pushes his office chair away from his desk, closes his portfolio and puts his graphite pencils back into the drawer. He stands from his desk and exits his cubicle with his folder tucked into his elbow, heading towards the elevator but pointedly stopping off at the vending machine on the way. Selecting his department's signature blend of crappy cheap coffee with one sweetener and no creamer, he takes his beverage into the elevator where he is joined by his manager in an awkward silence all the way to the ground floor. The silence is broken by the middle aged woman as the pair step out into the lobby, and he has to physically refrain from grimacing as she adjusts her glasses.

"See you Monday, Gerard," she chirps casually before she looks down her nose at him with an expression that he can't quite distinguish between authoritative and prudish. "I want the final draft for the CN project on my desk by your lunch break then, alright?"

Gerard nods and mutters an obedient "sure" just as she turns her back on him and he lets out the grimace he had been holding back. He hoists his folder more securely under his arm, fishes his car key from his blazer pocket and exits through the revolving door at the front of the building. He unlocks his car from across the lot and walks lazily towards it. Opening the passenger door, he rifles through the glove compartment for a packet of cigarettes that had really seen better days. He slips two out of the pack, sliding one behind his ear for later and placing the other carefully between his lips, fumbling for a lighter which he sparks up to ignite the stick. He inhales carefully and lets the flame die when a cloud of smoke erupts from the end of the cigarette. Tossing the box down onto the passenger seat he sharply pushes he door shut and leans against it, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs and then blowing it into the air in one long sigh. He repeats this ritual until he is left with only the filter clutched between his thumb and forefinger which he flicks down onto the gravel before he makes his way around the car and climbs into the driver seat.

The journey home is nothing special or spectacular - except for one atrocious driver who nearly sent Gerard towards wrapping his car around a lamppost - and within twenty minutes he's pulling into the driveway and letting himself into his apartment where he kicks off his shoes in the hall and slings his blazer over the back of the armchair.

He heads straight for the kitchen to fill the coffee machine with water and flick it on and then to his bedroom across the hall to change. Stripping himself of his white button-up and black dress pants, he reaches for the nearest pair of baggy sweats, a faded and somewhat torn grey pair hanging out of the open drawer of his oak dresser that he had forgotten to shut in his rush that morning. He wriggles himself into them and stands there for a few seconds before deciding it's fairly mild and he can probably live without a shirt. He obsessively turns the picture frame on top of the dresser at a slight angle - a candid shot of his mother suffocating him in a hug at graduation - and exits the room. The coffee maker is switched off and a mug poured, one sweetener and no creamer just like his coffee at work except a much better blend. He decided years ago that good coffee is one luxury he can afford even if he's broke - which isn't all that often with a steady pay-check like this one. Well, that and cigarettes, of course.

He lights one as he plops down on the leather couch, coffee in one hand, lighter in the other and cigarette clutched securely between his lips. As he switches on the television - some news story about a drug bust in a local high school - and sinks back into the cushions with a drag of his cigarette here and a sip of his coffee there, it becomes clear that this was not exactly how Gerard had expected his life to turn out eight years after graduation. Working in one of the top art companies in the state, that is a dream come true for the twenty-six year old, but living in a spacious and beautiful apartment with absolutely no one to share it with, that was never really part of the plan. But what was the plan? To marry a beautiful, successful young woman, have children and live happily ever after? Gerard doesn't really know the answer to that, this side of the plan has never been clear.

But one thing that is clear to Gerard Way is that he's about as happy as he could be at this stage of his life. Definitely happy, but perhaps not entirely content.