Found Missing

I recoil in my seat at Gerard's abrupt exit, staring at the place where he had sat only moments before I hear the back door slam shut. Everyone glances at me and I know my cheeks are flushing red. Before I can prevent any further attention, Anne takes my hand in hers. I can feel that she hasn't stopped shaking since the police came to visit us, I don't think she's stopped crying, either. She's finally shifted from her position on the settee, her skin is grey and her eyes are hung dark and heavy, then I feel trivial for noting her appearance on the funeral of her daughter.
"You should go after him, Elfie." She tells me, voice dull. "He could really do with a friend."
"But Gerard's not my friend." I feel guilty as soon as the words leave my mouth. "I mean-what I mean is that there are people who are far closer to him than I am."
"Where are they then?"
I sigh in defeat. All of the people Gerard considers as friends aren't actually friends but more like acquaintances and only when he needs money for narcotics. Illegal narcotics. Even though I think he could probably do with some illegal narcotics right about now, I keep it to myself.

I find Gerard sat against the garden wall, eyes closed, legs stretched out, black Converse' tattered at the ends of his unnaturally tidy suit trousers. I sit on the patio tiles next to him, making sure not to hitch my dress, I'm not really used to wearing one. He either hasn't noticed me or he's ignoring me, judging by our lack of friendship I guess it's the later option. I close my eyes too and breath in the November dusk.
"Remember when you, me, Martha and Mikey were supposed to see The Smashing Pumpkins together?"
"Yea." He says.
"Only, Martha's appendix burst, so she couldn't come. We weren't gonna' go without her, but she made us. She said that if we didn't go then she'd play Siamese Dream on repeat whenever she could to remind us of what we'd missed out on."
I start to smile, and when I open my eyes I can see that he's smiling as well.
"She always wanted us to be happy, Gerard. She wouldn't want us to be sad, she wouldn't want this."
His face falls as quickly as it had risen and his eyes snap open. "What do you think she would want then? To be dead? I don't think so somehow." He stubs his cigarette out on the tiles, a little over-dramatically, he's scraped the skin around his finger nails. "See ya' later, kid."
He disappears back into Anne's house, slamming the back door again and I sigh.
In the space of three years, he really hasn't changed.

*

How do I console someone over the loss of their childhood sweetheart? How do I talk to the parents who are trying to cope with the fact that their daughter has gone? I don't know. I wish there was a direction manual on the subject. 'How to behave around grieving people' - that would be the title. I wish I could rewind back four weeks prior and persuade Martha to stay in with me and watch crappy TV and eat ice cream, maybe then we wouldn't be in this awful predicament. Unfortunately I can't time travel. It takes a few minutes of pointless thought wandering to realize that I am hurting, too. I miss my best friend. I want to scream and cry and pull my hair out in frustration, just like I've seen Anne do so many times over the last month, but I can't. I didn't know it could be so painful to feel nothing.

Martha's parents promised that they wanted me to stay. They said that their home had become my home and they would like to still have my company. I can't help but feel it's just to remind them of Martha. Perhaps, subconsciously, Anne wants to mother me. She's already started making me spaghetti hoops and toast for lunch - Martha's favorite, my least. It's not good for her and I feel terrible for the fact that if I had somewhere else to go I would be there in an instant because I can't stand the tension. Sometimes I need to remind myself that I can't run away from everything.

I haven't seen Gerard since Detective. Woodford appeared with news about Martha's death that turned out to be nothing more than old news after all. We gathered in the living room with saucer eyes and minds as hopeful as they could be. Anne perched on the end of her seat, Martha's father clutched his knuckles together tight and Gerard bit his lip so hard it began to bleed. When Detective. Woodford sighed and explained that Martha's case was still unsolved Anne broke into tears, her father buried his head in his hands and Gerard pursed his lips, smearing the blood everywhere.

I run into him on my way to the corner store - Anne's sent me to buy yet more tins of spaghetti hoops, I'm half tempted to tell her they've sold out. I offer him a nod as he stands in the door way, attempting to walk around him but he moves so I can't.
"Can I help you, Gerard?"
He lowers his eyes to the same Converse' he wore to Martha's funeral, this time they're hidden under the frayed ends of baggy jeans.
"Gerard, I need to buy spaghetti." I say. "So I kinda' need to get through the door."
"Yea, I was just buying some smokes."
"Cool... I still need to get through the door, though."
"Right." He stands back so I can walk by, only he grabs my arm before I can get much further than the magazine stand.
"You haven't heard anything else, have you? Y'know, about Martha's-"
"Gerard, you'll know as soon as we know, okay?"
"Yea, right, okay."
He lets me go and I begin to walk toward the tinned food isle before I stop, feeling a little sorry for how lost his face had looked - too much out of character, I think.
"Gerard..." I call after him. He turns around, onyx hair shadowing his features, hands stuffed in his pockets.
"Gerard, if you ever need to talk, I'm here, okay?"
He pushes his hair away from his face, arches a brow and wrinkles his nose.
"Yea, if I ever get desperate I'll let ya' know, England."

I hate it when he wrinkles his nose.