Spike Me and Save Me
Precious
Mikey’s P.O.V.
I had begun hating touring. I loved the shows, but I hated the touring. We spent so much time just sitting around doing nothing – or lying around. Gerard didn’t sit much. He was either standing on stage or lying in his bunk – or on the couch, or on the bed in the back. I hate touring.
But then again, if we hadn’t been touring, then Gerard might’ve just lied in his bed at home all day – including nights, when we usually played.
It had gotten worse. I knew it. He hadn’t said it, but I knew my brother. He was getting more and more tired. The side effects were the same – worsened, but the same. I searched the Internet for information and found out that chemo could cause anaemia, and that large amounts could cause blood in the urine. I remember the first time I came along to one of his treatments – when he told the doctor that he’d experienced blood in the urine once. Ray had told me he’d experienced it after that treatment as well. I didn’t know for sure if it was still the case, but somehow I felt that it was. He’d begun closing the door when he went to the bathroom. At public bathrooms he always went into a stall. I knew when he was hiding something.
He was.
We were on stage playing the third to last song, when I looked over at him. He was sweating a lot – it seemed more than usual. It was in the middle of Ray’s guitar solo – in which he would usually wander about the stage – and he was just standing there. His jaw was hanging open, and he seemed to be gasping for his breath. I took a step towards him, when a projector light suddenly hit him and I was able to see his face clearly. His eyes were wide open – filled with terror. He looked like he was on the verge of tears. I took a few steps towards him, but then suddenly Ray’s solo was over and he began to sing again. He started walking around on the stage, acting like his normal stage-self. He seemed normal.
Even though it was just once, I still stared at him during every show since then. At times I would take my eyes off of him, but not for long. I never asked him what happened, but I never forgot either.
I knew he was hiding something, but I never asked what. I knew he would tell me if it was important. He will, right?
I knew he wanted to protect me. He had always felt it was his job to protect me – to make my life better than his. I didn’t know whether my life was getting better or worse when he kept secrets from me. I guess not knowing was better than hurting, but not knowing just caused me to be concerned. It gnawed in the back of my mind. Every time he wasn’t near me – every time I couldn’t see him – I worried how he was. I worried that he felt alone. That he felt guilt. That he felt pain. I wish that I could take the pain for you.
Every time I saw him, he seemed to be okay, though. He never showed any hurt, frustration, pain, fear or worry, even though I knew he felt them all. He just seemed to accept everything. Every time he was hit in the face with another side effect, he just seemed to ignore it and get back up. At times he almost seemed like a Jesus-wanna-be – he would just turn the other cheek.
Even though Gerard always accepted his faith, I couldn’t. I wasn’t able to just turn the other cheek.
Every time something would hit him – hit me – I would lie on the ground for days. It would knock me to the ground and knock me around for days. I wouldn’t be able to let it go – to crawl away from it and recover. It would stick with me.
It might’ve been the reason Gerard didn’t tell me what was up – why he hid things from me.
One night when Gerard was drawing for his comic, my thoughts started to wander. I was sitting next to him pretending to read a book, but my eyes weren’t reading a single letter. I started thinking about superheroes – Batman, Superman, Spiderman, X-men, Hellboy – and realized that none of them had ever cured cancer. All the radioactivity in the world couldn’t cure cancer. Pure poison seemed to be the doctors’ only solution – and it didn’t even work properly. Yet it did work sometimes – a few times. What if I swallowed a gallon of that poison and developed superpowers. Then I’d be able to help you. Cure you.
At the next round of chemo, I looked at the bag of poison hanging from the rack ready to be pumped into Gerard’s veins, and for a second I felt an extreme urge to just swallow the whole thing. If it hadn’t worked the way I hoped it would, then I would probably have died. Die with you perhaps.
I knocked my thought out of my head and held his hand tight, as the needle pierced through his skin. I wish that I could take the pain for you.
I had begun hating touring. I loved the shows, but I hated the touring. We spent so much time just sitting around doing nothing – or lying around. Gerard didn’t sit much. He was either standing on stage or lying in his bunk – or on the couch, or on the bed in the back. I hate touring.
But then again, if we hadn’t been touring, then Gerard might’ve just lied in his bed at home all day – including nights, when we usually played.
It had gotten worse. I knew it. He hadn’t said it, but I knew my brother. He was getting more and more tired. The side effects were the same – worsened, but the same. I searched the Internet for information and found out that chemo could cause anaemia, and that large amounts could cause blood in the urine. I remember the first time I came along to one of his treatments – when he told the doctor that he’d experienced blood in the urine once. Ray had told me he’d experienced it after that treatment as well. I didn’t know for sure if it was still the case, but somehow I felt that it was. He’d begun closing the door when he went to the bathroom. At public bathrooms he always went into a stall. I knew when he was hiding something.
He was.
We were on stage playing the third to last song, when I looked over at him. He was sweating a lot – it seemed more than usual. It was in the middle of Ray’s guitar solo – in which he would usually wander about the stage – and he was just standing there. His jaw was hanging open, and he seemed to be gasping for his breath. I took a step towards him, when a projector light suddenly hit him and I was able to see his face clearly. His eyes were wide open – filled with terror. He looked like he was on the verge of tears. I took a few steps towards him, but then suddenly Ray’s solo was over and he began to sing again. He started walking around on the stage, acting like his normal stage-self. He seemed normal.
Even though it was just once, I still stared at him during every show since then. At times I would take my eyes off of him, but not for long. I never asked him what happened, but I never forgot either.
I knew he was hiding something, but I never asked what. I knew he would tell me if it was important. He will, right?
I knew he wanted to protect me. He had always felt it was his job to protect me – to make my life better than his. I didn’t know whether my life was getting better or worse when he kept secrets from me. I guess not knowing was better than hurting, but not knowing just caused me to be concerned. It gnawed in the back of my mind. Every time he wasn’t near me – every time I couldn’t see him – I worried how he was. I worried that he felt alone. That he felt guilt. That he felt pain. I wish that I could take the pain for you.
Every time I saw him, he seemed to be okay, though. He never showed any hurt, frustration, pain, fear or worry, even though I knew he felt them all. He just seemed to accept everything. Every time he was hit in the face with another side effect, he just seemed to ignore it and get back up. At times he almost seemed like a Jesus-wanna-be – he would just turn the other cheek.
Even though Gerard always accepted his faith, I couldn’t. I wasn’t able to just turn the other cheek.
Every time something would hit him – hit me – I would lie on the ground for days. It would knock me to the ground and knock me around for days. I wouldn’t be able to let it go – to crawl away from it and recover. It would stick with me.
It might’ve been the reason Gerard didn’t tell me what was up – why he hid things from me.
One night when Gerard was drawing for his comic, my thoughts started to wander. I was sitting next to him pretending to read a book, but my eyes weren’t reading a single letter. I started thinking about superheroes – Batman, Superman, Spiderman, X-men, Hellboy – and realized that none of them had ever cured cancer. All the radioactivity in the world couldn’t cure cancer. Pure poison seemed to be the doctors’ only solution – and it didn’t even work properly. Yet it did work sometimes – a few times. What if I swallowed a gallon of that poison and developed superpowers. Then I’d be able to help you. Cure you.
At the next round of chemo, I looked at the bag of poison hanging from the rack ready to be pumped into Gerard’s veins, and for a second I felt an extreme urge to just swallow the whole thing. If it hadn’t worked the way I hoped it would, then I would probably have died. Die with you perhaps.
I knocked my thought out of my head and held his hand tight, as the needle pierced through his skin. I wish that I could take the pain for you.