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Do you hear what I hear?
I groaned, sick of all the carols that have filled the air for the past month. Especially for such a time of year, everyone seems to have gone mad as they rave through shopping centers for gifts that they hope their loved ones would enjoy, pushing and shoving against one another to grab that one last item on the shelf. But, true love doesn't quite exist, and yet, they go through all the trouble anyways. However, is it really worth it? Lord, is that what festivity is really about?
Simply, the answer is: of course not. It's like saying that one plus one equals three-fucking-hundred, or how you're able to finger your own prick - it's completely incorrect whatsoever, to the point. In all honesty, I find this whole hell of a holiday fairly ridiculous. To me, it doesn't quite mean anything other than for an excuse to run away from a few of my responsibilities for a day or two. There's nothing else good to it, if you consider what I'd just mentioned...good.
I mean, you're actually worrying so much about purchasing the seemingly best present ever that you go rambling into the extreme weather, making your way through the un-shoveled streets blanketed with snow, and guess what? They end up not liking it, despising it even, and it ends up in the landfill sooner or later with other unused Christmas gifts.
And ah, well, there's me; Frank Iero, with nothing 'better' to do I suppose than bash on what is known as the 'most awesome holiday ever' filled with apparent 'joy' and 'utter happiness'. However, much in my defense, I'm actually just keeping myself alive, thank you very much. If you didn't happen to tell by now, I'm blind, and had went blind ever since - hell, I don't know, six? And well, there's nothing much I can quite do to alter that tragedy. For fuck's sake, I can't do anything with my life except sit here on these dampened, raging streets to try to live on day by day. Though, how would you feel if you'd awaken one day to know that you'll forever be caught in the dark, not being able to make out the faces of your friends, family, and other close ones ever again nor even being able to try and see nor make out what you've done with your fucking life, but just to simply guess with your remaining senses?
But what if your sanity has run away as well? Hell, haven't we all gone mad due to the pains of reality since the human race first roamed the Earth?
There's simply just too many questions to ask, and far too many to be answered.
I sighed. Life was too complicated for me, I must say, taking me away from everything I'd ever valued. In such a case, I figure living is rather a punishment than a gift. Or, an act of penalty from God meant just for me, because of the sins I've completed in my previous life. Whatever it was that some verse in the bible said.
A-fucking-men.
Yet, the Lord Almighty isn't even done with this silly, pesky game of his, tormenting all that just so happen to exist on this universe. As a matter of fact, sometimes, he'll cause all the memories to come back and hit you upside the head, and it's only then that your mind begins to ache of the days which seemed like millions of decades ago. Like a stab to the heart, a wrenching of the soul.
An example would be this one kid that was my only friend, and whom, as much as I hate to admit it, I'd strangely loved. It's somewhat odd to talk about really, your passion for someone of the same gender in a world where such love receives so much hate, but nonetheless, I haven't seen him in years. Ten years, to be exact. You see, it wasn't some kind of fairy-tale romance they'd read you at the daycares and kindergarten classes - this folklore I'm about to tell you is even more absurd than that twisted Rapunzel story meant for the 18+.
It's sort of stupid really; how that little mess got its start, but there's no turning back. Whatever is in the past is now long gone, so I assume there's no harm in spilling my guts out on the floor to you, unless you find me a bore and would rather cover your ears and walk away; that is. If you don't want to listen, then hell, I'm not going to force you! It's just all based on a matter of willingness - both yours, and mine.
But moving onward, regardless of whether or not you're interested in what I have to say, it'd all sort of begun when the parade came to town one day. I was aged five, he was seven or eight, and we somehow managed to stick like superglue for a short while. I think it was because we'd held many similar interests that no one else really did, and that in many ways had led me to believe that our friendship would've been the kind of ones that'd last forever. I'd dumbly thought the things in-between would always remain the same, but boy, was I wrong.
It was all fun and games until I turned six, when I'd lost my sight. In what was probably the most depressing state of my lifetime, though I haven't yet lived very long, he was there, supporting me. I'll never forget how much he meant to me at the time and even now, but things always progress as you get older. And then, matters occurred, we faltered, and he - well, he left. The worst part was, I'd never managed to tell him that I felt the way I did, and I pretty much never had such a chance to anyways.
I miss him though. More than anything else.
It's as if he's the blood that pumps through my veins which keeps me alive, telling me everything was going to be alright, giving me those comforting and reassuring hugs, and saying how much I meant to him in those times that I mourned and wished for me to be dead and gone (which, I still do as of now).
But, it was all done as a friend of course. He never loved me that way. I mean, he was straight, and I was, well, not so much. And with that, we walked different paths later on in our lives. We also ended up hating each other, and swore we'd never come cross each other's paths once again. The end; story's finished. L'histoire terminee, my friends.
Clink.
I snapped out of my thoughts and felt around the small, brown leather suitcase I had opened on my lap, checking for any change or cash that had been placed inside. At last, I'd laid my fingers upon what seemed like the eagle on the face of the quarter, but that was it.
Cheapskate. I thought, but said nothing as the cold winds blew harder against me, shivering slightly.
What can I say? it was just the hard cold truth, as everyone was too busy with their own family and friends, lovers and colleagues, to even think about some unknown kid on the street. Besides, even if they did produce some form of care and/or pity, that'd all be kept up inside and their cold, hard cash would be saved up for their own use. Humans are always greedy, no matter what and even under harsh circumstances. That's just how we as humans operate; like old, rusted machinery in need of a better alternative.
With that, I then heard footsteps in the distance approach me. Looking up, I'd tried to figure out the direction of the sound as another couple of clinks were heard in my suitcase.
"Merry Christmas, eh, buddy?" A man said as he tapped my shoulder.
I nodded. "Merry Christmas to you too, sir." I responded, feeling around my case once again. I was having a hard time finding anything - perhaps, he'd taken my quarter? - before something had caused my filthy, frostbitten fingers to stop immediately in their tracks. It felt like paper, but - no, it couldn't be. Had someone really been generous to give me something more?
I didn't even have time to ponder into that matter, before an ice-cold hand appeared my shoulder.
"H-hello." I pulled my hands away from the briefcase.
"Long time no see, Frankie," a voice said, and at the sound, I'd instantly felt a cold chill run up my spine. It was like I was thrown into sea, cold and frightening, and suddenly, I found it harder and harder to breathe.
In the past ten, fucking years, no one ever called me 'Frankie'. No one even did call me 'Frankie' beforehand either. And he - how the hell did he know who I was? And who the fuck even comes up with these shitty ass pet names to call me? Fucking 'Frankie' sounded like -
My train of thought cut short. I stopped myself from mind-rambling, because suddenly, something clicked. An image, linking the sound with the phrases that connected to the time that'd trailed by just abruptly appeared. I remembered. I remembered, then.
The kid. The one that disappeared on me more than a decade ago. The one who I made an oath with to never ever come into each other's life again. The one who I was supposed to hate externally, but had deeply loved internally. A bittersweet relationship, I guess.
But, it couldn't have been him. No fucking way could it have. Were the Gods playing a trick on me? Was I simply tricking myself?
"Frank, do you still remember me?" He asked, as I felt the Earth beginning to rotate faster and faster and faster.
Oh no. No, no, no.
"I'm blind. I can't see you to figure out who you are, sir," I'd told him. I had to pretend to have no clue as to who he was. I couldn't let him see me like -
"It's me, you little fucker," he said, messing up my hair like old times, and of course, unlike any stranger out there roaming.
My breath stopped, as old images started rushing back like a tidal wave through the depths of my mind. Because yeah, I could clearly make out that fucking voice with that little New Jersey accent and those long fingers that would ruffle up your hair every now and then. I knew him, and I, at the same time, didn't want to have known him. I longed for apathy. I wanted to forget.
I didn't have a choice then, however, but to confess. He pulled the last card, making sure I would've managed to recall, and I think there'd been a part of me that needed to talk to him, too. That more optimistic, idiotic side of me that in hindsight, I so very detest.
"Gerard?" I reached out for him, managing to grab the arm of his trench coat. At my grasp, he sort of laughed and bent down.
"Hey, why don't you close up that suitcase, and we can head someplace else for a small chat?" He said, taking my hand in his gloved ones.
"Yeah, sure. I-I mean, why not?" I answered, in attempt to make out a friendly laugh that resulted me with only a half smile. It'd been so long since I'd last talked to him, and it wasn't as if I was going to receive anything on such a hectic day like this. After all, what could've gone wrong from a friendly conversation with an old time friend?
And with that, he helped me close up my suitcase and led me away.
"Where are we going? Gerard?" I said, trying to keep up with him as he pulled me by the wrist.
"Somewhere." He chuckled.
"Somewhere?"
I ignored the thoughts that pounded inside my head. Maybe because, well, I wanted to trust him, and he possibly knew that too. But still, why did he return, so out of the blue, after vanishing without not even a single notice nor goodbye? Why did he come to see me? What was his motive? And most importantly, why did I trust him so much? He'd hurt me so much at one point, but maybe, just maybe, it's because he meant more to me than anything else. Even still. And it wasn't because I loved him since I needed him - it was the other way around.
The more we walked on, the more tranquility there'd seemed to be. The cars seemed to be dulled away, less crowds, greater space - and silence. We reached complete silence by then, only disrupted by the whistling of the wind, and that was where he'd wanted us to be.
He helped me sit down.
For a moment, we didn't speak. We both sat - or stood - there, listening to whatever it was that could've been heard and allowing the snow and ice to whip past, like a blade to my cheek. The clock inside my head continued to tick, regardless. One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Four.
I heard him inhale a sharp breath. "So, how's life been, Frank?"
"Well," I sighed, "it's okay. You?"
He clasped his hands together. "Good, and better than ever. I'm an author now, and also apart of this new band."
His words felt like a stab to the throat, and for a while, I didn't know what to say. He was just so fucking successful, and there I'd been, begging for other's change.
God, I was stupid. That was why he wanted to see me, wasn't it? He wanted to tell me how great his life was. He wanted to prove me worthless. Fuck, I actually didn't really know if he thought of me as a friend even, now to consider it.
I'd only managed to mutter: "Great."
He seemed to have noticed my 'enthusiasm', and I think he'd bent down to look at my lifeless eyes. I could feel him being really near me; I could feel his breath.
"Everything okay, Frank?" He asked.
"Yeah, I'm just -"
"Jealous?" He said, the line sounding so sharp that I thought I was going to shatter and explode into bits. It'd seemed as if he'd been taunting his triumph in front of my useless soul, teasing me, like those bullies used to do back in the day, in spite that it was only the truth. 'Jealousy' was the exact term to describe what I'd felt. However, I refused to let him to get the best of me.
"Look, I'm just -"
"Be honest, Frank," he said, cutting me off.
"Really, I'm-"
"Frank -"
He completely drove me up the wall.
"Didn't you fucking hear me? I'm not!" I protested, slumping back against the seat, or wall, or whatever it was I was sitting on.
"Frank-"
"Shut up," I spatted, trying to reach out for my belongings, only for a hand to reach out and stop me.
"Frank," he said. "You've let them take the light behind your eyes now, haven't you?"
"Jesus, Gerard, I'm blind. Blind. The 'light behind my eyes' have been taken a long time ago, if you can remember. You can't fucking say that to me!" I tried to force a laugh, but nothing came. A lump was building in my throat, and I knew it. I knew that well.
"I'm sorry. Tried to make up for what happened beforehand but, um, I guess..."
"Nothing ever happened. Now, let me go." I tried to break free from his grip, because yes, something really did happen. An event that'd caused their friendship to break into a trillion broken pieces, and I was certain he'd known that, too.
But, he didn't let go.
"You should know your own feelings better than I do, but I can tell by the way you used to handle things and from what I'm seeing now," his voice was full of pity - false pity, irritating and like a flea in my er. "Nothing's changed, has it, Frankie?
"Gerard, nothing ever changes. We as people don't either. We're all greedy, we're all fucked-up, and life hates all of us."
"Good lord. You've really let things get over you. There's still hope, though, Fr-"
"Don't you fucking call me 'Frankie' again, nor mention such a word called 'hope' to me. It doesn't exist," I said, finally able to locate my suitcase. I opened it, grabbing the bills he'd given me earlier and throwing them back at him, emptying it in the process.
"Keep it. I don't need your life support," I said. "Oh, and, merry Christmas, huh?" I stumbled away without another, single word.
But the thing was, I still loved him. I really, really did. But, true love doesn't exist. Nothing ever quite does.