Mikey's dead, or is he? Gerard's so drunk he's lucky he has a clue, and he's heartbroken. And Frank's done something terrible, not only that but he knows The Truth.
Okay, everything is kind of back words. You’ll see what I mean.
Anyway, let the fun begin!
"This song is about the hardest me and Mikey and my band ever went on. We been on this long road now bout four years.
This song is called cemetery drive."
It had been a closed casket, and that had been why it worked. Frank grinned maniacally as he held up his end of the coffin. It was tilted slightly towards Frank’s corner. Gerard was in front of him, tears pouring freely as his make up ran down his cheeks. Broken sobs scratched from deep in his chest. Ray stood stone faced across from Gerard. Bob was on the other side of Frank with one lonesome tear trailing down his right cheek.
They all piled into the My Chemical Romance white graffiti’ed van. The atmosphere inside the van was somber and tense. Everyone was too afraid to say one word. Especially with Gerard around, they never knew how he would react to anything anymore.
Gerard clutched the steering wheel. The tears had long since stopped their fountain like flow. He sat ridged, still clearly very freaked out.
They followed the hearse until it reached a newer, decently kept up cemetery.
Gerard walked them to the grave. Dressed purely in black, the bright shinning sun did not seem to fit the mood. Gerard stood at the stone. Grey, smooth, brand new, and freshly etched.
He stood alone at the grave. The others were a few feet back to give him some space. He traced the name engraved with his crooked pinky. Michel Way, his eyes transfixed on those words.
Gerard stared unseeingly at the freshly dug dirt and the hole that stood momentarily empty. He may have been drunk, but that sight sobered him, if only slightly.
Just yesterday he had been joking with Mikey over the stupidest things, he couldn’t even remember. Now Mikey was gone, soon to be six feet under, never to be seen again. Gerard would never get to speak to his nerdy little brother and all the random facts his genius brain was filled with.
A drug overdose they said.
Gerard stood there in the shadows of the newly pitched tent near the freshly dug ground. There weren’t very many people, just over a handful.
Gerard stood near the top of the casket, where Mikey’s head would be he thought, and shutter ran down his spine. He stroked the glossy sheen of the coffin, lost in thought as someone from the church said some words about Mikey. Which annoyed Gerard, because what did they really know about Mikey? Nothing. If he hadn’t died they would have never even heard his name. How could the woman even say it was tragic, when she so obviously didn’t even know how his baby brother died.
His mother sobbed loudly, the sound forcing its way through his thoughts. It was over now, and he hadn’t even noticed.
Gerard walked away as the guys said their goodbyes, not once looking back, and not intending to ever go back. He staggered slightly and caught himself on one of the folding chairs set up in the tent.
Frank stood at the grave stone watching Gerard stumble away. The sorrow surrounding him had finally registered and had stripped him of his giddy mood. He fingered absentmindedly at the rosary hanging loosely around his neck.
Finally Gerard’s unsteady form reached the once white van, pulled himself up into the vehicle, and floor it. Causing dust to sputter out everywhere as he drove away.
Frank sighed, they would have to walk back, and hope they didn’t get mugged in the process.
Frank pulled open the door of his shabby New York apartment. Mrs. Way had driven him to the nearest train stop, which he barely had enough money to take the commute.
The apartment was two rooms, a living room, bathroom, and a closet that doubled as his bedroom, which was hardly big enough to fit his air-mattress. There was a fridge and stove shove against the wall nearest the door, and a futon adjacent to the self-made kitchen. Yes, it was sad, and God, was it exspensive for what it was.
He hung his button up in the closet, leaving himself standing there in a black wife beater.
He plopped down into the worn La-Z Boy shoved into one of the corners of the room. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and stared out the window, not really wanting to talk to the person he was supposed to call. Then he would have to check in on Gerard, make sure he hadn’t killed himself or anything. And he would have to call Ray or Bob to make sure they keep an eye on him since Frank lived two hours away.
He dialed the phone number that was messily scrawled onto a post-it and shoved into his pocket. He silently hope the phone wasn’t picked up.
He heard strange sounds emit from the phone, that he couldn’t really place.
“Mikey?” He whispered shakily.
“Yo.” There was a pause. “I thought I told you not to call me that anymore.”
“Oh, right, sorry.” Frank said hurriedly. “I’ll never get used to that.” He muttered into the receiver.
“Well how’d it go?” Mikey prodded.
“It was fine. No one suspected a thing. Your brother was pissed off his ass."
"Of course he was. He'll get over it." From Mikey's tone of voice, Frank could practically see his eyes rolling through the phone. And with that Mikey hung up the phone, leaving Frank with nothing more than dial tones.
Mikey had 'died' so he could get away, no longer be the big brother to his older brother, so he would no longer be Gerard's care taker. He wanted a way out, no strings attached, no Gerard attached. Frank had offered him one.
Frank hadn't wanted to do it. It helped Frank out now, but in the long run, made his life more of a Hell.
He couldn't sit back and watch his friend dig himself a hole he couldn't climb out of and drag his younger brother along.
He couldn't watch Mikey silently suffer and claw for help.
But he couldn't choose between his friends either.
Though in the long run, he supposed he did.
Frank sat back, his mind replaying the early morning’s events.
Frank drove to the fore-boding church. His fingers tapped nervously at the steering wheel as he waited for the stop light to turn. He peeked down at the digital clock; it blinked 8:15 at him. Frank groaned as the earliness of the morning was brought back to his attention. He was a little under an hour early. He felt his heart beat pound in his chest, booming in his ears as he pulled up to the church. He had no idea how this would turn out, but he kept his fingers crossed behind his back as his feet carried him closer and closer to the church, and across its four steps that lead up to the door.
Frank took a deep breath and pulled open the double doors, the wind swooshing his choppy dark bangs back.
Frank smiled appreciatively to himself upon finding that no one was there yet.
Frank took slow steps towards the back of the room. It was so large, much too big for their service at least.
The thump of his thick boots rang throughout the room, as he made his way to the mahogany casket. The casket was so dark it was nearly pitched-black. The lid was smooth and slick under the pads of Frank’s fingertips as he lifted the lid. There was a loud clang as something hit the ground.
Frank looked around frantically for fear of being found out, and breathed a sigh of relief when no one came rushing in. He spotted the wreath of artificial roses lying face down on the ground, he had forget to take them off!
He lifted the lid once more, this time opening it all the way. His eyes devoured the sight of the beautiful, tanned, native-born Hawaiian girl, Angela. Her hair braided and pleated back from her face. Frank reached over on his tip-toes, and tucked a stay strand behind her ears. Just as he had predicted before, she looked as gorgeous in death as in life. But there was just something about Death that makes everything, well, more, to Frank.
He closed the lid, silently, washing her face from his view. The only people that knew about the whole ordeal were his grave digger buddies, yes he truly did have some, the boy he got to switch Mikey’s ‘dead’ body, and a creepy ex-girlfriend embalmer.
Frank stood leaning against the corner of the first row of pews, purely thinking.
Sometime later the whole crew walked in. Gerard first, with his cheap black tinted sunglasses perched on the end of scrunched up nose. Who was followed by Ray who had deep-set bags under his eyes. Then Bob who kept his head down the entire way to the pews beside Frank.
People stared piling in the place. Gerard frowned at Frank from beneath his sunglasses.
“How come you were here so early?” His beneath hit Frank’s nostrils and he had to stop himself from scrunching up his nose at the smell.
“The minister had some questions for me.” Frank lied bluntly.
“Oh.” Gerard paused for a minute. “Why didn’t he call me?”
“He didn’t want to upset you or anything. Plus, he wanted to know if I wanted to speak or if I knew anyone else who wanted to. I thought it would be nicer if I came down here and spoke to him face to face.”
"Oh.” Gerard said again, this time settling back against the bench, nodding his head along.
Frank smiled inwardly, he knew that his friend was too impaired to truly question him. The normal Gerard would have seen right through his poor lies.
Frank himself sat back, feeling very happy, accomplished, and self-assured.
A/N: I just wanted to say that ever sine I went to my Great Grandpa's funeral I've had this, this feeling I can't get rid of. And I can't describe it either.
But his death, it shattered me. I still carry that sadness.
But, anyway, I guess that's where my inspiration for this story came from.