FicWad

This Is How I Disappear

I watch as Frank stares at my papers with a pensive expression. The papers are my records, my receipts for my purchased death warrant. I myself try to remain expressionless, honestly unsure of how he is going to react.

At the first uttering of the words "I have cancer.", Frank had thought I was joking. He was no stranger to rude and inappropriate jokes, so it would have seemed perfectly normal.

He looks to be in deep thought when he finally says, "Who else knows about this?"

"Just you." I tell him, a heavy sigh shaking my shoulders. "...and I'd prefer to keep it that way."

I admit, it feels good to finally tell someone. Something is lifted from me, and a very small hand of relief is squeezing my shoulder.

Frank, however, does not appear to share this pleasant feeling. He's staring at the papers again, his eyes scanning them over for then tenth or so time -- perhaps looking for a "just kidding" in the fine print. In those moving eyes, I see confusion and distress.

Unable to take the silence much longer, I try to carry on with the topic, answering any questions that he may simply be too shocked to think of, currently.

"I have three months." I announce like the three months is going to lead to something exciting.

Frank finally rips his face away from my results to look directly at me. Something about his stare makes me frown.

"Gerard --- for fucks sake, why didn't you cancel the tour?!?" Frank hisses, and his decided reaction now becomes evident.

He is very, very angry.

"How could you just keep this from us?!? From Lindsey?!? From Mikey?!?" his voice rises, and I feel myself inch away from him slightly. "Gerard, what the hell are you thinking?!? We need to cancel everything right now!"

"No, Frankie! Just calm down!" I throw my hands up in a motion of surrender, and my mind is working fast to undo this. How do I convince him that my death isn't going to be a big deal? Or at least, that I don't want it to be...

"Look." I sigh again, "If there's anything I want right now... if I could be granted a dying wish, it's to live my life as much as possible before I can't anymore. Yeah, they'll all find out eventually. I've done my research on the type of cancer I have, and soon I'll be too sick to stand. They'll know then, and you know Mikey's going to drag me home when they do. By the time that happens, I'd say I'll still have at least a couple of weeks before I kick the bucket, around a few weeks to say goodbye to everyone."

"Dude, that's fucked up." Frank interrupts. "You're shortening the amount of time that everyone could have had to cope with your death."

"People die suddenly all the time." I shrug.

"That doesn't fucking make it okay! That doesn't make it any easier!" Frank argues.

"Frankie!" I raise my own voice now, starting to feel aggravated. It seems to catch his attention, because he flinches slightly. "C'mon, I know we've drifted apart in the past few years. But you were once my best friend, and you know that I don't want to spend the next three months being the center of some giant pity party. Do you really think I want to spend my last few months around people who'll be going through the five stages of grief, or some shit like that?"

"And what about me then?" Frank questions, "You just told me, didn't you? How am I supposed to deal with this by myself?"

"I figured...you'd understand." I tell him, not sure of a better way to put it.

I did think Frank would understand. In my ten years of knowing him, Frank always seemed to understand me more than anyone else, except maybe Lindsey. He knew when I just needed a good smoke with a friend, instead of sending me to some psychologist to talk about my feelings, like Mikey would.

And in a typical Frank fashion, he shakes his head and says, "Okay Gerard. You win. I won't say anything. Just promise me you'll get help when you really need it -- and that you won't do anything stupid."

I grin, "When have I ever?"

Frank gives me an irritated look, and I can't help but laugh. It's only then that I notice that my phone is ringing. The clock tells me that we're nearly an hour late to sound check. Oops.

"Where have you been?"

Mikey scolds us when we get to the venue, rushing to unpack our gear. I was so distracted by recent events that I forgot to think of an excuse. Luckily, Frank blurts out, "I took a while on the crapper. It was that damned sushi place, I'm telling you."

I make sure to smile a smile of gratitude the next time he catches my eye.

After lunch, I go into my dressing room for some time alone. I bring Ray's acoustic guitar with me, and I sit on the one chair in the cramped space. I perch the guitar on my lap. I stare at the dressing room mirror.

My hair is shining in the light, making the black strands look unnaturally glossed over. I think of all the things I want to do with it, try to remember any hair styles I've always wanted to do before I die.

I think telling Frank did help me feel slightly better about keeping this from the ones I love, but it also brought me closer to the reality of my impending doom. In my mind, it feels a lot harder to ignore.

But I'm not quite ready to come to terms with it. I close my eyes and I feel the guitar in my hands, knowing, if nothing else, music will be the magic to give me life for the next three months. This new album, still a new beginning.

I song pops into my head, one that I haven't thought of for a long time. It was a song my mother used to sing, back when she sang at all. She sang when she was happy. I sang when I was sad. I'm not quite sure what I'm feeling right now, but I start to sing anyway, my fingers clumsily trying to recall the melody through the guitar.

"...When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother what I will be... Will I be pretty?... Will I be rich?... Here's what she said to me... Que sera, sera... Whatever will be, will be... The futures nor ours to see... Que sera, sera..."

Next Chapter: Gerard Way's bucket list.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WVbrycPKXZQ