"How my heart yearns for what my eyes resist to do, close."
"He says he saw Elena..."
"I think Gerard's losing it," Bob muttered loudly.
"but why now?" Frank asked
"Maybe," Ray began, "the death of his grandmother has resurfaced."
"Yeah but," Frank jetted, "she died a few years ago, Gerard wrote a song about her, his lyrics always have one line about her," he paused running a hand through his hair, "thats his thearpy right?"
"Yeah," Bob and Ray agreed together.
"So he's gotta be over the death?" mused Frank.
"Well clearly," Ray festered jabbing a hand to my direction, "he's not."
"But," Bob interjected, "Remember he said," he paused thinking loudly, "he said...she's dead and I saw her or something-."
"Yeah he's seeing people who've past over, his Grandmother especially," Ray stated cutting off Bob.
"But," Frank started, "Why admit she is dead?"
Ray looked to his side; he ran it over his thoughts. Shrugging mutedly he shook his head once or twice.
"Yeah," Bob replied, "he obviously knows she's past on when he makes a comment like that."
The three in unison turned and looked to me. I sat wrapped in wool blankets drinking ever so slowly on my coffee; staring to an opposing chair back. I pretended to be deaf and mute; they carried on with their discussion.
"Maybe he's under pressure for the new record, I mean arn't we all?"
"Bob!" Ray shot, "I'm not under so much stress to strangle the bassist of the band, hear whispering and hack up my chest."
"Ray chill," Frank shushed placing a hand upon his broad shoulder, "Gerard's very eccentric-."
"Yeah-?"Ray fumed, "how does that explain his actions!?"
"Look," Frank soothed, "I'm just saying everyone reacts to stress differently."
"That's not how Gerard acts," Ray was becoming more heated.
"No!" He snarled, "I'm going to check on Mikey."
He stormed away stomping up the stairs coarsely. Bob and Frank stood in the trails of his angst. The house went back to it's humming silence. Settling of it's dust and calming of it's spirits. Together Frank and Bob entered the dining room where I had been stationed. Taking seats on either side of me they waited for my rebuttal.
"Gerard," Frank began but ceased.
I gently set my mug to the table surface and sat to the back of my chair. I stared ahead, to the house walls.
"Gerard," Frank tired again this time he stopped to my hand.
Placed threadlike to his face my hand had sushed him; I was listening to something else, something faint.
"Gerard," he complained.
Again my hand stayed near to his face, keeping his speech at bay. I leaned forward trying to catch it, the whispering.
"Gerard come o-," Bob thatched inwardly to my left ear.
My other hand instantly raised guarded his lips from movement.
"Do you hear that?" I asked straining to listen.
They both shook there heads in time looking to my darting eyes. I licked my lips and vastly placed my question to their concerned faces.
"What are they saying?" I whispered to the room, to them, to the voices.