Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Faring Well
“Mr. Karp?” Gerard mumbled groggily into the phone. He had slept sitting upright in the chair, jumping at every slightest movement, making it a fitful night for the teenager. He sniffed deeply and rubbed his face, wishing he were anywhere else.
“Gerard, I just got the news.” An unexpected call from his director at six in the morning, just when he was beginning to be able to nod off, did not help Gerard’s predicament. “I’m so, so sorry. How is Mikey?”
Gerard stifled a yawn. “He’s…you know, I mean…I don’t know. He’s in a coma, so…he’s doing as well as can be expected from someone in a coma…I guess…” He glanced back down at his baby brother, noticing, with a heavy heart, that he had remained stock-still throughout the night, despite the fact that Gerard had tossed and turned. It was probably the way of the comatose, immobility, but it was still a shocking thing to realize. Living things were supposed to move.
“I’m so sorry. Listen, don’t worry about the show tonight, or this weekend. I know you’ve got it tough right now, and I wouldn’t ask you to be away from your brother at a time like this.”
“But--but the show…” Gerard sat up, furrowing his eyebrows. He couldn’t let the whole cast and crew down, but…Karp was right: he couldn’t be away from Mikey.
“It’ll be fine,” Karp assured. “Josh will take your part and I can have one of the stage crew kids step in for Bamberger; he only has one line, anyway.” He sounded as though this was the last thing he wanted to do, so Gerard especially appreciated the fact that the director was sacrificing the show so he could be with his brother.
“Thank you,” Gerard said, meaning it. “Oh,” he said, remembering what the doctor had told him yesterday. “Do you think you could give me Maria’s phone number? Or another girl on tech? They…they want to ask them some questions.”
“Yeah, sure,” Karp said, his tone holding the same quiet gentility that nurse’s had the night before as he gave the boy the number. “If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call me.” Gerard grunted his thanks and hung up so he could call Maria.
In a half hour, the small, dark-haired girl was lingering outside Mikey’s hospital room, biting her lip nervously as she knocked hesitantly on the doorframe.
“You can come in, Maria,” Gerard said, not lifting his head. He’d been trying to fall asleep again, but it wasn’t working; he was too anxious to hear what Maria had to say. He sniffed deeply and straightened, standing to greet his friend.
“Gerard, I swear, we didn’t do anything to Mikey!” she exclaimed, tears welling in her eyes.
“I would never accuse you of doing something to hurt Mikey,” Gerard assured her, trying to muster a smile. “The thing is, the doctors say that he probably hit his head and got a concussion, then went to sleep and slipped into this…this coma.” At this, Maria’s hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide, jaw agape.
“Oh, my God…” she muttered, horror-stricken. She blanched and felt around for a chair. Gerard offered the one he’d been sitting in, placing a hand on her shoulder and crouching to be level with her.
“What? What happened? Did something happen? Maria, you have to tell me; I need to know,” he said when she began shaking her head. She swallowed thickly and took a shaky breath.
“Well, you know, he was sitting on that rickety old stool we keep backstage. He was swinging his legs and fell back. He hit his head on the edge of the food table, but he didn’t cry, and he didn’t pass out or anything. I mean, he seemed just fine. Oh, my God, I can’t believe--”
“Maria, it’s not your fault at all. You said yourself, you didn’t know. Please, please don’t blame yourself. I’ve been blaming myself all night, and look at me: I’d frighten small children if I left this room right now.” He tried to smile again, and Maria laughed through her tears.
“Thanks, Gerard,” she said quietly, grabbing his hand for a moment and squeezing it. She stood and walked to the door, obviously wanting to get out.
“No problem. Thank you. I’ll let the doctors know. You can go home and sleep now,” he added, chuckling. He smiled and waved until her footsteps faded away down the hall. The minute her steps were gone, the smile slid off his face and he collapsed back into the chair, sighing with his head in his hands.
It wasn’t until noon struck that the doctor from the night before walked in, and Gerard told her what Maria had said. She just nodded and scribbled more things down on her clipboard. When he finished, she looked up and offered a smile.
“Well, we’re doing our best to see if Mikey will wake up, and right now, it’s looking very good for him. He’s stable. The cerebral cortex doesn’t seem to have sustained any lasting damage, and we think that once it heals itself, Michael will start coming around.”
“When will that be?” Gerard asked, heart pounding.
“We can’t say just yet.”
Gerard sat back, sighing once more and pushing his hands through his hair. “Okay.” He looked around, knowing he was supposed to remember something… “Oh,” he said. “Nobody’s asked me about insurance yet. Where can I give my information?” The doctor frowned and consulted her clipboard.
“Mr. Way, we already have insurance information for Michael. We pulled up land ownership records on your house and contacted the last known owner, a relative of yours.” She was giving Gerard a funny look, probably because he had confusion etched all over his face.
“That’s--that’s impossible. My mother owns that house, and she’s in a mental hospital.” After gaining Mikey, the court had required Gerard to end the lease on his apartment and move back into his mother’s house, to avoid any kind of anxiety for Mikey. When he’d checked records, the house had already been completely paid off, though how his mother had managed mortgage payments around supporting her various drug habits was anyone’s guess.
“No, I don’t think so. In the last year, the house has been paid off, but not by a Donna Way.” Flip. Flip. Flip. She obviously hadn’t been expecting an argument over the insurance already being taken care of.
“Doctor,” Gerard began, getting frustrated. “The whole reason I have custody of my brother is that we don’t have any living relatives, at least none that the state could find. So, could you please tell me which of these non-existent relatives has so graciously paid off the mortgage on my house and is paying for Mikey’s medical bills?”
One more consultation of the clipboard. “A Mr. Donald Way,” she told him.
Gerard froze. He stared, mouth agape, at the doctor, brow furrowed, mind reeling. “What?” he said dazedly. “My father?”
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“Gerard, I just got the news.” An unexpected call from his director at six in the morning, just when he was beginning to be able to nod off, did not help Gerard’s predicament. “I’m so, so sorry. How is Mikey?”
Gerard stifled a yawn. “He’s…you know, I mean…I don’t know. He’s in a coma, so…he’s doing as well as can be expected from someone in a coma…I guess…” He glanced back down at his baby brother, noticing, with a heavy heart, that he had remained stock-still throughout the night, despite the fact that Gerard had tossed and turned. It was probably the way of the comatose, immobility, but it was still a shocking thing to realize. Living things were supposed to move.
“I’m so sorry. Listen, don’t worry about the show tonight, or this weekend. I know you’ve got it tough right now, and I wouldn’t ask you to be away from your brother at a time like this.”
“But--but the show…” Gerard sat up, furrowing his eyebrows. He couldn’t let the whole cast and crew down, but…Karp was right: he couldn’t be away from Mikey.
“It’ll be fine,” Karp assured. “Josh will take your part and I can have one of the stage crew kids step in for Bamberger; he only has one line, anyway.” He sounded as though this was the last thing he wanted to do, so Gerard especially appreciated the fact that the director was sacrificing the show so he could be with his brother.
“Thank you,” Gerard said, meaning it. “Oh,” he said, remembering what the doctor had told him yesterday. “Do you think you could give me Maria’s phone number? Or another girl on tech? They…they want to ask them some questions.”
“Yeah, sure,” Karp said, his tone holding the same quiet gentility that nurse’s had the night before as he gave the boy the number. “If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call me.” Gerard grunted his thanks and hung up so he could call Maria.
In a half hour, the small, dark-haired girl was lingering outside Mikey’s hospital room, biting her lip nervously as she knocked hesitantly on the doorframe.
“You can come in, Maria,” Gerard said, not lifting his head. He’d been trying to fall asleep again, but it wasn’t working; he was too anxious to hear what Maria had to say. He sniffed deeply and straightened, standing to greet his friend.
“Gerard, I swear, we didn’t do anything to Mikey!” she exclaimed, tears welling in her eyes.
“I would never accuse you of doing something to hurt Mikey,” Gerard assured her, trying to muster a smile. “The thing is, the doctors say that he probably hit his head and got a concussion, then went to sleep and slipped into this…this coma.” At this, Maria’s hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide, jaw agape.
“Oh, my God…” she muttered, horror-stricken. She blanched and felt around for a chair. Gerard offered the one he’d been sitting in, placing a hand on her shoulder and crouching to be level with her.
“What? What happened? Did something happen? Maria, you have to tell me; I need to know,” he said when she began shaking her head. She swallowed thickly and took a shaky breath.
“Well, you know, he was sitting on that rickety old stool we keep backstage. He was swinging his legs and fell back. He hit his head on the edge of the food table, but he didn’t cry, and he didn’t pass out or anything. I mean, he seemed just fine. Oh, my God, I can’t believe--”
“Maria, it’s not your fault at all. You said yourself, you didn’t know. Please, please don’t blame yourself. I’ve been blaming myself all night, and look at me: I’d frighten small children if I left this room right now.” He tried to smile again, and Maria laughed through her tears.
“Thanks, Gerard,” she said quietly, grabbing his hand for a moment and squeezing it. She stood and walked to the door, obviously wanting to get out.
“No problem. Thank you. I’ll let the doctors know. You can go home and sleep now,” he added, chuckling. He smiled and waved until her footsteps faded away down the hall. The minute her steps were gone, the smile slid off his face and he collapsed back into the chair, sighing with his head in his hands.
It wasn’t until noon struck that the doctor from the night before walked in, and Gerard told her what Maria had said. She just nodded and scribbled more things down on her clipboard. When he finished, she looked up and offered a smile.
“Well, we’re doing our best to see if Mikey will wake up, and right now, it’s looking very good for him. He’s stable. The cerebral cortex doesn’t seem to have sustained any lasting damage, and we think that once it heals itself, Michael will start coming around.”
“When will that be?” Gerard asked, heart pounding.
“We can’t say just yet.”
Gerard sat back, sighing once more and pushing his hands through his hair. “Okay.” He looked around, knowing he was supposed to remember something… “Oh,” he said. “Nobody’s asked me about insurance yet. Where can I give my information?” The doctor frowned and consulted her clipboard.
“Mr. Way, we already have insurance information for Michael. We pulled up land ownership records on your house and contacted the last known owner, a relative of yours.” She was giving Gerard a funny look, probably because he had confusion etched all over his face.
“That’s--that’s impossible. My mother owns that house, and she’s in a mental hospital.” After gaining Mikey, the court had required Gerard to end the lease on his apartment and move back into his mother’s house, to avoid any kind of anxiety for Mikey. When he’d checked records, the house had already been completely paid off, though how his mother had managed mortgage payments around supporting her various drug habits was anyone’s guess.
“No, I don’t think so. In the last year, the house has been paid off, but not by a Donna Way.” Flip. Flip. Flip. She obviously hadn’t been expecting an argument over the insurance already being taken care of.
“Doctor,” Gerard began, getting frustrated. “The whole reason I have custody of my brother is that we don’t have any living relatives, at least none that the state could find. So, could you please tell me which of these non-existent relatives has so graciously paid off the mortgage on my house and is paying for Mikey’s medical bills?”
One more consultation of the clipboard. “A Mr. Donald Way,” she told him.
Gerard froze. He stared, mouth agape, at the doctor, brow furrowed, mind reeling. “What?” he said dazedly. “My father?”
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