Chapter Ten
November 10th
“I’m not packing your shit for you, Gerard. I hope you know that.”
“I hadn’t guessed.” I stood at the edge of his bedroom peeking in to see his progress. He was laying on his bed motionless, his eyes closed, his mind and wheels turning inside that head of his. Not much looked to be done in the fifteen minutes I had left him alone. My bags were already packed and ready to go while his on the other hand were still empty and hollow. “You’re going to be sorry.” I added, pointing an index finger at the empty totes. He didn’t seem phased by my annoyance so I stepped it up a notch. “Do you not care?” I was half serious half just trying to get his lazy ass off the bed. Before, I was the lazy one. He taught me to enjoy the moments in life that are happening in the moment instead of worrying about the future, now I was teaching him to take action. A switch of roles – but after I said my last line he came back to life. “Why would you think that!?” He sat up straight and at attention. I hadn’t meant to make him crazy, but I wanted some reaction out of him. Gerard was changing and I wasn’t sure why. I didn’t know whether to be nervous, excited, or scared of that fact. I shrugged my shoulders at him, “You’re not doing much lately. You’re being lazy. Is everything okay?” He nodded firmly and smiled. “Okay, I’ll take your word for it, but come on! Get up! We have to finish!”
“Frank, we have seven more days. A whole week! We have time!” He was right, we had a shit load of time, I was never good with planning things. I would constantly get frazzled. I got it from my mom.
Without saying another word I turned and walked into the kitchen. I seemed to spend most of my time there more than anywhere else in the whole house. I heard Gerard’s heavy footsteps close behind me. “Do you remember when you first painted?” I froze at the sink, first off because the water coming out of the faucet was ice cold and secondly because of Gerard’s question. What had brought this up? It was a particularly touchy subject; my first painting I did for Gerard. “Remember when we painted the wall, Frank? Remember when we felt alive?” I gulped loudly then shut the running water off, “Are we not alive now?” Gerard grabbed both of my shoulders. “That depends. What do you feel?” His lips were inches away from my neck. Chills traveled through me, I couldn’t resist, I turned toward him. “I don’t feel alive anymore.” I said with a sigh. Gerard knew, anyway. It was no longer my own secret – that no matter how much I tried I still felt trapped and caged away. Though I felt ashamed in myself Gerard didn’t seem to mind. He moved away from me slowly, walking over to the other side of the room he picked up a few canvases, pulled over a chair, got the coffee table and a few books, ran back over to the corner to get paints and brushes, then rushed back over to get me. I went willingly with his pull. I was excited for what he was about to ask me to do. I waited patiently as he rounded up other things he thought necessary for me to have in my possession. He had a thrilled excited look on his face, one that I enjoyed seeing on my very much. It let me know that the passion he had inside of him all the time was glowing with energy.
“Take this,” He handed me one of the brushes he had picked up. He then set canvases on the coffee table in front of me. A few paints were set beside me in a row like soldiers, “And paint.” Gerard scurried away from me back into his room. “And what will you be doing exactly?” I shouted at him after he was out of sight. His head suddenly poked through the open door. “I’m going to pack like you told me to.” He winked at me then disappeared again. I turned my head away and looked at the blank canvas for a second. It had been so long since I’ve seen one, clean and beautiful. It seemed to holy for me, like I wasn’t good enough to use it. I was choking up; I didn’t know what to do next. It wasn’t anything of a new experience, I have done this plenty times before, but the point of painting and art wasn’t to make beautiful things, It’s to remember. Remember Gerard; remember how happy I was, and remember the things we discovered about each other unintentionally. It was more than just colors on a surface, it actually meant something, it might mean something to different people but nonetheless it was a greater activity than some realize. “Paint!” I heard Gerard shouted from inside his room. It made me jump a little and then I came back to my senses. Painting was something I couldn’t think about, if I did, it would ruin everything about it and that was the last thing I wanted. Art was the purest form of belief, and I was going to keep it that way forever, even if it meant battling my stubborn mind.
So, I got to work. The sounds of paint buckets clinging and me thinking out loud pleased Gerard for I heard a pleasant murmur coming from his bedroom. It made me happy to make him happy. It was like my goal in life.
I was about to shouted back to Gerard what he thought I should paint but then I realized that would ruin the whole thing, too. I had to do what I thought felt right. So I set to work, flinging the brush against the canvas. I felt alive again like Gerard wanted me to feel. Jesus Christ, was it a good feeling. My body swelled with light and passion. I could feel the ideas running into my blood stream, controlling my fingers everyway possible. I was doing what I loved again. I breathed in and out, fresh hair swarming through me. Everything seemed different, now. Different in the best way possible – change was never my thing, but this change, all of this way for the best. I had missed this.
I got different types of brushes, different colors of paints. I was inspired by my own discovery of something I had lost. Something I never wanted to lose again. I allowed myself to relax and do what felt natural. A few times I found myself closing my eyes and sometimes even humming. Images of me flashed through my mind, right before my eyes I could see Gerard and I sitting in his apartment, I hunched over adding the perfect amount of detail to my first painting preformed in front of him. He once told me that painting was like an orchestra, only the ones with passion and talent could hear the music they create. Damn was he right, it was like each color came to life with a different sound and when put together a symphony of beautiful music echoed through my ears. If only I could share the sounds I knew I was making. I expressed this one time to Gerard, who, of course, came back with a reason to not. “Sometimes, the things only you can see, hear, of experience are much more special when it is only you who can cherish them. You understand, don’t you, Frank?” I had at the time, but that was because I wasn’t witnessing what I was then. Now that I could feel the positivity flow through me I wanted to give it to the ones I loved and cared about so they could be happy, too. Again, I conveyed this to him, and again, he came up with a reply like he had been told the same naïve thing hundreds of times before. “I know what you mean, Frankie,” (he calls me that on some occasions, now,) “But not everyone is able to feel the expression and passion filled feeling you and I get when painting or making love. Other people have different interests. One could, have the same feeling you have when baking a cake, and they are probably thinking the same things you are – ‘I want to share this with the world so everyone can be happy like me!’ Well, it just doesn’t work that way because you and I, we don’t necessarily find baking a cake beautiful, it doesn’t make us feel alive.” And even now when Gerard’s words were still running through my head it took me a while to accept he was right. I took a deep breath before closing my eyes for about the third time. I didn’t want to see what I was painting, I didn’t want to purposefully put in a shit load of detail where I thought it needed it, I wanted to be able to find the spots I thought needed a touch up not with my eyes but with my gut. Though the idea scared me a little bit I couldn’t help but try it. I kept encouraging myself to go on, that trying new and daring things (though they weren’t life threatening) was a good thing.
“How you doin’ in there!?” Gerard called to me from the other room again, sounding like a country man. I opened my eyes quickly and saw what I had painted. My eyes weren’t shit the whole entire time but for part of it I was going off of artistic instinct. The paintings caught me by surprise. I had never painted anything like it before. When Gerard didn’t hear an answer from me his footsteps rang my eardrums again. He strutted out into the living room then over to me. He gasped quickly, holding onto the back of my chair tightly for support. “Frank, did you do this?” The moment was lost as I turned my head behind me to look at him, a ‘are you stupid?’ expression plastered on my face. Gerard chuckled out of realizing and then we both kept admiring the painting. It was of a bridge, angled to the side built over a small little creek running below it. Surrounding were trees, flowers, and wildlife but it wasn’t a bright shimmering landscape, instead, it was raining and drank, the drops falling from the sky clearly visible splashing into the water of the creek on the ground. On the bridge, were two people, the distinction between male or female wasn’t prominent. Their feet dangled carelessly off the edge of the bridge. It was the strangest, greatest painting I have ever done. I was pretty proud of it but confused by it at the same time. “Frank, it’s beautiful.” The whole canvas was taken up by paint, absolutely no white was showing. “Once it dries we’re hanging it up.” He said with a smile. He rushed over to the wall that (in our dreams) had the Créer mural on it; it was now a regular tan color. “This will be your wall, Frank. Everything you do, all the paintings you créer,” He winked, “All the photos you take, all the things you write will go right here.” As he said his final words the palm of his hand hit the wall in unison. I watched his hand beat the wall with each word. He was being serious. That was going to be my wall, just it like it our wall in the dreams. “And we can look at it everyday.” He announced with great pride in his voice. “We can sit on the couch and look at it and know you did all of it! I’m so proud of you!” I smiled stupidly hoping my face wasn’t too red. “Now, do you feel better?” I thought for a second even though I already knew what my answer was, “I do, Gerard. I feel alive again, I feel like I can do anything in the world and nothing is going to stop me. Not even me.” It felt good saying that. I was happy Gerard made me do this, if he hadn’t who knows what I would be doing right then or how I would be feeling. “Now we wait for it to dry.” I said, precariously running the tips of my fingers along the edge of the canvas. I had gotten some paint of the table it was resting on. “Oh my god! Gerard I’m so sorry!” I got up too quickly from my chair and stumbled across the room. “Frank, Frank, calm down! It’s alright!” He jogged after me, close behind, tripping over the same things I had. I let out a few good loud laughs which made me feel ever better. I had to stop to catch my breath, I was laughing so hard tears were coming to my eyes and my stomach pinched. Gerard wasn’t laughing as hard but he did join me in the happiness. “Are your bags packed yet?” I asked between giggles. “Almost, I have the rest of my shirts to pack. Want to help?” I was almost positive this was one of his ways of getting me to do the job for him, I pulled a look but he assured me that he no longer wanted to be alone.
“When was the last time you did something creative?” I asked, not remembering a recent time with him in front of a canvas or paper. He scoffed, “Not too long ago. More recent that you!” I shook my head and scoffed back, “When the hell do you paint!?”
“Frank, what am I doing the whole day when you’re not around?”
“How should I know!?”
“Exactly.” He said, finishing the conversation with a bright smile. I nodded as if to say touché. “Besides,” He added in a deeper voice than his own, “Art is my life. I can’t simple forget about it like you did.” I furrowed my brow and stopped what I was doing. “I didn’t forget about it!” He took a look at me which was my que to give up, “Not intentionally.” I added, letting him know he wasn’t going to win this one that easily. He shook his head from side to side, “I know, Frank. And I’m sorry. We both have the create more, like we used to.”
I was funny to me how we talked about our past like it actually happened when it was really all just a dream, yet we remember it that actual events didn’t happen in the real world. I wasn’t going to bring this thought up to Gerard. Somehow I knew that though he was a fucking smart man who loved his philosophies, this one wouldn’t smooth over well. I was learning which battle to fight and which to right away hold up the white flag. It was something Gerard had been teaching me discreetly for quite some time. He never outright told me that’s what he was doing but I was catching as I got more and more used to his antics. I loved figure out that man. He was like a puzzle who always had a piece missing, but really it wasn’t the stupid ass workers fault for not putting the piece in, it was your own because you dropped it on the ground and didn’t pay hard enough attention looking for it. An odd comparison or metaphor but fuck it was true! Gerard was a puzzle man who I was having a hell of a time putting together.
After a while all of his shirts were put into the suit cases and packed by the door. I was always an earlier started, him, I didn’t think so. I would have imagined him to be. I was wrong with many things, though. Many, many things. As I was trying to shut the top of his damn suit case I felt pressure on the sides of my hips. I closed my eyes tightly from the shock. The pressure applied else where gave me chills of pleasure. I turned around slowly, completely forgetting my battle with the bag. “I’m so proud of you,” Gerard whispered getting closer and closer to me. I could taste him in my mouth already, my taste buds tingling from something I had been deprived of. “I’m proud of you, you’re –,” I would have kept talking but my word would have been muffled into his mouth and down his throat. The sweet wet sensation was soothing. He started to pull away, but I stopped him, my ice cold hands on his neck I kept him there for good, he couldn’t go. I wouldn’t let him. The best part is, I knew he didn’t mind. “I can’t wait until you get to meet my family.” He whispered as his teeth gnawed gently at my shoulder. “I can’t either.” I pressed harder to him; he caught on and began swaying us back and forth. “Do you think they’ll like me?” A shot of pleasure rattle my bones. My knees gave in, I fell a little lower but Gerard caught me just in time. He was always going to be there when I fell. Whether it was due to excitement, clumsiness, or because I was shot with a pleasure driven moment he would always be there. “I love you,” I said in a pant. I pushed him down then fell on top of him. We were on the floor but the floor was better than nothing at all. “You’re beautiful.” He said again before tangling himself up in me.
In the weirdest moments Gerard and my passion would erupt. We can never be prepared, we allow ourselves to love each other when our bodies tell us it’s right. A weird fucking thing to admit to but damn was it true. It felt the best when the both of us listened to ourselves instead of one another. Though I trust Gerard sometimes trusting yourself is the best way to go.
“Frank?” He shifted on the floor, moving to where he could prop himself up with. I followed closely next to him wondering what he was getting at. “Yeah?” I asked, my eyebrows raised; Gerard cleared his throat then spoke, “Have you ever seen someone born?” I titled my head and thought for a moment, “Do you mean a baby being born?” He shook his head and pursed his lips. “Not specifically, no. Just in general.” I laughed a little, “How else would someone watch a person being born?” He sighed, “Not literally, Frank! Like, when I first met you – in –,”
“Our dreams.” It could tell it was a hard thing for him to say. I understood, I on the other hand found it strange but had a better time coping with it. “Yes.” He cleared his throat again, “When I first met you, there was nothing. You were a young adult spending his days behind a bar counter serving drinks to lowlifes. I walked in through the doors out of the cold and saw you through those glasses I don’t even own anymore and I knew there was a light in you, it just died and I needed to fix it. I watched you be born again. It was the greatest thing I have ever seen, and I am still witnessing it.” I nodded, now I knew what he was getting at. Then I shook my head, being completely honest: “I’ve never seen someone born before. What’s it like?” I wasn’t sure how our minds wandered to this subject but I didn’t mind. Talk to Gerard about this kind of thing was entertaining. I liked hearing his ideas.
“Well, it’s like watching the sun rise.” I waited for him to say something else but no other words came out. “Um, is that it?” I asked, feeling a bit confused and out of the loop. Gerard gave me a look like I was crazy. “Is that it!?” I laughed nervously, once again not understanding what I did wrong. “That’s it? It’s just like watching a sunrise?”
“Frank! Do you know how wonderful watching a sun rise is, minute by minute!?” I shook my head. I had never sent he sun rise. “Well that’s why!” He shouted with an angry tone. “Tomorrow morning we’re sitting outside, at the park, and watching the sun rise. If you like it or not, if you’re tired or not.” I figured I didn’t have any other choice. So I smiled and nodded. And I was a little excited.
