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They always spoke about his eyes. How you would become captivated by the intense hazel colour. How his eyes would hypnotize you and make you feel weak in the knees. How it felt as if he could see right through you.
When I met him, I felt nothing. I would look into those fabled eyes and see a blank stare. No intensity, no piercing gaze, nothing. He was overrated.
Gerard Way...
I recall how girls would swoon over him as he passed in the halls. It disgusted me. Of course, Gerard and I were good friends the instant we met, but seeing girls drooling over him twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week wasn't exactly my idea of fun.
You may be wondering just how I came to know Mr. Gerard Way. Well, we were neighbours once upon a time. He was new in the neighbourhood--I had been a resident for quite some time. He came to my house one day and asked if we could hang out. We were thirteen at the time; if only we could go back to our early teen years. It was so much simpler back then.
Gerard never used to be popular. No one used to care about the colour of his eyes or his toothy grin. No one ever noticed him until our second year of high school, when the raging hormones started taking effect.
I think that's about when I started my downhill slide.
It seemed that with every step forward that Gerard took, I took two steps back. He got fairly good marks--I was just barely passing with a 63 average in the majority of my classes. He became popular--I was known as the loner freak. We used to be friends--we weren't anymore.
I'd see him every now and then in the halls as I've said before. He'd look at me, and his gaze would be completely blank. It wouldn't twinkle as it did long ago. It wouldn't light up as it did like the first time he won an art contest. He was just like a lifeless zombie. In my eyes, anyway.
It was our senior year when Gerard started to drink. I noticed how he would come to school reeking of alcohol, and how almost every weekend his friends would go over to his house and host parties that included at least three kegs of beer. I never went to those parties, although Gerard had invited me on more than one occasion. I know that it's a terrible thing to say, but I didn't want to end up like him.
After his drinking problem started, he started to do some other things...I remember when he started doing cocaine and marijuana. I told his brother what was going on, and he relayed the message to his parents. This didn't stop Gerard from going out with his group of friends and getting high--if anything, it made him do drugs even more.
On the night of our senior prom, Gerard wasn't there. He was in the hospital because of alcohol poisoning. He stayed there for three days...I counted. I went to visit him, but only when he was sleeping. Mikey would sit with me and we'd talk. Mostly about Gerard and how he was worrying us so much.
After I moved away to the neighbouring city to attend university, Gerard and I stopped speaking completely. We'd lost contact and we hadn't spoken in nearly a year. He was in an art college, and according to Mikey, he was doing great. He had stopped doing drugs, his drinking was minimal, and he seemed happier.
That was, until his third year of college. That's when the drugs and the booze started up again...and it was worse than ever. I moved back to Belleville as a hopeless university dropout, a title that I wasn't too proud of, and went to live with a few close friends. The first person I wanted to visit was Gerard. I wanted to see how he was doing.
I called up his house, and Mikey picked up. He told me that Gerard was busy and he wouldn't be able to see me that day. So I told him that I'd visit Gerard some other time, probably in the next few days. Mikey said that it was okay.
So five days after I had gotten settled in, I called the Way household again. This time however, no one picked up. So I called my other friend, Ray. He told me that the Ways were home, they just weren't picking up the phone. So I walked over to the Way household and knocked on the door. No one answered. Seeing as I was a very nosey individual, I turned the knob and the door swung open slowly. I walked inside the dimly lit house and closed the door behind me.
I called out Gerard's name; no answer. I heard shuffling upstairs though, so I went up the stairs to see what it was. The stairs groaned and creaked under my feet, creating more noise than I had anticipated. I made it to the top of the staircase and saw a golden-yellow light coming from the bathroom. I walked toward the door and gasped.
There he was, holding a pistol to his head, tears streaming from his hazel eyes. I remember that I tried to scream, but no sound escaped my lips. Gerard turned to me, his eyes bloodshot and red. He told me to be calm...but how could I, when one of my old friends was holding a gun to his head?
I asked him why he even had a gun in the first place.
"Please don't make this difficult for me," he sniffled. "Just leave--I don't want you to see this." I shook my head and stood my ground.
"Why are you doing this?" I managed to say in a hoarse whisper.
"Because...I-I just have to..." he mumbled. The raised the gun up to his temple. "I'm sorry..."
And before he pulled the trigger, I saw his deep hazel eyes sparkle for the very last time.
by McrSk8erChick
 LAST GAY S0NG · Sun Mar 30, 2008 @ 08:58pm · 0 Comments |
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