Like Ghosts in the Snow ▹ ▶︎ Gerard Way

▹ I'm your best friend, after all.

▹ Cherilynn.

▹ September 8, 2003

"You're dropping by later, right?"

"Mhm. I'll have to get going at, like, six, though. Frank's gonna drive me to tonight's show."

"Oh, yeah. My sister told me something 'bout that. Last show of the tour?"

"Yeah- oh, hang on... Hey, I gotta go. Gerard's calling."

"Alright, bye-bye, Cher."

"Bye, Dani."

I hung up the phone- the little Nokia I'd spent my paycheck on, only to find it wasn't as "fucking awesome" as Mikey said it was- and let it ring on my hand. The sultriness of the early autumn air made me uncomfortable; too hot to keep my sweatshirt on but too cold to take it off. And the dried grass below me poked through my tights and made the backside of my thighs itchy. 

The bright afternoon sun shone down on the Passaic River as I longingly gazed at it, dreading yet another day of convincing myself I didn't miss Gerard. The tour had started three months ago, and though I followed them for the first month, Gerard's shit soon became too unbearable.

After the short period of relative normalcy and sobriety we went through, Gerard's alcoholism came back- but amplified by a thousand, this time. Dark corners backstage became our battlefield, and the same hotel rooms we'd once managed to turn into a temporary home felt more like a prison.

There probably wasn't a time of the day when we weren't at each other's throats. And after a particularly shitty, alcohol-fueled fight where we yelled and cursed at each other until we were both wailing messes, struggling to breathe between sobs, we realized it would be better if I just came back home. So I packed my bags, taught Valentine how to use my camera, and then took a bus back to New Jersey, back to the ratty apartment Gerard and I had managed to turn into a home despite its moldy walls and creaky floors.

I was fucking devasted at first- crying for hours on end, unable to eat or sleep- but it only took me a couple of weeks to get back on my feet. I somehow found the stability and comfort I yearned for in my dull, repetitive routine: I waited tables from six A.M. to two P.M., sat by the river once I got off work, stopped by Donna's house to catch up, and then went back home. And whenever she was home from college, I took a bus to New York to visit Dani.

But even if I enjoyed the serenity that came with being alone with my thoughts, it was hard to pretend my heart didn't break a little each day I didn't see my Gee.

I missed him- so, so much.

Even if he wasn't there, I didn't sleep on his side of the bed and put the coffee jar on the breakfast table each morning (even if I'd stopped drinking coffee months ago.) He called every day. But slurred, hasty words that were barely even audible over drunken laughter and loud music simply weren't enough. And, more than reassuring me he was fine, they only made me worried sick about Gerard.

For all I knew, one day, the boys would forget to make him lay down on his side after a night out, and he'd wake up dead.

So even if I missed him like crazy, I had to pretty much force myself to answer his call. I loved Gerard- he was all I'd ever wanted and more- but I hated his drunk self.

"Hi..." I took a pebble from the ground beneath me and tossed it into the lake, watching it sink as I heard the all-too-familiar cacophony of the van.

"Lynn, baby, I miss you-" my suspicions were soon proven wrong as instead of an unintelligible drawl, I was met with Gee's warm, boyish voice. As he spoke, though, he was quickly interrupted by cheering and a disgruntled "dude, talking to that chick again?" from none other than McCracken.