Graveyard Dancing [Frank Iero][3]

Part 3

*

"Look Mr. Hamilton it wouldn't be that loud and because it's down here on the first floor and in the back room no one is going hear it upstairs." I looked up at my landlord with pleading eyes.

The grey hairs man with a large gut watched me skeptically and I smiled at him sheepishly. Lucky for my Mr. Hamilton was a totally sweetheart and like to take pity on me. He scratched at his beard in thought, but didn't say anything for a while.

"As long as you aren't playing too early in the morning or too late at night," He gave in with a sigh. "It's got to be between 10am and 8pm."

I grinned up at him, clapping my hand excitedly. "Thanks you so much Mr. Hamilton! You don't know how much I appreciate this."

I quickly ran up the two flights of stairs that led to the second floor where my apartment was located. I beamed up at Jay as I walked into the living room.

"Well?"

"He totally said yes!"

He smiled. "Sweet! So can we play right now?"

I looked back at the clock on the wall above the sink, 5:30pm. "Yes, we can."

***

We played for a good few hours before we just sat in the back room in silence. The space was small and cramp with cleaning supplies and cardboard boxes filled with miscellaneous crap. I moved my fingers over the thick strings of my bass and let one note sound out through the silence.

"We should start a band."

"What?" I laughed and looked over at Jay from my spot on a foldout chair completely confused by the random statement. "What does that even mean?"

He shot me a look. "It means we should find a drummer and two guitarist and form a band."

"Why do we need two more guitarists," I pointed out. "You already play."

"Yeah, but not well." He looked away like he was embarrassed. "Plus we still need a singer, don't we?"

I cracked a smile as I leaned toward him with interest. "You can sing?"

He glared over at me playfully. "Yes."

I sat back again. "Well let's hear it then."

There was something about Jay that reminded me so much of Gerard. Maybe it was the voice and how different and imperfect it was. Maybe it was the funny faces he would make at me across the counter at work when he though no one else was looking.

Whatever it was, I was glad that I had him. I was glad to call him my best friend.