The Dove Keeper (Frerard)

Chapter Seven / From Broken to Shattered

The key that Gerard placed in my grasp seemed to unlock everything. The little brass object weighed nothing in the palm of my hand, but in reality, I felt like I held the world on my keychain. Previously, my key ring had been a sad, sorry excuse for anything. All I had was a barren house key on it and nothing else, while most kids my age had at least two or three items on there. To state the obvious, I wasn't like most kids. My parents were still in the restricting confines of marriage and therefore I didn't need two sets of house keys to alternate with every other weekend and on holidays. I also hadn't gotten off my lazy ass and gotten my driver's license, and it didn't look like I would anytime in the near future. I just couldn't be bothered learning something else, jamming it into my mind along with the cobwebs. It wasn't so much the act of learning that irked me because, after all, that's why I was going to Gerard's in the first place. I was going to learn from the guy now, especially after we struck our deal. It was the act of regurgitating everything that I had supposedly learned for a test, theoretically proving my intelligence that I did not like. Hated, actually. I fucking hated tests. I always blanked out or bombed them or I would skip them in general. I'd rather purposely fail then have to face the fact that my intelligence failed me. I liked to think that I was a pretty smart kid, no genius or anything but I could get by. I was pulling a sixty average though, because of my detest of tests. I assumed that learning to paint at Gerard's, however, would involve no final examination. But with Gerard nothing was ever carved in stone, unless it was a work of art he had done. Even then, it was susceptible to time.

This key however, somehow held the answer to that test, if it was ever coming, and I felt so important and honored just to have it in my presence. It meant I could come and go anytime I wanted to; it suddenly made me realize that I didn't have to stick to the harsh confines of the three to five window I was always given. I could come anytime I wanted to, not that I did right then. But I had a feeling, that once we started our painting lessons, Gerard wouldn't be able to get me out of his house. It would become another home for me and hopefully, soon enough, I could bring my guitar and play the notes I usually kept on mute. But that was going to take a long time, considering that even after I was given the key to unlock all doors, everyone seemed to change the damn locks.

I had come by Gerard's house the next day with so much excitement. I had a key to a house that I could call my own, if not totally then, at least, I could for the few hours that I would spend there. I had even gotten to his place a little early, my limber feet practically floating all the way there. But when I turned the key in the door and stepped inside, I was met with a napping Gerard on the couch, empty wine bottle tossed down at his side. I sighed heavily, disappointed that most likely nothing would happen that day, even if he did get up. By the time consciousness finally hit him, it would be too late to start any kind of learning. So I just picked up the brushes and cleaned the bird cage, talking to Van Gogh softly as I did my chores.

It was only that day that they truly felt like chores. I had wanted to do something else, something creative so badly, but he had fallen asleep on me. He had done that many times before, but that was when I didn't have something else built up in the back of my mind. And usually when I came and he was sleeping, he'd wake up. He used to have to wake up to let me in, but now he could sleep through everything. And God, Gerard was a heavy sleeper. Even as I dropped a mug, it cracking and shattering into big chunks, he refused to stir at all. His faint snoring echoed into the room, only matched by the small dove's incessant coos. I left early that day, all my jobs done, bored out of my mind and disappointed beyond anything I could imagine. And as I closed the door behind me, Gerard was still asleep.

The same thing happened, more or less for the next three days. Gerard would either be asleep when I got there and not wake up until a half an hour before I had to leave or he would greet me at the door, complain of tiredness and lay down again, only to drift off within minutes. It seemed like he was totally forgetting the deal we had made. And it was making me angry. I started to slam things unconsciously as I was working, breaking even more mugs. Gerard was awake one time I broke a mug, sitting on the couch, smoking, just waking up from his nap. The thick dense cloud of smoke surrounded him, giving him a dull aura about his presence. Gerard had a presence to himself in general. It was a mysterious aura, indescribable for the most part because he had too many character traits smashed into one vessel. But however you wanted to describe Gerard - vain, baffling, attractive, genius - the smoking always seemed another layer to his shell.