i)
It started when Frankie came and sat next to Gerard on the couch one day and said he had something important to talk about, his eyes huge and serious. He cleared his throat, put a hand on Gerard’s knee and said, “I’m a virgin.”
“The fuck.” Gerard turned a page in his comic book. “No you’re not.”
“Ha!” Bob appeared from around the corner, grinning triumphantly. “I knew he wouldn’t believe you! Pay up, short man.”
Grumbling, Frank stood up and fished a couple crumpled bills out of his pocket. “You didn’t give me time to convince him!”
Bob laughed. “What were you going to do, give him a bad blow job?”
“First of all, there is no thing as a bad blow job.” Frank sat back down and threw his arm around Gerard’s shoulder. “And I was just going to give him the big eyes and ask him if he’d teach me the joys of gay sex.”
Gerard, who hadn’t had sex for so long he thought they might have changed it, snorted. “I might not be the best person for that.”
“Oh, Gerard.” Bob sat down on his other side. He pushed Gerard’s feet off the table and picked up his game controller. “I’m sure you’re an excellent lover.”
“Tender and thoughtful,” Frankie agreed.
“Manly and masterful.”
“Gentle yet powerful.”
“Exotic and flavorful.”
“All right!” Gerard stood up and Frankie collapsed into the space he left, giggling. “I’m going to go and talk to someone who has no interest in my sexual prowess.”
“Spoilsport!” Frankie yelled after him. “We could be having sex right now if you’d just played along!”
For the next week, Gerard woke up every morning to a new list of Words that Describe how Gerard is In Bed pinned on the fridge. It disappeared after one of them wrote, ‘Sparkle Motion’ because, Bob explained to Gerard, they felt they’d nailed Gerard’s essence with that one.
Whatever. Gerard was just glad it had stopped.
ii)
The next thing was totally fucking ridiculous, and Gerard would never understand how it happened. Just that somehow, he and Frankie managed to oversleep and then get lost and then get locked in to like, a storeroom or something and neither of their cell phones worked and it was dark and cold and now they were sitting on the floor and Gerard was utterly convinced that they were both going to die.
“Well, that’s always good for business.” Frank’s hand, barely visible in the gloom, patted Gerard’s arm comfortingly.
Gerard rolled onto his side, sort of, scooting down the wall so he could get his head onto Frankie’s shoulder. “I never got to kiss Christina Ricci.”
“We’re not going to die, Gee.” Frankie put his arm around Gerard and squeezed. It made Gerard feel a little better. “But I’m pretty sure you’ll never get to kiss Christina Ricci.”
“You don’t think she’d go for me?”
“Not unless she’s into some serious narcissism.”
Gerard rolled his eyes, even though Frankie wouldn’t be able to se it. He didn’t look that much like a chick. Whatever.
Time passed, and they ran out of Things They would Never Get to Do. “Be a frontman again” was one of Frank’s, and Gerard said, “But I can’t play anything,” and Frankie just shrugged, and it made Gerard feel weird, like one day Frankie might be in a band that didn’t include Gerard, and then what would Gerard do? He’d have to go and live in a cabin. In the woods. For real.
