As Lead Rains [FRERARD]

Three

May-maybe. 

He smiles at me.

I'm Gerard by the way.

F-Frank.

Nice to meet you. Officially that is. What do you have written so far?

I retrieve some of the papers from my notebook, not ready to share the lyrics but I show him some of the chords I have been working on.

I think what you have is really cool, but I'd love to hear how they sound. Just to get a better feel...and you need to work on lyrics, but I have a feeling you already have some written.

I-I do. 

Well whenever you feel like sharing, I'm here, partner. Anyway I'm going to work a little bit. 

He pulls out a sketchbook and starts writing. I watch as he writes, pauses, scribbles some words out, rewrites, scribbles, draws, all while humming to himself. I shake myself out of a daze and focus more on the lyrics I have been trying to get right. 

As the bell rings I fold up my paper I had been experimenting on and shove it somewhere into my notebook and stuff it into my backpack. Gerard does the same, though more gently, and stands up. He starts walking away from me then turns back and waves to me. 

Coming?

I nod and follow him as he leads me through the school and out to the busses. We both walk to bus number 37 and he chuckles as I board the bus with him. 

Following me again or do you ride this bus too?

I-I ride.

He laughs and I point to the empty seat at the very back of the bus. It's pretty much reserved for me since I am the last stop. He walks over to it and I motion to him so that I get in first. He slides in next to me and pulls out a cellphone. He puts in some earbuds and leans back into the seat. I do the same, taking out my phone too and putting on my headphones. I pick out a Black Flag song to listen to and stare at Gerard out of the corner of my eye. 

We ride the bus in silence until it's just the two of us left in the very back seat. As we near a nice neighborhood Gerard takes out his earbuds and taps my shoulder. I remove my headphones and pause my music. He hands me a sheet of paper and smiles as the bus stops in front of a huge white house. 

This is me. I'll see you. Text me. 

He gets up and gets off the bus before I have the chance to ask him how he expects me to text him when I don't have his number. As the bus pulls away I see him look back at me from the doorstep of the house. He gives me a wave and disappears as the house swallows him up.

My stop is next, and the bus pulls up to a small and old one-story house. It's not much but it's home, and what my mother can afford. It's nothing like the house I saw Gerard go into. I head to my room and drop my bag on the floor, finally looking at and remembering the piece of paper Gerard had handed to me. Written on it in slanted writing was a phone number. 

I plug the number into my phone and sit there at the compose a message screen for what seems like an hour, wondering what to say. I haven't texted anyone but my mother in years. I finally decide on a text and send it. 

its frank

I throw my phone onto my bed next to me and get up, walking across the room to where my guitar is leaning against the wall. The guitar has a sleek white body with shimmering letters reading 'PANSY' on it. My most prized possession. I pluck at the strings, nervous from texting Gerard, until I hear my phone ding from across the room. I quickly retrieve my phone from the bed and read the message. 

It's Gerard

no shit

I don't have to wait long for a response. 

I could have given you a fake number

but you didnt

That's true. Maybe I should have

maybe

I clutch Pansy close to my chest. I like texting Gerard, it's not as nerve-wracking as speaking, I don't have to worry about my stutter. Is it possible that I was making a friend? No, that can't be it. Gerard just wants something from me. Like everyone else who's ever gotten close to me. He's just the same as everyone else. I don't talk to people. People don't talk to me. Unless they need something from me. I should stop talking to him before he takes advantage of me like the rest of the world, but something about him makes me not want to.

Instead of throwing my phone at the wall and never speaking to him again, I text him all night. He tells me about the chords he's come up with since he's been home and about the comics he's been reading. We talk until the sun dips down below the horizon and my eyelids grow heavy. I fall asleep, phone still in hand.