Worth Living For

Chapter 26

I sat down on the cold, hard bench in front of the cafe. I had chosen to stay outside instead of going in seeing as it was getting colder and I enjoyed the weather this way. I was bundled up, obeying Gerard's order to 'stay warm', and held a fresh hot cup of coffee in my hands. I turned to the person that occupied the other half of the bench.

"I'm sorry if I bothered you. I wasn't sure who else to call."

"It's okay Frank," She said, placing her hand on my knee. "What's going on?"

"Oh, Ava..." I put my head in my hands, trying to muffle the words, as if they wouldn't be true if I didn't say them loud. "Gerard's gone."

"Gone?" Her forehead wrinkled. "You mean..."

"No, not dead. But he left, and I don't think he's coming back."

"Oh, Frank." She wrapped her arms around me. I relaxed, glad that she hadn't asked me to explain why. A vacant thought told me that her hug didn't warm me like Gerard's did, that I'd probably never be hugged by him again, and as I tried to push it to the back of my mind, I started sobbing.

~

I didn't mourn like I had when I lost my mom. As much as I wanted to sink into my bed under the covers and wait until my heart slowly withered away, I knew that wasn't what Gerard wanted me to do. He didn't leave so I could waste my life away.

So, I did my other version of mourning. The productive kind.

I grabbed Gerard's radio from his art room and brought it to the dark room allow with my 2 full rolls of film. I figured I would start off slowly, with the pictures I had taken in his art room, and save the pictures from the night before for when I could handle it.

I tuned the radio to the classic rock station, remembering when I had found Gerard blasting this station while painting in my apartment. I set the film from last night on the shelf, then started on the other.

I had to turn my head away for most of the process so the tears that streamed down my face didn't ruin the pictures. It was good that I could practically go through the whole cycle blindfolded, because I could barely see through the blur of tears in my eyes anyway.

Finally, I had finished all of the pictures on the roll. Hanging the last picture up to dry, I sank onto the floor next to the radio and waited. I wasn't sure what I was waiting for; the pictures to dry, the pain to stop, Gerard to come back. Maybe all of them. But only one of them I knew would for sure happen. The others I doubted greatly.

~

After a week of waking up in Gerard's bed alone, I still wasn't used to it. I would wake up in a panic, only to remember what had happened and burst into tears.

I had taken off work, and they understood. I would be going back tomorrow, I promised myself. I couldn't disappoint Gerard. Today, though, I was facing a greater battle.

After my cup of coffee (in the mug that Gerard would always use to drink coffee while painting; The paint stains made me feel at home, safe, like he was still in the house with me) I brought myself over to the phone. Memories of the last time I'd used the phone flooded my mind. That had been our last night together.

My throat started to burn, but I held back the tears. I needed to do this, now.

I picked up the phone, dialing the last number that had called. It rang for a while, and I began to think that he wouldn't answer. But as the last ring started, his raspy voice rang in my ear.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dad, it's Frank." Did I just call him ‘dad’?

“What-”