When We're Both Thirty

Dissecting the Soul

"I'm lost," Gerard says.

"Of course you are, you're just that dumb!" Mikey exasperates.

"What'd I do?"

"You forced Frank to call me in hysterics that you turned him down after he laid his soul out for you, and I came here to see if it was true, but you're just staring off into the distance like someone stole your car but you haven't been able to accept that reality yet."

"I don't have a car," Gerard says.

"I know that you pissbrain!" Mikey shouts, "I was just trying to measure the look on your face in real words, but I don't even think that does justice to how dumb you look right now. Gerard, I cannot believe you. I cannot even look at you right now, I'm so angry at you."

"Why?" Gerard asks, innocently. He walks over and sits down in a slouch on one of the stools at the counter.

"Because you're such a dunderhead! Frank likes you, fucking loves you, and what do you do about it? Nothing. You're just sitting there looking like a pathetic walnut. I know you're in love with Frank, that is not something that you can just pretend isn't true, because I know it, but when you finally have your chance to just accept that and jump into Frank's arms and be happy, what do you do instead? Nothing! I don't know how you could possibly have decided that was the best thing for you to do, but here you are now, and you're such a fucking disgrace."

"You think I'm a disgrace too, great, can I do nothing right?"

"Evidently not," Mikey says, and Gerard looks at him to see that he looks like he's being absolutely serious. That only makes Gerard feel infinitely worse about himself because literally no one believes in him. It's impossible to voice what that means, and how it feels. It feels so unbelievably awful that he's not sure that there's even a word in any language, dead or not that could ever describe just how utterly sickened he feels with himself. He literally feels like the hair clogging a drain or the gum at the bottom of a shoe. He doesn't even think that's disgusting enough to describe how he feels.

"Would you just save it," Gerard asks, "Please? I'm not in the mood."

"In the mood? Gerard, you just essentially ruined any chance you had with Frank, because now he's just fucking pissed at you. He went through the progression of being so head over heels in love with you that I thought I was watching a teen movie about first love, to so uncharacteristically negative about everything in the world, to hating every single fiber of your existence, all while I was on the phone with him. Like, the dude hates your face, and your hands, and your arms... he even hates your left pinky toe."

"I know," Gerard says, "and I probably deserve that."

"You think?" Mikey asks, "Like dude, I can't even believe you. You just let him walk away. Now, don't judge me for knowing this, but aren't you supposed to run after the guy when he leaves? Isn't that what all the songs on this planet are about? And all the movies? And every book ever? And you just didn't? Because why? Because you're so full of pride that you can't even admit to yourself that you're in love with that son of a bitch?"

"That's not it."

"Then what is it, Gerard?" Mikey asks, "What could possibly have come over you which made you decide you'd just let the love of your life walk out of that door?"

"How do you know he's the love of my life, Mikey? What if we're just behaving like teenagers and it's our hormones convincing us we like each other."

"Because you and I both know that's not the case between you two," Mikey replies.

"I'm just, sorry. I don't know?"

"Well why the hell are you apologizing to me? I'm not the one whose heart you just shattered into a million pieces."