[April 2002]
Blood was dripping on the carpet from my clenched fists as I staring at the pale body standing in the middle of the room. A tear streamed down my face and I hastly swiped it away. I never cried in front of him. I wasn't going to do it now; whether he was real or just a twisted figment my mind decided to create in one of my worst moments.
"Go away until I smash this guitar on your head."
"Don't destroy it on me. A Strat like that doesn't deserve such a cruel fate," he responded with the most Patrick voice ever.
Aside from the paler, faded skin and the loss of details below his face, he pretty much looked the same.
"It's happening to me now, right?"
"You know Andy never left."
"I promised myself I would never end up like you. And here I am!"
"Since when was that a bad thing?"
"A bad thing? So seeing your fucking ghost is something good? Because I don't feel very good!"
"Joseph," Patrick said with a softer voice, leaning over to touch my shoulder. His hand fell right through it.
"D-Don't call me that! Please, Patrick. I beg you. Just leave."
"It's not my choice, Joe. Your mind is the one that called me. I had to come."
I sighed and covered my face. "So you're not real."
"Not if you don't believe it."
Patrick sat next to me on the bed and looked at my hands. "Aren't you going to put something on that?"
"What's the point? I'm already turning into a nutjob."
"You're not; I was. Don't let grief consume you. Come on, I'm getting the bandages."
He left the room and went to the bathroom. But the door was closed, he couldn't enter. "Mind if you open it?" He went in and lifted the first aid kit from the corner of the room. Whoever would've entered the bathroom now would've seen just a big red box floating. And an idiot speaking to it.
Marvellous.
"Guess you kinda believe in me," he said with a smirk. Patrick took the bandages and the alcohol in his hands, pouring a little on my fingers and unfolded the roll. "If you believe a little more, we could take back the time we lost."
"You don't have a wang."
"Not that, dumbass. Believe me, Andy wasn't good at it."
"Please don't tell me you tried to fuck a ghost."
Patrick didn't respond this time; he was too 'focused' on taking care of my hands, but I was sure that he did try. Oh, God, I really don't want to imagine all the things that went through his head when he was still alive. But I was also sure that it was just my mind trying to take my thought from the fact that I was seeing a ghost.
It was late and I was tired. I tried to convince myself that he wasn't real; but when he climbed into my bed and laid next to me, it was like I could feel him. Not physically, just... his soul.
"Will you be here when I wake up?"
Again, Patrick didn't answer. He wrapped one arm around me and pressed his unreal head on my chest.
It was extremely cold in my room, but for the first time in forever, I could finally sense the heat.
***
But next morning, he was gone. The sheets that he rested on were moved all around, like he was actually there, but it was clear: my mind was going on the wrong path.
And he didn't come back in the next days, didn't even appear in my dreams like he used to (without the sight of the ghost when I was fully wake or just really tired).
My parents and Sam came home a few days later with big smiles on their faces, but when their eyes locked on mine, they returned to their default blank expression. Pretty embarrassing to have your gay kid mourning over his two best friends and one of them being the possible lover. No words spoken as they just got back to the daily routine.
"How was your bar mitzvah?" I asked Sam, sitting down on the counter and messing with his brown, straight hair. Guess our hair reflected our personalities in this family, me being the only alien with curly tangles instead of normal hair.
"Pretty nice, though. Mom and Dad said that we don't have to go to the synagogue and all that crap anymore!" he smiled at me again. My parents were holding any bit of happiness inside when they were around me, but at least Sam was trying to be nice.
"Woah, that's nice, buddy."
My mom looked at me harshly, but I just shrugged. She took a tress away from her face and held out the phone.
"Pete called. He said something about apologizing."
"Tell him to go fuck himself."
"Language! Come on, call your boyfriend and let him apologize."
I narrowed my eyes and snatched the phone from her. I dialed the number while leaving the kitchen and going back to my room. Pete answered on the second tone.
"Joe! Oh my God, you finally answer-"
"Only because my mother said you begged her. What do you want?" I cut him off.
"Joe... Joe, I'm sorry. I mean it. Please come to the garage so we could talk."
I sighed. Did I really want to go? No. Did I feel guilty for wanting to say no? Also no. "Be there in 10'," I muttered after a while, throwing the phone on my bed.
Pete was waiting for me with the garage door open and three beach chairs put right in front of it. I dropped my bike on the grass and looked at him, dressed like he didn't even see himself in the mirror. But I wasn't someone with the right to judge. I was still wearing my pajama shirt.
"Hey- What happened to your hands?" he greeted me worringly, pointing at the bandages full of dark red stains.
"Why are there three sunbeds?" I ignored him, hiding my hands behind my back.
"Oh, I invited Adam over right before you called me. He'll be here in like twenty minutes or something."
He probably saw the disgusted look on my face, because he put his hands on my shoulders immediately. "I can tell him to go back if you don't want him here." But I decided to be mature and try to bear that asshole. I shook my head and fake smiled, taking a can of Surge from the already burning concrete. Pretty hot outside for April, but I could already see the gray clouds fading in from the horizon.
"You drinking Surge again?"
"You can tell Adam to shove his crappy Mountain Dew up his ass."
Pete laughed and let himself fall on his blue chair. Why did everyone have these ugly things when we lived in Illinois?
He wanted to start talking, but he stopped when his phone rang in his pocket. "What's up?" Great to be ignored again.
Pete forgot that his volume was too high, because he moved his phone away from his ear when the other person spoke.
"Hey, babe, I'm coming a little earlier. Did you apologize to Trohman?"
Before I could talk, Pete threw the phone away in the grass and forcedly laughed. "Sorry about that! Okay, Joe, I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry and I shouldn't have mocked your relationship and how it end-"
"You got a new boyfriend? That's nice," I murmured, setting the can on the chippy concrete.
"Oh my God, Joe! If we broke up that doesn't mean I can't be with anyone else! You know why we had to end it!"
"Yeah, yeah, because you couldn't find a bassist to fill in for your band."
"Why do you always have to get so upset by anything? I can't even talk to you without getting attacked!"
"Because!" But then my voice faded out. I didn't have a good answer. Pete's face turned to ice and I felt like crying again. I was weak, I was so weak, just like everytime I had to deal with things face-to-face.
"Why did I ever think this was a god idea?" he grumbled under his breath.
We just sat in silence. No one wanted to speak or apologize. Pete was flaring his nostrils repeatedly and I had a huge lump in my throat. I bit my chapped lips to stop the tears from falling on my cheeks while I was getting ready to go back home, but when I heard the distinctive sound of little wheels rolling on the street I sunk back in my chair. Adam or his boyfriend may have been coming. If it was Adam, I was going to leave, but if it was his boyfriend, I felt the need to stay.
And there he was. Adam showing up from behind the trees that were shielding the entrance on the neighborhood's alley with a plastic cup of coffee in his hand. He turned right on Pete's porch and jumped off his board. There was something in his smuggy smile that made me feel like someone tied a brick to my neck.
"Hey, ba- Trohman," he said changing his tone from cheery to a cold soldier. I released the air I've been holding in my chest when Adam brushed past Pete and went to get his practicing guitar from the garage. He hated me, he hated me a lot for taking his position as lead guitarist. I couldn't blame him. Adam Bishop was much better than me at playing the guitar.
The sound of wheels hitting the asphalt stopped me again from leaving. I stood frozen in the middle of the action waiting for Pete's boyfriend to come, still hoping that Adam and him weren't the same person.
Then I saw it. My old blue board was strolling down the street, and the person who was standing on it was, of course, Patrick.
"Dude, what are you looking at?" Pete asked me.
"You don't see it? The board?"
"What? Joe... No."
I gulped fastly and ran to the street to get my bike, but I was stopped. Again.
"This loser's seeing ghosts, or what?"
I turned around and faced Adam, who was now sitting two inches away from my nose.
"Adam, leave him alone," I heard Pete say behind him.
"No, no. If he's crazy you can kick him out of the band and our lives and no need to lie anymore about me and you."
"Screw you," I spit out, punching him in the shoulder.
"Adam, I told you, it's not o-" Pete tried to stop him.
"Yeah, that's right, Joe, Pete's mine. I owned that pretty ass of his way before you two broke up and he still can't get enough of me!"
My eye twitched before I looked over Adam's shoulder and stared at Pete. "Please tell me he's kidding."
Pete exchanged quick looks between me and Adam with a defeated expression. My blood was boiling beneath my skin as I took a step back and dropped my arms beside my body. "So that's why you actually ripped the ties?" I accused. "You were dating him while you were dating me? You didn't want to be professional with the band, you just didn't want to feel guilty!"
"Joe, I-"
"No, I have every single fucking right to be upset with you! Leave me the fuck alone!"
Adam grabbed my shoulder thightly and pressed his other hand on my chest.
"You're not going anywhere yet, retard. So, leaving the band?"
"Get your hand off me, Adam."
"So lead guitarist is mine?"
"Back off," I said with the calmest voice I could fake right now.
"SAY IT!"
Adam was suddenly pulled back off me and covered his nose, screaming like a mad man. "Joe! Why the fuck did you do that?" Pete yelled at me, running to Adam with a crumbled tissue fished out of his pocket.
I turned to my right, only to see that Patrick was standing beside me, rubbing his fist diligently. He looked up at me with a concerned look. "You okay?"
Adam sat back up, pushing Pete away with one hand and holding his nose with the other.
"You can have your lead guitarist title tattooed on your penis; I'm quitting. Goodbye, Pete."
And now I could finally leave. I hopped on my bike and pedaled away as fast as possible with Patrick following me on my imaginary skateboard, leaving Pete behind to take care of what Patrick has done.