Chapter Five Red

The next day, a weird sensation filtered through my body. I could never quite pinpoint where it came from; whether it was deep in my gut that kept churning so much I could barely eat a thing or if it started in my head which raced with hundred-mile an hour thoughts that only made the room spin and my head ache. I could also never quite pin down the exact emotion I was feeling too. I didn’t know if it was fear that Sam and Travis would find out where I was going after school, nervousness because of where I was going or excitement because I would get to see Gerard again. I couldn’t tell anything anymore; all I knew is that I kept looking at the white clock with red and black numbers willing it to go faster and faster.

In all my years of high school, I had been pretty good at making time go by faster and pissing it away. When all the teachers did sometimes was give you busy work while they slept on their desks, you learn pretty quick how to either make use of the free time they gave you or piss it all away. And for the most part, I’d piss it all away. I’d sit and stare at walls, count how many kids I knew in the room that had probably gotten high and then having staring contests with the second hands of the clock. I was getting pretty good at tricking myself into thinking time was going faster than it really was. I’d extrapolate how much longer I’d have to wait in class, so when the bell finally did ring, the half an hour I told myself I had left would really only feel like five minutes. Today was no exception to my clock antics. And finally, when that fucking bell did ring, I jumped out of my seat and headed out into the dreary streets of Jersey, making my way to Gerard’s filing cabinet apartment.

Most of the time, Travis or Sam would wait for me after school, by the bike rack to see if I wanted to do anything. But ever since the phone call the night before where they totally and completely blew me off, I had been ignoring them. I met up with them in the morning, (merely out of force of habit) where we had said stale hellos to each other. Sam’s eyes were still red rimmed and water logged and I could tell that he was still semi-high from the night before. He had probably fallen asleep in the room where they all had lit up, causing his eyes to still retain the distinct features of a night smoked away. Travis, as usual, smelt like the pot he had consumed and was still wearing his clothes from the day prior. No one but me would have noticed that small detail since Travis usually blends into the background anyway, only being picked out of a crowd by his smell.

The three of us had waited in the hallway for our teachers to come and open the classroom doors for our first period when we met. Sam clung to Travis’ side instinctively, knowing that out of the three of us, he would be the one to save him. Travis was the one with the drugs; he was the important friend. Even if Sam and I had known each other since we were five years old, Sam would sell me down the river for Travis, if it meant he would always have his lifetime supply of pot. And honestly, for the most part I would have been hurt. I didn’t have many friends as it was and I tried to cling to the ones I was able to keep like a leech. But in the morning all I could feel was resentment and a weird twist of hope mixed in with it. Sam and I may not have been as close anymore, but that didn’t matter. I had plans after school now; I didn’t need to deal with my drugged up best friend and our dealer underling. I had a job to do. I was going to be cleaning paintbrushes for free alcohol from the fag artist. It wasn’t perfect, but any job I had had before ever came close to it. And it gave me a good feeling, knowing that I didn’t have to depend on my friends anymore. I walked out of the school with a confidence I didn’t know I had.

However, my confidence crumbled beneath me as I reached the gray area where Gerard’s apartment stood. The streets were always black here for some reason, whether it had rained the day before or not. I found it ironic that as I looked around at the bleakness of the alleyways behind the liquor store and the dilapidated dull appearance of the apartment building that inside all of this, inside the top floor in a small apartment lived such vivid life of colour. Not the shades that I was normally accustomed to. But real life colours; reds, purples, greens and oranges. Colours I could touch and feel, and now they were waiting for me.

Gerard’s home had struck a chord in my mind the day prior. It was so bright and full of life; something that Jersey was sorely lacking in most areas. Gerard’s house was an escape from the tedium around me. But it was getting to that rainbow of hope that was the hard part. I felt so out of place, crossing the street over to the red and rust brick building. I opened the big steel door that was heavier than I had anticipated and began to work my way up the creaking stairs slowly, to not draw attention to myself. There had been a call button system at the front of the building, but when I tried the black knob, no sound had emitted from it. And when I tried the other buttons, I realized that the system was long broken and probably hadn’t been working in years. Knowing John, the super of the building and what his drinking habits were like, it didn’t surprise me. So I had pushed on ahead, slightly scared of the people I may find in the stairwell. Other than Gerard living in this building, I had a feeling it was frequented by many drug dealers and other shady characters. As I passed the doorway for that I believed was the second floor, I heard loud yelling and drunken footsteps, colliding into walls coming closer. It scared the shit out of me and made me run the rest of the way up the flights of stairs until I was finally at Gerard’s olive green door, panting hard and waiting for him to answer my knock.

“Welcome!” I heard Gerard’s distinct chipper and deep sing-song voice enter my ears. He opened the door with exaggerated movements, spreading his arms out wide and letting me enter the small apartment like it was some famous villa. It really was however, when compared with the other pieces of shit that were located in the same area.

I nodded a hello greeting and walked into the spacious apartment slowly. I looked around again, studying the area once more as if I had not been there the day prior. I guess I had expected something to change, but when I was still met with the same overturn canvasses and split paint puddles, I adjusted my thoughts.

“I already gave you the tour yesterday,” Gerard started, invading my thoughts. He was wearing all black as usual, his tight pants hugging the contours of his long legs and thick thighs. This time however, he was wearing a blazer instead of a jacket, hung loosely over his broad shoulders. It was a black like the rest of his attire, but gray and white threads ran through it, cross-stitching and creating an interesting blend of colours. As I entered the room fully and went closer to him, I noticed a weird blotch of white fabric over the left lapel of the jacket. I squinted at it, trying to make out what it could be, but came up with nothing. Gerard must have seen my confused expression because he quipped in quickly.

“It’s a dove,” he answered, lifting his eyebrows up and cocking his head slightly. He ran his finger along the line of his lapel smoothly and flicked it out slightly; causing the patch of fabric to protrude, practically fly off his jacket, giving me a better look. And once he told me what the blob was suppose to be, I guess I could sort of see what he was getting at. The white globule had two other parts branching off from it with jagged edges, which I could only assume to be wings. It was a rather harsh and comical depiction of such a miraculous bird that it didn’t really fit with anything, but as I met with Gerard’s eyes who displayed his patch proudly, I realized that it definitely fit with Gerard.

“It’s nice,” I said, only really half lying about what I saw. I backed away from my closer inspection and began to look around the room more. And that’s when my eyes fell on something I had never seen before. Off in the corner to the room, where the giant window met with the mural wall was something I had thought was an old fashioned stand up lamp. The stand had been a brass colour with a beige shade over it. But now, the supposed lamp still had a brass stand but the shade was not a shade at all, it was a cage of some kind.

I began to walk closer to the object, hearing Gerard follow close behind, his hands pressed behind his back. I could hear his breathing change to somewhat of a chuckle and I just knew he had a huge smile planted on his devious face. Finally, I reached the object of my focal point and began to study it. It indeed was a cage, not a lamp at all. Its bars met at a knob at the top of the cage, then filtered down making a dome shape where inside there was a wooden perch, dug at many times by small claw marks. There was seed inside, everywhere but the dish that it was supposed to be placed in. And in the centre of the cage, sitting pleasantly with its head cocked to the side, looking at me just as strangely as I was looking at it, rested a bird.

The bird’s feathers were smooth over its body, slicking to its skin like a fluffy layer jacket. It was a fawn colour, creamy white at some places like near its tail feathers. There was a small taupe ring around its neck, almost resembling a noose. Its small beady black eyes looked at me and I saw its small throat vibrate as its coos began to fall out of its mouth and fill my ear. It was honestly the weirdest and most beautiful thing I had ever seen. And it was right in the middle of Gerard’s fucking living room.

“I see you have met my prized possession,” Gerard stated smugly. He was standing behind me as I poked my nose into the bird’s cage, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He was about to say something else before I cut him off.

“Why on earth do you have a pigeon in your living room?” Despite it being very beautiful, I couldn’t help the fact that this bird looked so much like the animal that most people hated and tried to get rid of. Weren’t pigeons supposed to be rats of the sky? And Gerard had one in his living room. It was in a cage and it was very clean, but still, I could not get over the striking similarities between the animal I was looking at and the ones that I saw in the local park all the time, ripping apart left over bags of food.

“It’s a dove!” Gerard exclaimed, almost sharply, taking a lot of offence to my misunderstanding of the bird before me. Gerard walked forward, stepping beside me and sticking his fingers in the cage, calling his bird over to him. He looked at me who still stood hunched over wide mouthed at the animal, and gave me a snide look. For the first time ever he actually seemed offended by one of my innocent and ignorant remarks.

“I thought doves were supposed to be white?” I asked, trying to explain myself.

“Not all of them are,” Gerard explained, his voice easing down and becoming more sympathetic. It seemed that he had to remind himself yet again that I was only a teenager. A teenager who was not caught up in all of these fine arts. Yet, anyway.

Gerard removed his fingers from inside the cage and began to fiddle with the small door to the side of it. I watched in amazement as he unlocked the piece and stuck his hand fully inside, grasping the small and fragile bird in his smooth hands. Gerard tugged the bird out of its safe environment with such ease and gentility that I was amazed. If this creature really was a dove, then the way the bird perched itself on his hands after being removed from this cage, bobbing its head along and cooing made everything else seem ten times as magical.

“Why do you have a dove?” I asked slowly, still watching the bird as its claw-like feet gripped into Gerard’s skin. It looked like it hurt, but Gerard’s grin merely grew larger as the bird began to walk up and down his hand. The way Gerard’s eyes lit up as he played with this dove made my heart skip a beat. He looked so happy, so in love and so childlike. He was playing with a myth that all of us wanted to touch at some point or another. Only Gerard was actually lucky enough to hold it in his hand and keep it in his apartment.

“Why wouldn’t I have a dove?” Gerard smiled, finally taking his eyes off the bird and looking me straight in the eye. I shut my gaping mouth immediately, hearing my jaw crack slightly as I did so with such speed. He merely smiled again and took his index finger on the other hand, gently caressing the folded feathers. The dove purred and cooed, bobbing its head more, but never made the attempt to fly away. I thought doves were only found in the wild, which made this act ever more remarkable in my mind.

“Do you want to hold her?” Gerard asked suddenly, holding out the hand the small creature was perched on. I jumped back instinctively. For some reason, when I was a child I was always afraid of birds. I think my mother had told me once that the plague was passed through tainted bird feathers and that had scarred me for my entire life. I hated birds when I was younger and always freaked out when someone picked up a feather. My fear had subsided only a little bit as I grew up. I could handle being around birds more without having a fit, but holding them was another story in general.

“Um, no,” I answered back, biting my lip slightly. I shifted my weight away from the creature, trying not to be offensive. Seeing Gerard’s face fall slightly from my actions, I added a quick lie to make things better again. “Maybe later.”

Gerard shrugged, getting over my move quickly and began to pat his pet again. “You’ll get used to her soon,” he stated, his eyes focused back on her off-white feathers. A sly smile suddenly spread across his face as an idea formed in his mind. “After all, you’ll be helping me clean her cage as part of your duties around here.”

“Really?” I asked, twisting my face in exasperation. I thought I had only agreed to help out with his paint supplies. There was no consultation to cleaning up bird shit.

Gerard sighed with mock aggravation, chiding me humorously. “Don’t be so bent out of shape about it, Frank!” he teased, batting me slightly with his one free hand as he began to put his dove away. He closed the cage door, made a kissing face at his pet before he turned away, over to his mural and inspected some insignificant detail and then continued. “You’ll come to learn soon enough that doves are wonderful creatures.”

I traced my eyes back over to the cage. I watched as the small bird came down off of its perch and began to nibble at the bits of seeds on the cage floor. I cocked an eyebrow, failing to see how spectacular this bird was. In myths and stories, it was awesome, but in real life, it was just ordinary.

“How so?” I asked Gerard skeptically, still studying the bird.

Gerard sighed over zealously again before he continued. “Doves are the peace keepers of us all.”

“But those are white doves,” I argued. I wasn’t that stupid to not know that detail about doves. I had read about the war and the peacekeepers and the dove with the olive branch. I knew the myth and the legends. But those were something special; something unattainable. “Your dove is brown,” I argued again. “It looks like a pigeon.” And a pigeon, in my mind was nothing to be proud of.

“Your missing the point, Frank,” Gerard interjected, shaking his head, his dark raven locks falling over his large forehead. “Just because it’s brown – more like an ash colour, by the way – doesn’t mean it’s not a dove. Not all doves are white. That’s just like saying all interior designers are gay and all witches are bad.”

I stared at Gerard, the most confused look planted on my face. “Aren’t they?”

“No!” Gerard expressed enthusiastically. He wasn’t mad at me for not getting it, he was more happy that he was teaching me. And though thoroughly confused, I was happy to be learning.

“Don’t you see, Frank? There is always an exception! This dove…” Gerard paused, moving himself over to place a hand on the top curve of the cage, “she’s an exception. Just like you and me.”

I nodded my head slowly, bits and pieces of what he was saying slowly sinking in. “Wait,” I requested, my eyes scanning the ground in front of me, head reeling with thoughts. “What are we exceptions to?”

Gerard smiled wide, bearing his stained tiny teeth. The lines around his mouth grew even deeper, showing how much joy he was putting into this once action. “We’ll just have to see, now, wont we?” was all he could say, leaving me standing there staring at him, speechless. I was beginning to think that this man liked to confuse me every single chance he got. What was I the exception to? I wasn’t in any of the examples he mentioned. I wasn’t an interior designer (thank God) or a witch. And I wasn’t a dove, as far as I was concerned. What could I be an exception to then? And more importantly, what was he an exception to?

“Besides,” Gerard’s voice interrupted my thoughts again. His countenance was cheerful and playful, twisting slightly to add his last remark with minimal bitterness this time. “My dove is not a pigeon! They may come from the same family of birds, but that’s like saying you’re exactly like your father.”

I met eyes with Gerard as he said that. The horror of last night’s dinner repeated in my mind again; the clanking of silverware and the deep baritones of my father’s harsh voice. There was no way I wanted to even be associated with that man. And when Gerard had said that remark, it was almost as if he had known what had gone on the previous night. I began to realize where he was going with this.

“You’re right,” I stated earnestly. I looked back at the brown bird in the cage. The dove in the cage. “She’s a dove. And not even close to a pigeon.”

Gerard smiled and nodded again, murmuring a ‘good boy’ and he turned to inspect his mural again. I nodded too and looked back at the dove, studying it more this time. I poked my fingers in, trying to forget my foolish childhood fear of the plague. The bird walked over to me on its perch and pecked at my fingers lightly. It tickled as opposed to hurting and I stuck another finger inside to brush up against its smooth feathers. I wanted to reach inside the cage like Gerard had and take the bird out, but for some reason, I didn’t think I was ready to do that yet.

“What’s her name?” I asked, not taking my eyes off of her. If I was going to be cleaning her cage and bonding with the bird, I might as well learn her name.

“Van Gogh,” Gerard answered.

“Van what?” I asked back, my face crinkled in confusion. That had to be the stupidest name for a bird ever.

“Van Gogh,” Gerard repeated, turning his body back to me from his mural. His features had been pulled down by gravity as he looked at me, probing to see if I was serious in my misunderstanding. And when Gerard realized that I indeed did not have a fucking clue as to what he was talking about, he rolled his eyes and sighed. Again. He was going to have to teach this little teenager from Jersey a lot of things.

“Don’t you know Van Gogh? The artist?” Gerard probed. I stared blankly at him, pursing my lips and shaking my head. Gerard shook his head as well, but for different reason. “He painted Crows in a Cornfield? Starry, Starry Night? Any of this ringing a bell?”

“Nope…” I trialed off softly, shrugging my shoulders.

“He’s a famous artist!” Gerard exclaimed in vexation, splaying his hands out as if trying to grab onto some hope that I wasn’t completely art illiterate. I was going to crush his spirits.

“I can guess that much from what you’re saying,” I told him, tilting my head to the side. “But I don’t know artists. Sorry…”

“No!” Gerard interjected again, his voice getting passionate. His will to teach me something that I had never learned before came crawling back to his voice. He had so much craze in his art, in his work and he wanted other people to understand it so much. If Gerard was even capable of appearing desperate, then he would have at that moment in time. But for some reason, the strong way he carried himself and his arrogant manner never made him appear desperate or pathetic; just very sure of himself. He continued it probe at me. “You have to know this artist. He is one of the more famous ones…” Gerard trailed off, thinking hard. He placed his hand to his chin and rubbed it thoughtfully. I just stood there and waited, my hands jammed deep into my pockets and my eyebrows raised high, unsure.

Suddenly Gerard grabbed a quick intake of breath and looked at me with that glint in his eyes that could set fire to anything. “He’s the artist that cut off his ear.”

The words he spoke were so simple and clear but finally, they hit a note within me. I was beginning to remember something from so long ago learned in elementary school. It was one of the few times I had studied art and it was coming back to me right then. The old bat of a teacher had been rambling off names of artists and mentioned this insane one who had cut off his own freaking appendage. Yes, finally it was beginning to click with me, and I let it show to Gerard’s delight.

“Yes!” I almost yelled, so happy that I was finally getting something and making Gerard happy. “I remember him now.”

“Good!” Gerard breathed at me, rolling his eyes and running his hand through his dark hair in an exasperated attempt to calm down. “Finally you remember some kind of culture.”

Even his sarcastic remark couldn’t strain the smile on my face. I was so proud of myself.

“Do you know what I find funny?” Gerard cut in again, his smile splaying crooked on his cherub face. I nodded, letting him know that he could continue. “That you can only remember an artist, not by their name or work, but by their mutilation.” Gerard shook his head and looked up, raising his arms to an unknown God. “What is this society coming to?” he joked, half serious.

“It’s what I was raised on,” I countered, still laughing at his mocking nature. “I was raised on violence and fear. We live in Jersey, Gerard. It can’t get much darker than this.”

Gerard returned his head to a normal position and looked me in the eyes, surprised at the words that had come out of my mouth. Apparently his deep thoughts were having an effect on me already.

“You’re a smart kid, Frank,” Gerard stated bluntly, nodding his head. “But I hope I can show you that it’s not all darkness here. There is some colour.”

There was something in Gerard’s face then, the way he looked, the way his eyes traced over me that made me feel slightly uncomfortable. Or maybe it was just me collecting the nervous energy inside my small frame, adding to the sensation of triumph I had felt when I had come up with my own small theory. I just felt weird then, like the bottom of my stomach had dropped out, leaving me feeling naked and exposed when I was wearing layers of clothing. I hadn’t even said anything that poignant or to the point. I had just said a generalization, but I felt like I had spilled open another can of paint all over myself and I could feel it hardening. Just like the blue paint from two days ago, only Gerard didn’t pour it on me. I did it myself; I was willingly opening up and it scared the living shit out of me.

I had to look away from Gerard then. I looked back inside the cage, but was only met with beady eyes staring back at me. I couldn’t look there either, so I walked away unsurely and went into the centre of the room. There I saw an empty paint can, hollowed and cracked on the inside as its red shell fell away. That was the new colour I was coated with, I told myself. Red this time and not blue. Blue beforehand had been a curse, a swear and a start to something new. What the fuck did red mean? Was there a French saying for that as well? I didn’t want to know. I just picked up the brushes that I saw next to it and began to run them under water in the kitchen sink. Gerard was still at his mural, a sly smirk planted on his face. I didn’t know why he was smiling the way he did, and I forced myself not to think about it. I just pushed my fingers through the caked on paint of the brush and watched it funnel down the sink.

Minutes later, still cleaning, my thoughts remained broken and unfocused. And even though the colours of the brushes were dark violets and penetrating greens all I could see was red.

“Do you know why Van Gogh cut off his ear?” Gerard asked me in the middle of the silent paint fumed room.

“No…” I answered, trailing off, not really trusting myself to talk. I needed to clean. That’s why I was there.

“He cut it off to give it to his lover,” Gerard stated, matter-of-factly. I uttered a grunt in recognition, continuing with my task. But Gerard wasn’t done talking. “It was some twisted morbid gift, if you ask me. But beautiful nonetheless. I can’t imagine giving a piece of my body to someone else, literally that is. I’ve given other forms many times.” Gerard paused, chuckling to himself at his bad joke. I said nothing. I did what I was supposed to do. I washed brushes.

“Do you have a lover, Frank?” Gerard penetrated the silence yet again with his clear and thick voice. I nearly dropped the supplies I was trying to clean, as I asked him to repeat himself.

“What?”

“A lover,” Gerard insisted, nodding his head. “A girlfriend. Do you have one?” Gerard tilted his head away from his work, and looked at me. I could feel his eyes burning into me as I washed at the sink, but could only see him out of my peripheral vision. And it was going to stay that way.

“No,” I answered quickly. A part of myself told me to lie and say I did have one, but I saw no point in it. He would only ask details about the relationship (that was just who Gerard was, nosy as fuck) and I wouldn’t be able to answer them. I was somewhat resentful that I had never had an actual girlfriend despite my many efforts. I had kissed a few, but that was merely induced by drunken stupors or silly childhood games. I had never actually had a real kiss. A real passionate kiss that meant something and that both people were in on. The closest I had was making out with one of Sam’s exes at a party. I had been drunk and so had she and things probably would have lead to more than just kissing if Sam had not been there and split the two of us up. Though they had been broken up for over three months, Sam hated it when people dated what he had. It felt like he was sharing and that was something Sam was never good at. At that moment, I had been pissed that Sam had split us up. I was drunk, horny and half hard and I really thought I was going to get lucky. But when I had sobered up in the morning I thanked Sam profusely. That girl was a skank and really annoying. If I had lost my virginity to her, I probably would have gained a few STDs as well as a truckload of guilt.

As far as girlfriends went though, I had never had any. I had asked a few girls out, being rejected most of the time and only had one or two dates with the others. I was fine with my lack of experience, until someone brought it up. Like right then with Gerard. Given the fact that there was already enough tension and weird feelings lingering in the air making us almost as high as the paint fumes were, didn’t help things much at all. I almost expected Gerard to rub it in my face or ask why (the action most of my friends did) but when he merely nodded his head and went back to dabbing paint on the mural I thought things were over.

Then, he had to open his big mouth again.

“Boyfriend?” was all he said, but the implications shot through the room clear as day.

“No!” I answered quickly, probably too quick, but it was essential. There was no way in hell I was going to say anything other than a big fat ‘no’ to this question. I didn’t even want to think about it. There was nothing to think about. I had never had a boyfriend. End of story.

Again, I half expected Gerard to rub it in my face, or something worse, but he merely nodded his head again. In his mind, we were just having a normal conversation. We weren’t trying to beat each other up. We were just talking. If I could only relax, then maybe the air wouldn’t have been so tension filled.

“What about you?” I asked back suddenly, not giving my mind another chance to doubt what I was about to say. If we were just having a normal conversation, then I could reciprocate the question. It was a normal thing. Completely normal, and completely painless, I informed myself again and again.

Gerard laughed a little at the remark. “Nah,” he stated easily, elongating his brush strokes as he did. At some point during our conversation, probably when I had zoned out thinking of my failed relationships, Gerard had gotten out a brush and was add green to the grass on his mural.

“My art work is my lover. It’s my passion in life and my obsession. I pretty much married myself to this life years ago when I first started. And so far, it’s been pretty good. At least I don’t have to worry about it cheating on me,” he joked, looking over at me. I smiled as well and was even brave enough to meet his eyes. They were warm and inviting, like the smiles he always had on his face. He pulled his mouth together again, facing his art, his lover, and began to talk once more. “But then again, I’ve never met someone that’s swept me off my feet enough yet. But who knows, that could change.”

He looked at me again, his head turning sharply. Our eyes met across the room and locked there. The thin lids on his eyes fluttered as he talked, matching my stomach. The cold water ran over my hands in the sink, making them go numb. I wished my whole body would go numb as I looked at him, because I saw something there that I didn’t think was possible. I swore that as I looked into his normal dark eyes, I saw an unmistakably hue of red that could never be washed away.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14