The Rainbow (Frerard) [underwater_sky]

January- The Family Tree (Part One)

            I realized I could not avoid my parents for the rest of my life, especially if I did want to have a meaningful relationship with Gerard. They had been at the back of my mind ever since I had tried to call and then hung up the phone. Gerard had gotten sick for a few days, and anytime I heard his rattling cough I thought of my dad's not too distant one in my memory. They were not the same, or even similar people aside from age, but seeing their symptoms match up made me reconsider my actions for awhile. Although I was sure that I did want to see my parents, a part of me wondered how much of me was acting out of obligation and believing that I had to see them. Why couldn't I just let them think I was in Paris? It was a half-truth, at least, since the apartment felt that way some days. Gerard and I were in our little blackout together, appreciating art and one another, so much so that the real world barely penetrated. But as the days went on in the actual New Year, something would rupture our fantasy, and I wanted to be the one to insist upon change to give myself the element of control. As much as I despised this expectation that I felt foisted upon me, I knew it was there, and I knew I would have to answer it eventually.

            Gerard began to go back to work on his projects. He told me that he was relieved we had spent as much time as we had together, because our talks had given him a million ideas and directions to go in. "It's almost too much," he teased as he slinked off one morning. "Some people say ideas are infectious, but I don't like the connotation. Something is only a sickness if you believe it to be so, and let it take you over. I know that this does not apply to everything, but even so, ideas are not something to be seen as negative. They are more like weeds."

            "Aren't weeds negative, too?" I teased him.

            "Again, it depends on the garden and the way you want to look at things. Weeds survive, take over, and sometimes kids mistake them for flowers. They can be good, if you let them. And you, Frank, have planted a seed inside me and now I'm trying to get the garden to bloom."      

            He was trying to be poetic and playful at the same time, and kissed my lips quickly before he went on his way. To continue his mood he began to quote from Baudelaire's Flowers Of Evil as he did his work - in French, of course - and I was left on my own. I had gone through lots of my photographs and was seeing what ones were useful to me for art shows when I remembered that Jasmine was still expecting work out of me as well. I rummaged through the pile of stuff that had started to form at the opposite end of the apartment, and found the hardcopy of the assignment that she had given me.  As I went through the names and story pitches about renegades, I felt my stomach heave and I bit my lip remembering the night she gave this to me. The ache I had for her, the constant missing and wondering, came back. I traced my fingers to the top of the page, and forgot about everything else. Going to the phone, I dialled the magazine's number, hoping she would already be back at work. I let it ring ten times before I hung up, cursing the fact that they didn't have an answering machine.

            As soon as I set the phone down, however, and began to walk away, it rang again and I practically leapt to answer it. "Hello?" I pushed the receiver to my ear. "Jasmine? Mouth magazine?"

            There was a small pause on the other end. "Is that you, Frank?"

            It was a female voice, much softer and more mouse-like than Jasmine, though. It struck the same rings of familiarity inside of me, however. Only this time, as my memory contextualized the difference, it was far different and only slightly more dreadful: "Mom?"

            "Yes, honey! It's mom. How are you?"

            I was in shock, honestly. I knew I had to call them eventually, but I had always figured the power dynamic was leaning towards my side. How did she know I was back? How did she even remember the number? "What's going on, mom? How did you know I was home?"