That one time in Seminary.....

Gerad lay awake at night, every night. He couldn't put it into the right words to convey why, exactly. He just did. Some nights, he felt Fly me to the Moon, breathing staccato and blinking fast enough to erase memories at the speed of light. They never really went away, though. Part of him hoped they didn't, and the other part was prying his eyes open Clockwork Orange style. Other nights, he was restringing a piano, stringing every string to the wrong string with hands of glass, and wondering where he even went wrong. Tonight was the third of these options: Simply not tired. He was awake, his long, dyed black hair slick against his body with sweat. They had no fucking air conditioning here, which was nice in the way that it reminded him of older times, but simultaniously horrendous in that Jersey wasn't cool during the summer. Gerard didn't really think anywhere was cool in the summer, besides maybe Antarctica.

The nights were probably the hardest part of Seminary. Classes were easy, since Gerard had been going to Mass since he could just barely stumble. Every day was Mass, classes, group prayer, classes, and sleep. It was all so easy. The nights weren't exactly planned, though. No strict routine, no rules, no books to study. What did scripture have to say about sleepless nights? He could explain to you the meaning of any verse, in his own unique way, really. He'd read the bible at least fifteen times in whole, if not more than that, and read his favourite verses countless more times. None of them had helped with his overthinking, and no matter how much he read, the insomnia never eased up.

He'd tried praying plenty, but he never really got a response. He'd seen God while tripping on acid, but that wasn't the story he liked to tell for why he believed. He'd known God was real since the third grade, when the girl who'd been calling Gerard a "fat pig" for days on end broke her leg on the swingset. Or not necessarily then, but he'd been praying for her to get hurt for forever. He stopped wishing people would get hurt after that, mostly out of fear of something worse happening next time. Church had been important to his family, henceforth known as 'the Ways', and they'd been bringing him since he could crawl. The incense never failed to calm him, the rueful and calm singing grounding him for when he needed it the most. Church was the center of his world, the gravity that held him down when bullying or intoxicants tried to rule his mind. He'd been alienated from it young, when things got bad and his parents got too busy with his brother, Mikey, and his baseball games. He'd gotten sober over a certain summer, and after being held to the floor execution style with a gun pressed to his temple, he knew he needed faith back. Where does one even go from there? What meaning do you have when it can be taken away so easily? So Gerard made his own. He got back to church, started writing speeches and hymns, and reading, reading, reading. The priest who'd been with his family's church since childhood said Gerard just had to go into the priesthood. His parents loved the idea. Mikey didn't, but Gerard didn't really care about that. There was a wedge between them after that.

Some nights were harder than others, and tonight was especially drawn out. He couldn't focus on one thing, and yet, he felt like he had absolutely nothing to do. Gerard had to piss. Maybe that's what he'd do. Getting up, he stretched a bit, his Guitar Hero pajama pants sagging on his feet where they were a bit too long for his full frame. Gerard was chubby, and he'd always been insecure about it, even though plenty had reassured him it was cute in fact. That didn't ease his discomfort with it, nor did praying for weight loss. Sneaking through his room, he walked on tip toes, not quite gracefully, but gentle still. The floor was cold and tile, not a very modern layout, but he didn't really mind. It was better than his shitty old trailer, in that shitty old trailer park, in that shitty old town in shitty old New Jersey. He still lived in Jersey, but at least he didn't live in a trailer anymore. He'd only gone to Seminary because his parents pushed so hard- Not because he 'had a gift' or anything, but because they were sick of him being an alcoholic. They forced him into church camp for a summer after he'd been passed out drunk on the street at fourteen, and now here he was, nineteen and learning to become a virgin for the rest of his life. It wasn't that he didn't believe, and wouldn't be just fine being a priest, it was that overall, this is not where he expected to be at nineteen. He expected to be fucking dead.

Pissing was easier than laying awake and thinking. He went to the bathroom, did his thing. Nothing much to report on. The soap was in the shape of a cross, and it felt weird to hold in his hand, like it didn't quite belong there. He knew crosses belonged there, of course, but this soap felt...satire. Like someone was denying him the worth of holding a real cross, or calling him too dirty enough to hold one, anyway. Too much analyzing, not enough handwashing.