Gerard stirred from the first peaceful sleep he’d had in several months.  He lay in bed stretching, imagining how today could pan out.  Today could be the day that he finally got someone to give him a chance.  Today, everything he had ever worked and strived for could mean something.  He continued to stretch under his covers, letting the warmth of his aching muscles relax him.  This could possibly become the best day of Gerard’s career.

But nothing ever went well for Gerard.                                                                                                                               

The moment he turned to look at the alarm clock, he realized that something was definitely wrong.  The clock read that it was after three o’clock, and the second hand wasn’t ticking.  Gerard thought he had woken up before the alarm clock, but he was wrong.  The alarm clock never rang.  The batteries had died at precisely three fifteen in the morning. 

Gerard frantically leapt out of bed and headed for his dresser, stubbing his toe against the bedside table in the process.  He didn’t allow the pain to register because his cell phone screen read nine thirty.  He had exactly half an hour to shower, dress, and get down to ninety-second street.  It was impossible. 

Gerard decided he wasn’t going to have time to shower.  He quickly grabbed some black slacks, a button down, and a tie from the closet and got dressed.  He quickly ran into the bathroom to brush his teeth.  He passed the toothbrush across his teeth twice before rinsing out his mouth with some mouthwash.  He quickly doused himself with deodorant and cologne.  He didn’t even spend time fixing his hair, just letting his fingers brush through it as he slipped some socks and shoes on. 

He had fifteen minutes to get to the gallery.

Gerard ran out of the apartment and was half way to the front door when he realized that he had forgotten his portfolio upstairs.  Luckily, he had set everything he needed for the interview by the door the night before, so all he had to do was quickly open the door and grab the portfolio.

Gerard sprinted back down the stairs, mentally cursing himself for having forgotten the portfolio, but also because he had to run back upstairs to lock the door, having forgotten to do so.  He was sweating now, but he didn’t care.  He was going to be late.  He was going to blow his chance.  It was all Gerard could think about. 

-x-

Frank sat behind his desk, staring at the digital clock in front of him.  Gerard Way had five minutes to get there.  He was slightly disappointed.  He had been so sure that Gerard was not one of those artists that would show up on their own time.  Frank had thought that he had finally found an artist worth befriending, but it seemed that his intuition was wrong. 

He fiddled with his thumbs as the clock now read five minutes past ten.  Gerard Way was officially late.  Frank shook his head in disgust.  He hated the demeanor of artists, and their lack of punctuality.  It was something Frank despised with a passion.  He believed that if a set time was given, come hell or high water, they should be early, or at least on time. 

It wasn’t until twenty minutes past ten that a flustered Gerard barged into his office, apologizing for his tardiness, as well as captivating Frank with single glance.

-x-

Gerard read ten o’ clock on his cell phone screen, and he was still on the train.  He was two stops away from the gallery.  His face told of a stressful morning.  The woman sitting next to him stared at him.  She could see the flustered look plastered across his face.  She could see the stress in his eyes, and she could see the sweat running down Gerard’s sideburns.  She handed him a tissue.  Gerard gratefully accepted the tissue and wiped the sweat from his face. 

Once the train got to his stop, Gerard ran up the stairs and down towards the gallery.  It was five blocks from the train station, but Gerard couldn’t care less.  He ran as fast as his nicotine-polluted lungs would allow him.  When he ran up the stairs to the gallery, it was ten past ten. 

He made his way through the brass-coated doors and proceeded to the metal detectors.  He went through, setting the metal detectors off.  He sighed.  He emptied out all his pockets once more, and walked through again, once again causing the detectors to go off.  It was then that he realized that the metal buckle of his belt was setting the detector off.  He informed the security guard.  The security guard pulled him aside, ran a manual wand up and down Gerard’s body, and agreed that it was the belt buckle. 

Once Gerard finished his ordeal with security, he ran up to the front desk asking for the office of Frank Iero.  He was told that he would have to take elevator four to the seventh floor.  It would be to his left. 

Luckily, the elevator doors were open and waiting for Gerard.  He pressed the seven on the elevator panel and waited as the elevator took him to the seventh floor.

Once he arrived at the office door that read Frank A. Iero, Gallery Coordinator, he barged into the office, met with the surprise of a young looking man.

-x-

“I’m…I’m so sorry I’m late.  Alarm clock…and train…” Gerard tried to speak through deep breaths.

Frank led Gerard to sit in the chair in front of his desk.  He offered him a glass of water, which Gerard gratefully gulped down.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Iero.  My alarm clock died on me last night, and then I almost forgot my portfolio.  It’s been a horrible morning.  I just want you to know that this is in no way shape or form a representation of me.  I promise you, it will never happen again.  I am a professional, I swear. ”

Frank smiled.  Perhaps he was wrong again.  Maybe Gerard really was the person he had thought him to be, based on their phone conversation the evening prior.

“It’s okay, Mr. Way.  I’m a firm believer in second chances.  Plus, to be honest, even if you were late because you wanted to be, it wouldn’t really have meant much to me.  I’m so used to artists being late, I tend to ignore it.”

“But I’m not like that, I swear.  I’m not one of those kinds of artists.  I have no reason to be.”  Gerard whispered the last part, but Frank still managed to hear it.  He felt sorry for Gerard.  He could already tell that Gerard had been denied a chance to present his works many times over.  He sympathized with Gerard, but what he liked about him was Gerard’s persistence to continue trying.  That showed immense character. 

“Well Gerard, if I may call you that, I’m going to ask you some questions, and then I’d like to see your portfolio.  I might also ask for you to sketch something with some charcoal.  I hope you have a blank canvas with you.”

Gerard nodded his head.

“Okay, Gerard.  I’ll be honest, I’ve never heard of you or your work, so these questions are going to seem somewhat trivial and a bit personal.”

“Where did you study art?”

“I attended the School of Visual Arts on 23^rd Street.  I studied all facets of art from pointillism to sculpture for the four years I was there.”

“How old are you?”

“I turned thirty in April.”  Frank nodded taking in the information.  He couldn’t believe Gerard had never had any of his work recognized before.  Perhaps Gerard wasn’t very talented.  There had to be a legitimate reason as to why no other gallery had ever displayed his works.  

“Where are you originally from?  Knowing where an artist is from, can give me a perspective on the kind of work they create.

“I’m originally from Newark, New Jersey, but I’ve been living in Brooklyn for about five years now.”

“You grew up in Jersey?”  Frank knew there was something unique about this man.  As a former garden state resident as well, he knew the art could be interesting.  Now he was looking forward to the portfolio that lay next to Gerard’s feet.

“Yeah, born and raised.”

“I see art isn’t the only thing we have in common.”

“How did you get into art, Gerard?”

“Well, my grandmother played a big part in that.”

“How so?”

“She always encouraged me as a kid.  She would buy me coloring books upon coloring books, and she would scold me if I didn’t color inside the lines.  She told me that I could fill in the spaces with whatever colors I wanted.  If I wanted to make the sky green and the grass blue I could.  Art allowed a person that right.  I’ve been pretty much set on it ever since.”

“But how did you discover that you could draw?”

“It was purely accidental.  One day I started doodling on a napkin in the kitchen while waiting for my grandmother to finish making lunch.  I didn’t realized what I was doing, and then when I stopped drawing, I realized I had part of the kitchen.  I kind of just had a natural talent for it, but my grandmother help me hone my skills.  She would always push me to keep drawing even when I was drawing things that were even morbid, even for the dead.”

Frank chuckled at Gerard’s joke. 

“She’s the reason, I’m an artist.”

“Is she the reason you continue to paint?”

“Pretty much.  I was going to give it all up and get a dead end job somewhere at a bookstore, but I promised her, before she passed away, that I wouldn’t ever stop painting, even if it meant living in a cardboard box on some random street corner.” 

“Let’s see what you can do then.  Shall we?”

Gerard pulled out the three works he was required to bring and placed them on the three easels that Frank had set up in the room.  Gerard waited for Frank’s response, as he stood by his works, his hands behind his back and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.  He looked like a nervous child.

Frank got up and stood in front of the first painting, the one furthest from Gerard.  It was remarkable.  The colors, the brush strokes, and the emotions that the painting portrayed were absolutely haunting and beautiful. 

“This is unbelievable.  It’s morbid, but it’s so real.  I love how all it is is a beautiful building, yet the blood running down from the girl’s window speaks volumes.”

Gerard smiled.  He couldn’t believe someone was praising, not disparaging, his work for once. 

Frank walked toward the piece in the middle, and he saw something so familiar yet so not.  Before him was the face of man, his face bloodied and broken.  On the man’s face were paints of all colors, blended with blood.  It was a bold and beautiful piece.  Frank couldn’t stop staring at it. The man bore a striking resemblance to Gerard, yet it could be any man on the street.  Frank didn’t say anything, but he had a feeling that most of Gerard’s pieces were slightly autobiographical. 

Frank made his way to the final piece, and his jaw dropped.  Before his eyes, the painting showed  a long, dark, hallway with the art on the walls laughing and pointing, mocking at the bloodied and battered man walking down it.  The brush strokes were harsh, and the paint raised on some parts of the painting.  It was exquisite.  It was pain.  It was reality at its worst.

Frank now knew that Gerard’s work was autobiographical.  This piece was more than enough evidence.  Frank was in awe.  He couldn’t believe anyone had ever rejected Gerard, but if it weren’t for the rejections, then these pieces probably would never have been painted.

“This is stunning, Gerard.  Stunning.  The pain of the man walking down the hallway is so raw and so real. “

“Thank you.  It’s nice to finally hear something good about my work.”

“I can’t believe that people can’t see the beauty in these.  They are…I have no words.  You’re brilliant.”

Gerard suppressed the high-pitched squeal that was trying to work its way out of his mouth, but the smile on his face was evidence enough of his emotions.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Iero.”

Frank smiled whole-heartedly.  This was the first time in his career that he got along well with an artist.  Gerard was everything Frank wanted in an artist.  Of course he wanted talent.  He needed someone talented, and Gerard was far beyond talented.  He was exceptional.  But what Gerard had was the humility that most artists lacked.

“You’re welcome.”

“Thank you so much.  You haven’t the slightest idea of how I’m feeling.”

“It was no problem, really.  You work is unbelievable.”

Gerard was blushing profusely.  The only person who ever complimented his work was his brother. 

“Mr. Iero, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, but please call me Frank.”

“You keep complimenting my work, but are you actually going to use it?”

“Well, you were the only person who answered the advertisement, so far.  I absolutely love your work, but the ad is running in the newspaper until the end of the week.  I have to give other artist an opportunity to come in and present their works.  At the end of the week, I’ll be making my decision.  You’re absolutely incredible.  Even though I haven’t seen anyone else’s work yet, I definitely think yours will be the one I choose.  It’s like nothing out there, but you’re going to have to wait until Saturday morning.”

“Thank you for giving me this opportunity, Frank.  It means a lot to me.”

“It’s no problem.  Just make sure you’re by a phone on Saturday morning.”

Gerard packed everything back into his portfolio seeing the blank canvas.

“Wait, you never had me sketch something out.”

“You wowed me.  You didn’t need to impress me further.”

Gerard smiled bashfully as he made his way toward the door.

“Thank you again Mr., I mean Frank.  I hope to hear from you.”

“You’re welcome, Gerard.”

Gerard made his way down the hallway with his head held up high for the first time… ever.