On the ride there, Frank is quiet, his cigarette pressed tightly between his bright pink lips. Halfway through (I know the route to Frank’s house, long story that will be explained later), he must recognize whatever song is playing, because he cranks up the radio, and a smile finds its way onto his face.
The singer has a growly, angsty voice that catches my attention. I break the silence, asking Frank,
“What song is this?”
Frank shouts, “ ‘You’re All I’ve Got Tonight!’ ” over the roaring music.
Hearing Frank tell me that, even though, in reality, he’s screaming a song title at me, it makes my stomach vibrate with butterflies.
Once we get there, ultimate nostalgia sets in as I step into the front porch area of the house. Things have changed immensely since I’ve been here; Frank’s shoes are no longer light ups, and his coat no longer bares a puppy on the sleeve.
We step into the house after removing our jackets and shoes, and I gape at the den, which has a complete new color scheme along with all new furniture.
Frank sees me and rolls his eyes as he explains, “We redecorated. Follow me upstairs.”
He starts up the steps, and I tail him close behind. We get to his room, which has- no joke, his bed up on a balcony type deal about nine feet up. A metal ladder leans against the edge of the platform. It’s blogging worthy, and I’m kind of tempted to take a picture. Sure, he’s always had that in his room, but as a kid, he just had a giant wall of stuffed animals up there, because he was too afraid of heights to even be up there let alone sleep there. I guess he’s gotten over it, or he’s just learnt how to manage it.
Frank sits down on a futon under the balcony, and motions for me to sit next to him. I do as I’m told, sitting stiff against the back.
“So, what do you want to know?” Frank asks.
“First off,” I begin nervously. I’ve seen the worst of Frank’s temper, and how quickly he can be pushed there. I’m really hoping he doesn’t get upset with me as I continue, “Do you have any idea who would start a rumor like that? Or why?”
Frank exhales and places his arms behind his head as he answers, “Honestly, I really did think it was you.”
My heart skips a beat, as I worry he’s going to flip out on me again.
But Frank nearly gazes over and grins at me, and not a portentous grin with poor intent, but an actual, genuine smile that I’ve been missing for ages. “But I know now that it wasn’t you. You wouldn’t do that.” Frank runs a hand through his hair as he continues, “Really, I have pissed a lot of people off. Due to that, quite a few people would like to get back at me, probably including, but not limited to, you. So, the list isn’t exactly narrow. In fact, I’d say it could be anyone in our grade, and that’s not even counting the older and younger kids I’ve screwed over.”
“I’m sorry,” I comfort.
“Don’t be,” Frank replies. “I should’ve seen this coming. Now that I’ve logged almost two thousand hours of being an asshole, I should’ve known it’d come back and bite me in the ass.”
“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” I whisper.
Frank sighs, and shakes his head. I decide to keep the conversation rolling, by asking,
“Who did that to you?”
Frank turns away, and I see his small body quiver as he begins to cry. “I can’t tell.”
I rub his back as I coax, “You can tell me anything. I told you that, remember?”
Frank nods, and sobs, “That’s not why.”
“What is it, then?” I question.
“I can’t tell you who did it, because if they found out…” Frank weeps. He faces me and points at his bruised face. “Then they’ll do this again, but twice as bad.”
“Frank, you know I wouldn’t tell anyone,” I assure.
“I know but…. I just….” Frank shakes his head, almost as if to clear his thoughts. “I can’t risk it.”
“There’s no risk if they never find out,” I tell.
Frank bites his lip, and glances up at me as he mutters, “M-my dad did this.”
“What’s…what’s your mom do about it?” I ask.
“She pretends not to notice,” Frank answers. “I hate her almost more than I hate him for that.”
“Oh, Frankie,” I sigh.
Frank chuckles. “You haven’t called me Frankie in a long time. No one has.”
“Maybe I should start that up again,” I respond.
“Maybe,” Frank agrees.
“Frank? Can I ask you something?” I ask.
Frank nods.
“Why…. Don’t get mad, but why are you being so nice to me all of the sudden?” I question.
“I- I don’t know. Maybe, maybe it’s because I’ve been a t-total dick to you, and I feel bad about it,” Frank stammers.
“Okay, but why now?” I continue.
“Because….” Frank rolls his eyes, and then grabs me by the collar of my shirt, pulling me close as he kisses me.
I spend a few moments in shock before kissing back, tightening a fist in his black locks and wrapping another around his waist.
Frank suddenly shoves me away, his face red with embarrassment. He ducks his head into his crossed arms.
I slide over closer to him, and place a hand on his back. He starts to cry again, and his tiny frame shudders violently with each gulping, broken sob.
“You’re gay?” I whisper. I rub his back as he nods.
“And you like me?” I ask. He nods again, weeping,
“I’m sorry. I know you hate me.”
I frown, replying, “Frank, you know that’s not true. How could I ever hate you when…”
Frank looks up with me, hazel eyes burnt out with tears.
“When I’m in love with you?” I finish.
Frank looks confused. “You’re… you’re in love me?”
I smile as I nod.
“Why?”
I laugh, and answer, “I honestly don’t know. But…. I just can’t be mad at you, sweetie.”
Frank drives me home after that, and on the ride back, he plays a different mixed tape, one which appears to be full of love songs, or songs at least associated with love. Poprocks and Coke plays by Green Day as I step out of the car.
“Wait!” Frank calls. He ejects the tape, and hands it to me. The tape has Frank’s sloppy scrawl, in all capitals, ‘Love Songs’, written across the top in Sharpie. “There you go.”
“Thanks,” I thank. I walk over to the driver’s side, and Frank rolls his window down so I can lean in and give him a kiss on the cheek and a ruffle of the hair before continuing into my house.
So, I bet you’re wondering why Frank’s house made me feel nostalgic. Believe it or not, he and I were best friends. His house was like a second home for me and the same with my house for him.
As we got older, Frank changed. He suddenly became aggressive around sixth grade; his temper was hot and it wasn’t uncommon for him to snap at or even hit me. As soon as 8th grade hit, I guess the pressures of popularity got to him, seeing as I was a chubby trombone player with no friends other than him. So, he began to bully me with these other kids in our grade. Those other kids stopped freshman year, but Frank didn’t. When I was younger and he started to bully me, I was sure I’d never forgive him. I was angry, and obsessed with revenge. But now, I mean… I love him. Life is funny, huh?

Notes

IMPORTANT: Chapter 2 was edited due to contradicting facts with this chapter. The only thing that was changed is Frank's history with Gerard. Sorry, it's hard to organize my thoughts when writing something piece by piece.

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