You Don't Know A Thing About My Sins

I really didn’t want to see Frank again, because I could tell that he was onto me, onto my dark past and present.
I’ve been self-harming for two years. I’d started back in sixth grade, and if I continue to throughout this year, that’ll make it four long years of late night crying, angry journal writing, and using t shirts as makeshift bandages.
I want to get better, I do, which is why I haven’t cut myself for a month. But I’m just so afraid that at any moment I could slip up; because I have before, and it wasn’t pretty.
The next time I see Frank is again at lunch, and I can’t help but be reminded of the first day. Frank is still sitting by himself, perfectly content with this. He spots me and rushes over, no matter how far I bury my head into my hands.
“G-Gerard? Can I talk to you?” Frank asks.
I nod, replying, “Go ahead,” through gritted teeth.
Frank begins, “Look, I don’t know why you’ve been avoiding me. Is it because I’m a loser? Because if that’s it, I totally understand.”
I gaze around at my own vacant table, and gesture towards it to Frank, pointing out, “You really think I’m in any position to call someone a loser?”
“True,” Frank agrees. “I just couldn’t find any other reason as to why you’ve been dodging me in the halls.”
My throat tightens as I struggle to come up with a lie. “I’m… I’m just really shy.”
Frank raises an eyebrow, and he looks at me incredulously. “Shy enough to run away whenever you see me?”
“Well….” I trail off, unable to find my words.
Frank rolls his eyes and sits down, setting his bag on the table. “I’ll take that excuse, but someday, you’re going to tell me the real answer.”
“Deal,” I mumble, crossing my fingers that Frank will forget about the whole truth exchange.
We eat lunch together, and again Frank prays. It’s when almost the entire lunch room is staring at the both of us that I snap at him,
“Do you have to do that?”
Frank ignores me, but just finishes his prayer. He then asks,
“Do what?”
“The whole praying thing! It’s really getting on my nerves!” I retort.
Frank looks hurt. “I…. you being an atheist doesn’t get on my nerves.”
“Yeah, but I don’t practice my atheism in front of everybody!” I point out.
Frank frowns, and squeaks in a small voice, “I always pray before I eat.”
I realize how harsh I’d been, and quickly apologize. “Sorry, Frank; that was mean. It doesn’t bother me.”
“Good, because I’m going to keep doing it whether you like it or not,” Frank responds.
I grin, and I have to respect Frank at that moment. I used to not understand the things that he did or why he did them, but it finally clicks. Frank just doesn’t care. God is important to him, so he’ll pray if that’s what he finds to be suitable, and he doesn’t care what anyone says or what anyone thinks. I’d mistaken his bravery for naivety.
Frank invites me to his house after school, telling, “You know, we can play Chess or something.”
I can’t hide my smirk. “That’s your idea of a fun time?”
Frank nods, not sensing my condescending tone. “Why, did you have anything in mind?”
“We can….” I ponder the idea of what Frank and I could do. “We can sneak into a rated R movie.”
Frank looks disgusted. “I don’t think I want to do that.”
“Well, we can just watch a horror movie at home,” I suggest.
“I’m not really much for horror,” Frank hesitates.
“Well, have you ever seen a scary movie?” I ask.
Frank shakes his head, and seems to know where I’m going with this, as he answers slowly, “Well… no.”
“Then how do you know?” I reason. “Look, if you get too scared, we can always turn it off.”
“Sounds good,” Frank agrees.
I drive him to my house, and Frank is horrified by the disastrous state of my car.
“Gerard, when was the last time you cleaned this out?” he chides, tossing a pair of black boxer briefs to the backseat.
I shrug, admitting, “Probably a year or so.” I turn on the radio, and the car fills with “Breed” by Nirvana, and the heavy drum intro quickly sharpens my senses.
Frank however, sits, transfixed with his eyes glued on the radio. He leans forward, giving me this wide eyed look.
“Do you… want to change the channel?” I guess.
“Sure!” Frank chirps, and promptly switches the radio to the gospel station.
When we arrive at my house, Mikey is sprawled out on the couch, refusing to budge, so I suggest we watch the movie in my room downstairs.
Frank sneers. “You live in a basement?”
“I like it,” I insist. “It’s never too hot in the summer, and it’s bigger than Mikey’s room.”
I lead the way, Frank going down the steps gradually.
“I can’t see very well,” he complains.
I extend my hand backwards, offering, “Take my hand, you big baby.”
Frank pouts but takes my hand nonetheless, and I lead him down the steps much quicker than he would’ve tip toed down them independently.
I turn on the light to my room, and go rooting through my crate of movies.
Frank ambles over to my bed, and sits on it, looking surprised at the loud creak that comes from the box spring.
“My frame’s really old,” I explain, pulling out a few titles.
“I see that,” Frank responds, shifting his weight and causing the bed to give another groan.
“Which do you want to watch?” I question. In my right hand I hold Orphan, and in the left hand The Amityville Horror (The 2005 version of course).
Frank tentatively pokes at the Amityville Horror case, so that’s the move we end up watching.
Things generally go well at first. Frank’s huddled beneath the blankets and shaking most of the time, but he’s not complaining or screaming. But when the first pop out comes, he yelps, and ducks beneath the covers, shouting,
“Turn it off! Turn it off!”
I rush over and stop the movie, grinning sheepishly as Frank warily pokes his head from beneath the duvet.
“Aren’t you glad you at least tried it?”
Frank shakes his head. “I dunno.”
I can’t help but smile, and admit, “I guess horror movies aren’t your thing.”
“I’m sorry; I know you really like them,” Frank responds.
I furrow my brows. “Don’t be sorry for not liking the same things I do.”
“I’m sorry,” Frank reiterates.
I chuckle, “Stop apologizing!”
“I’m sorry; it’s an anxiety quirk,” Frank explains.
“You have anxiety?” I ask.
Frank nods. “It used to be real bad, but I’m on medications now, so it’s gotten better.”
We sit there in silence, until Frank finally asks,
“What are these?”
He traces his fingertips up and down my left arm, and I can’t help but cringe visibly. I pull away, replying,
“Don’t worry about those. It’s not your concern.”
Frank frowns, and says softly, “You know, I open up to you all the time. It’d be nice for you to do the same.”
This gives me enough guilt to have me confess,
“These scars…. I made them. On purpose.”
Frank cocks his head. “Why would you do that?”
I shrug. “I really don’t know, I just wasn’t happy, I guess.”
Frank auburn eyes flick to my arm, and then to me. He locks eyes with me as he leans forward, and he turns my hand over in his. He notes a thick pinkish whitish scar on my wrist, and he asks,
“Did you try to kill yourself?”
I shake my head. “No, I was just upset.”
Frank kisses the scar, and he rubs it with his hand. “Gerard, I believe in a lot of things, selectively, though. I believe that God exists. I believe that our sins our forgiven. But I know, that someday, you will feel okay.”
Tears well up in my eyes, so I look down, whispering, “Thanks.”
Frank hugs, me, and sniffles, “You’re welcome.”

Notes

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