Every Burden Has a Version

Frank and I looked intently off into the darkness, huddling in our jackets at the bus stop still. Several buses already went by with two homeless people begging for money. Frank’s hand was over his new tattoo. I could tell he admired it.

“Should we go back now?” I broke the silence. It had to be almost five or six since the sun was rising.

Frank glanced at me.

“Do you like your new tat?” I questioned.

“Of course I love it. I love the colors. You have such skills. I noticed you switched hands. You’re ambidextrous.” Frank stood up and began to stretch. “I just don’t understand the ‘I’m sorry’ thing.”

“You will.” I stood up too. “Hold on. I got you something you must wear today.” I reached into my messenger bag that was on the bus bench. Taking out a T-shirt that was homemade, Frank hugged me from behind. “Sir, I say,” I giggled. It’s a great thing that he can’t see me blush. “Do you want your gift or not?”

“Give me,” he commanded, letting go of me.

I draped the shirt over his head. He took it off instantaneously, unfolding the shirt. He chuckled while reading the shirt.

“I feel five all over again.” He grinned.

The shirt said: I’m twenty-one today. Don’t get in a car with me passed midnight.

“What do you think?” I asked once Frank lowered the shirt.

“It’s riotous,” Frank responded, bringing the shirt to his chest. “Did you make this?”

“Can’t you tell by the sharpie markings? And, I did sign it with my autograph. You’re wearing the latest rage by V. Murk.”

“Are you coming out with clothing line?” Frank jumped up and down.

“No, have you seen how I dress myself? I can’t get dress in the morning without…”

“I have not seen you get dressed in the morning,” Frank interrupted me.

“There’s an encouraging characteristic to my existence!” We began to walk on the sidewalk to head back to Frank’s old house. “Well, I can’t get dress in the morning without going through half of my closet, trying on all my clothes, deciding I look like shit, and then just wear baggy pants with a band shirt. Fuck my life, truthfully. Fuck it. Fuck it with a broomstick or a flashlight. Make my day and fuck my life with a strap on. I’m gay with that.”

Frank exploded with hilarity.

“You’re so insane,” Frank cackled. “Remember that Gerard guy? Which reminds me, we are going to hang out with him today.”

“I’m just saying, fuck my life.” I pulled up Frank’s pajama pants as far as I could.

“Hey!” He hastily adjusted them.

“What about that creeper, peculiar Gerard guy?”

“He talks just like you. It’s quite interesting.”

“Well, I say,” I said in a British accent. I pretended to be massaging a fake beard by rubbing my chin, raising one eyebrow at a time. “That is moderately attention-grabbing. Would you like some tea with your flakiness?”

“No, thank you, ma’am,” he joked along with me.

I cleared my throat. “When do I get to pinch you twenty-one times and sing you happy birthday?”

“I’m sure my mom will take care of that.” He recoiled.

I pinched him once, another time, and once more till I got an ‘owe’ and I smack in the shoulder.

“You know what?” I uttered as we walked up to Frank’s doorstep. “I’m glad I came in for your birthday instead… I don’t know. I’m just relieved.”

Notes

I know, it was short. However, I'll update faster this time.

Thanks for the comments of course. I hope you all have a good 4th of July and blow off some illegal fire works.
-christy-

http://astr0zombies.tumblr.com/