Time Stamp: 4:07 pm. October 5th, 1998.
Location: Frank's House
I crept in through the front door of my house silently, trying to avoid attention. I closed the door with a soft click behind me. I crossed the floor towards my room, the basement, and closed and locked the door at the top of the stairs before descending them quietly.
I flipped the note between my fingers, staring at my empty wall for a moment before walking over to my bed. I sat down on the scratchy mattress, and I took a deep breath before lying down. I was nervous for some reason, even though no one was home.
My room was pretty bland. I had a writing desk with drawings, pens, and papers scattered out on the surface, I had a twin sized mattress with a scratchy blue covering, and a black quilt, that was also very scratchy, I had a nightstand with two drawers, and a small bookshelf that had a lamp sitting on it, and a dresser which was in my closet.
I had to be more careful. I couldn't let my notes fall into someone else's hands. I couldn't let anyone else read my notes.
I began to unfold the paper, trying to decide if I should destroy it or something.
My heart leapt up in my throat, this was NOT my handwriting. The letter was also headed with, "Dear Frank," instead of "Dear Friend,". Someone had not only read my letter, but they had also taken time out of their day to write me back.
I nervously began to read.
"Dear Frank,
I know that sometimes life can seem rough, and I've been in some rough patches myself, but you can't let life win, you've gotta keep your chin up, and you've gotta push through even the hardest parts. Your situation sounds tough, and I couldn't even begin to understand what it must be like, but someone is always behind you, someone loves you, and you need to find them so that you can love them too. Suicide is never ever an answer for anything. Every life has meaning, especially yours. Frank, let me help you. If you ever have a problem, EVER, no matter what is is, write to me about as a friend that didn't sleep with that person at the party, even though I could have. My locker number is thirty-two, and I go there after every period. Leave me a note, and we can talk, and I'll always respond. I'll never judge you, Frank. I promise, because I understand weird.
Let's try something. Let's be pen-pals. We'll right to each other every day of the week, and you can vent all you want, I don't mind. It'll be a lot of fun, trust me. We can ask each other questions, we can complain, vent, joke, anything. How about we ask two questions per letter, and we will have two answers per letter, and then whatever else we want to add.
I'll go first.
My answers to your nonexistent questions are these; I am eighteen, this is my senior year and I can't wait to get the fuck out of this hell hole, and I am a male.
My questions are these; how old are you? What is the weirdest thing you have ever done?
If you ever feel uncomfortable about a question, just don't answer it, and tell me that you're uncomfortable with it. You can also just answer something different. I don't mind, I promise Frankie.
Also, remember this, my mind is a fucking vault and it is locked. Anything you tell me will remain a secret unless I think it will cause major damage to you. I promise you this. I wont tell anyone anything as long as you promise the same for me.
I really hope you write back.
~Sincerely, a friend."
I thought about crumpling the letter up, destroying it, burning it or something. I wouldn't respond. I couldn't respond.
But I did respond.
I walked over to my desk, clearing a space before grabbing my best pen and a clean sheet of paper. I spent two hours writing in my best handwriting. I headed the letter with "Dear Friend," because he didn't tell me his name. I answered his questions, and I even told him more about my crazy bitch girlfriend.
Once I finished, I folded the letter up and put it in my bag, really eager to take it to my pen-pal. Locker thirty-two.
My mom was knocking on the door, so I ran upstairs and opened it. She thrust a plate of food towards me, "Thanks mom!" It was a plate of cut veggies, and a bowl of lentil soup. She knew I was vegan, but my dad didn't.
--
Time Stamp: 6:32 am. October 6th, 1998.
Location: Frank's Bedroom
I must have fallen asleep on my desk, because that's where I woke up in the morning, my alarm clock screaming at me. I peeled papers away from my face and went to turn off my alarm clock.
I hit snooze before collecting clothes from my dresser and going to take a shower.
I spent thirty minutes getting ready, grabbed my bag, and ran upstairs. I shot out the front door, and was surprised to see that Ronnie Radke was waiting in front of my yard for me, staring at his shoes, he didn't look up until I closed my door.
He grinned like an idiot, waving at me, and I just scowled in return. A look of hurt flashed across his face. "Leave me alone, Ronnie. You told me not to talk to you ever again, so I wont." I said, my voice a low growl.
"Look, Frank. I do want to keep hanging out with you, and talking to you, but you have gotta lose the crazy bitch." He told me. I frowned back at him, "You know I can't do that, Ronnie..." I grumbled, shoving my hands in my pockets.
"Fine." He said reluctantly. "Can we walk to school together?" He asked me.
I nodded, "Yeah... I guess."
We had a brief moment of friendship again, walking to school, laughing, and smiling, just like we used to be before he stopped talking to me.
Once we got to school I set out to find locker thirty-two. Ronnie followed me, "I thought your locker was upstairs?" He asked me. "Yeah, I'm looking for locker thirty-two." I told him. He grabbed my hand, "Follow me."
He lead me to the locker, and I got the note out of my bag, slipping it through the grates, then I ran off to my first period class.

Notes

Imagine waking up to Ray Toro lying in your bed next to you.
"I see you lying next to me, with words I thought I'd never speak... Ray Toro, why are you in my bed?"