Your Heart on the Line

After class, I stood at my locker, getting all of my things gathered as slowly as I could as I waited for Frank. I had never been to his house, and I was both nervous and excited that he invited me over. As much as I wanted that kind of step in our relationship, I didn’t want to do anything to ruin it. After all, what if he was asking me over so he could tell me he’s not interested? I didn’t want to set my hopes high, so I tried to look at it as though we were just hanging out like we used to. Frank approached me, murmuring, “Hey.”
I nodded. “Hey yourself.”
Grabbing my arm, Frank rushed out, telling, “Let’s go.”
Once we were in his car, Frank opened the center console, producing a pack of cigarettes along with a pink lighter. My eyes must have widened, because he looked at me and asked, “What, you got asthma or something?”
I shook my head vehemently, to which Frank replied, “Good. Keep it that way; stay away from these.” He put one in his mouth, tossing the pack back into its place as he pulled the lighter closer.
“Why do you smoke then?” I asked. I didn’t mean to say it; it wasn’t really any of my business what Frank did or didn’t do. Sure, I would rather have him not smoke, seeing as it gives you cancer in addition to a long list of health and social concerns, but really, it was his bad choice to make.
Raising his eyebrows, Frank responded, “We all die someday.” As he said the words, the cigarette wagged between his lips, from the top to bottom, almost as if it were nodding along to agree with him. He lit it, rolling down the window as we pulled out of the parking lot.
He took long drags of it as we drove in silence, and suddenly, he muttered, “It calms my nerves.”
I looked at him incredulously. “You have nerves?”
Giggling, Frank bobbed his head as he confided, “Yeah, like mad. I get so worked up that my stomach gets in knots and I get sick. These help me to just stay chill, and more than that, if something bad happens, I fall back on them.”
“Did something bad happen?”
His smile faded, and he confessed, “Gerard, that was utterly humiliating. That was one of the most embarrassing things that has ever happened to me.”
“What are you embarrassed for?” I asked. “I won’t judge you; I don’t care.”
Frank shook his head. “You don’t get it. It’s so degrading.” He paused, and added, “Look, sorry, that was insensitive. I know you get picked on too. It’s just… it’s hard.”
“I know it is,” I said softly. I reached over and took his hand in mine. At first, he shied away, but as I reached again, his hand lay still, and I stroked the back of his palm with my thumb as we drove to his place.
We arrived at his home, this little shady apartment on the east side of town. Entering the parking garage, he flicked his cigarette out the window, sniffling as we pulled into a parking space. As we treaded to his floor, slowly ascending up the stairs, he noted, “Look, our apartment is kind of a shit hole. Fair warning.”
“Oh Frank, shut up.”
He merely shrugged, and I followed him as he walked to a door, fumbling for his key. Retrieving it from his pocket, he unlocked the door and pushed through, motioning with his head for me to follow suite.
Once we got inside, Frank immediately set his backpack down and kicked off his shoes. We moved through the living room and to what was Frank’s room, a tiny little bedroom with a mattress on the floor, magazine clippings taped to the walls, and a stray article of clothing lying here and there. He gestured for me to sit on the bed, which I did, and he moved towards his dresser. “I’ve had to go commando all day. I can’t fucking wait to be wearing underwear again.” Fishing a pair of red briefs out of his top drawer, he looked over his shoulder at me, asking, “Could you, erm, turn away?”
I crossed my arms, reminding, “You weren’t so shy at the party the other night.”
“What do you mean?” Frank asked.
I scoffed, asking, “What, you think that your clothing just fell off in your sleep?”
Frank blushed a little, but started to unbutton his jeans nonetheless. “That was different; I was hammered.”
I rolled my eyes, still watching as Frank pushed his pants down his legs. He was pulling down the tail of his shirt to cover himself, but I could see the bulk of his best part peeking through the thin fabric. He stepped into the underwear, and I fought the urge to complain as he continued, “I can’t believe you remember that much.”
“I was only tipsy,” I retorted. “You were drunk.”
He put his pants back on, shaking his head. “Gerard… can I tell you something?”
I nodded, and he wrung his hands, beginning, “I am so so sorry I lied to you but… I remember that night.”
My jaw dropped. “You what?”
Frank shrugged, admitting, “Yeah, all of it, crystal clear. I was drunk but I mean… I know what happened. I know that we made out and everything.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” I demanded.
“I wanted to give you a chance,” he replied softly.
Furrowing my brows, I interrogated, “A chance for what?”
Looking over at me with his big eyes, he told, “A chance for you to get away.”
“What do you mean?” I knew what he meant, but I just didn’t want to hear it.
“Gerard, I’m not someone that anyone would want as a boyfriend, alright? I’m not this person that you can like-like; I’m selfish, I’m rude, I’m immature, I’m still recovering from years of being a fucking manwhore…” he shook his head. “You deserve better.”
I moved towards him, placing a hand on either side of his jaw. “Frank. I want you, only you. Okay? You’re the person that I want to wake up to in the morning; the person I want holding my hand. We have a connection Frank; you can’t tell me you don’t feel it.”
He looked at me warily, and it occurred to me at that moment how tragically frail he was. He put on this big bad boy persona, but he really was just a scared teenage boy when all those layers of black clothing and the smart tongue fell away. I didn’t say anything, I hugged him as hard as I could, and I waited for him to speak.

Notes

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