Dear Frankie...
Letter 20
Dear Frankie,
In movies, life happens real fast which just makes real life seem a bit boring. I work, I eat dinner, I say grace, I go to school, I play the cello. And again, I fight with Giacopo. I see Shawnie and Finn, Alice and Hambone, I meet people, I forget people. And all this time I just feel like I had a hundred cups of espresso coffee and everyone is just lagging behind.
I imagine what it’s like for you. You play in LA, play in San Francisco, Santa Barbara, Chicago, Indianapolis, Cleveland. LI, OH, NJ, CA. New laws, new regulations, pay more for gas, pay less. Republican red, democratic blue. Keep driving, keep moving. Amphitheatre, bar, club, stadium. Whatever. If you aren’t here everything around you just melts around that shell of a body you left behind.
And as I go through everyday life as a zombie, my mind races at ecstasy speeds. I count money, I make plans, I worry, I schedule, I make more plans, I worry some more. And everyday my stomach just gets and bigger and bigger.
Imagine waking up in someone else’s body . The proportions aren’t right, you just don’t fit were you used to. Arms too long, legs too close, extra fat in the pits. Who does this shit belong to?
I get breasts. Then a round stomach. Finally swollen nipples to match the breasts.
Everything becomes round. My hips, always sticking out, are lost somewhere. Angles are rounded and curved. Bending down becomes somewhat a challenge, people stare at your rack, freckles and skin stretch and you couldn’t close the last button of your jeans if your life depended on it.
Solutions are provided: Finn gives me more old shirts and manly sweaters with stripes and patterns. Shawnie some gangster style jeans. They’re huge and barely cling to my new found roundness. No one notices. Life inside me races, multiplying cells, forming tissues and organs. GROW,GROW,GROW.
Hambone tells me when he met you were 20 and had no tattoos, had a crazy hair do and were no were near as smooth as when he saw you last, a couple of months ago.
I guess you grew too. The clock’s ticking, I’ve got shitloads to do, shitloads to grow and shitloads to think.
I definitely want to wake up in city that never sleeps and know how to get there but what happens next?
I figured too many questions will drive anyone mad, so I try to only focus on getting out of here before it becomes impossible not to notice. Having 5 brothers and sisters will only buy you time at home and even they will eventually notice too.
Pack, plan, save, write, repack and replan. Repeat if necessary. Skip class, forget your homework and forget about all that shit you thought mattered. Boys, parties, bitches and the teachings of the high school elite involving fashion, hair and makeup.
This is like planning an escape from prison. Details must be carefully gone over and learnt by heart. Three days to go. Cello is forgotten in Shawnie’s trunk with deliberate care along with pots and pans and other house stuff my parents have stored in the garage. TICK TICK TICK. I’m running out of time.
My mind rushes and rushes around doing all the stuff that needs to be done. Free time is spent making up goodbyes, prom nights, college courses and all the other bollocks that I will never get to have.
It’s not that I’m pessimistic or anything. I just feel I’ve reached a point where it’s no use being unrealistic about life. Let us be free to flush all that shit they thought you in TV movies about high school. That kind of encouragement will only get knocked up at 17. No more ideals and dreams sponsored by some ass wipe company that sells you bullshit in exchange for brains
Let get it done with once and for all.
One day to D-Day,
AVA.
In movies, life happens real fast which just makes real life seem a bit boring. I work, I eat dinner, I say grace, I go to school, I play the cello. And again, I fight with Giacopo. I see Shawnie and Finn, Alice and Hambone, I meet people, I forget people. And all this time I just feel like I had a hundred cups of espresso coffee and everyone is just lagging behind.
I imagine what it’s like for you. You play in LA, play in San Francisco, Santa Barbara, Chicago, Indianapolis, Cleveland. LI, OH, NJ, CA. New laws, new regulations, pay more for gas, pay less. Republican red, democratic blue. Keep driving, keep moving. Amphitheatre, bar, club, stadium. Whatever. If you aren’t here everything around you just melts around that shell of a body you left behind.
And as I go through everyday life as a zombie, my mind races at ecstasy speeds. I count money, I make plans, I worry, I schedule, I make more plans, I worry some more. And everyday my stomach just gets and bigger and bigger.
Imagine waking up in someone else’s body . The proportions aren’t right, you just don’t fit were you used to. Arms too long, legs too close, extra fat in the pits. Who does this shit belong to?
I get breasts. Then a round stomach. Finally swollen nipples to match the breasts.
Everything becomes round. My hips, always sticking out, are lost somewhere. Angles are rounded and curved. Bending down becomes somewhat a challenge, people stare at your rack, freckles and skin stretch and you couldn’t close the last button of your jeans if your life depended on it.
Solutions are provided: Finn gives me more old shirts and manly sweaters with stripes and patterns. Shawnie some gangster style jeans. They’re huge and barely cling to my new found roundness. No one notices. Life inside me races, multiplying cells, forming tissues and organs. GROW,GROW,GROW.
Hambone tells me when he met you were 20 and had no tattoos, had a crazy hair do and were no were near as smooth as when he saw you last, a couple of months ago.
I guess you grew too. The clock’s ticking, I’ve got shitloads to do, shitloads to grow and shitloads to think.
I definitely want to wake up in city that never sleeps and know how to get there but what happens next?
I figured too many questions will drive anyone mad, so I try to only focus on getting out of here before it becomes impossible not to notice. Having 5 brothers and sisters will only buy you time at home and even they will eventually notice too.
Pack, plan, save, write, repack and replan. Repeat if necessary. Skip class, forget your homework and forget about all that shit you thought mattered. Boys, parties, bitches and the teachings of the high school elite involving fashion, hair and makeup.
This is like planning an escape from prison. Details must be carefully gone over and learnt by heart. Three days to go. Cello is forgotten in Shawnie’s trunk with deliberate care along with pots and pans and other house stuff my parents have stored in the garage. TICK TICK TICK. I’m running out of time.
My mind rushes and rushes around doing all the stuff that needs to be done. Free time is spent making up goodbyes, prom nights, college courses and all the other bollocks that I will never get to have.
It’s not that I’m pessimistic or anything. I just feel I’ve reached a point where it’s no use being unrealistic about life. Let us be free to flush all that shit they thought you in TV movies about high school. That kind of encouragement will only get knocked up at 17. No more ideals and dreams sponsored by some ass wipe company that sells you bullshit in exchange for brains
Let get it done with once and for all.
One day to D-Day,
AVA.