Dear Frankie...
Letter 7
Dear Frankie,
This is silly but true: no one ever told me how I really was going to feel.
No one ever told me that my heart was just going to freeze inside of me, how badly I would want to scream and cry and beg and tear my skin apart and make it all go away. No one told me about that pounding, that fucking overwhelming pounding driving me mad and that blur on the screen that made no sense but I can’t forget because it’s growing inside of me only I didn’t really realize until now.
No one ever told me how I would feel when I realized I had two hearts beating inside of me. That this was real. That there was a machine looking into my belly and there was someone inside of it, someone tiny and pure and that I couldn’t possibly take care of without ruining completely.
I don’t expect you to understand why, but I just ran. I just ran as fast as I could though people, cars, buildings and screaming nurses pleading me stop.
I would have kept running for ever, tears streaming and anger pouring from me.
How the fuck was this fair? Is this God’s idea of fucking just? I had just turned 17 for fuck’s sake.
I really would have ran until I died or something but instead I tripped and fell. Hard.
I guess just like I had in life. I had ran as fast as I could, wanting more than anything to grow older so I could move out and play adult.
Well, playtime was over. I guess I got my wish after all.
I must have lied in the concrete for quite a while because this old guy who helped me up, kept asking me if I was conscious and kept acting very alarmed around me.
I was fully conscious, only something was wrong.
Old guy had to point it out for me. Bloody knees, scratched hands and a broken wrist.
As if this shit couldn’t get any worse.
He convinced me to let him drive me to the hospital, I don’t know how. I’m usually quite suspicious of strangers. I guess it was the pain although I don’t recall feeling any pain.
Everything was very surreal like in a haze. It only got more weirder after that.
Old guy who happens to be named Irving, drove the same car as you. Same red glow, same fucked-up radio and same shitty velvet seats.
It only got worse when Tom Waits came on. I cried harder than I had in all my life.
Maybe you don’t believe me, too much coincidence you’ll say.
I don’t think I believe it myself.
Irving not convinced with driving me to the hospital gave his hankie and stayed with me the whole time they took to get x-rays and put a cast on me. He told the nurses he was my grandpa. When I asked why he was helping me so much he just said I reminded him of someone he used to know.
This was horrible because he reminded me a lot of someone I hardly know.
Who knows, but in my head when you turn 80 you are going to be just like Irving,
and maybe you’ll help someone who reminds you of me and wonder what ever happened.
A.
This is silly but true: no one ever told me how I really was going to feel.
No one ever told me that my heart was just going to freeze inside of me, how badly I would want to scream and cry and beg and tear my skin apart and make it all go away. No one told me about that pounding, that fucking overwhelming pounding driving me mad and that blur on the screen that made no sense but I can’t forget because it’s growing inside of me only I didn’t really realize until now.
No one ever told me how I would feel when I realized I had two hearts beating inside of me. That this was real. That there was a machine looking into my belly and there was someone inside of it, someone tiny and pure and that I couldn’t possibly take care of without ruining completely.
I don’t expect you to understand why, but I just ran. I just ran as fast as I could though people, cars, buildings and screaming nurses pleading me stop.
I would have kept running for ever, tears streaming and anger pouring from me.
How the fuck was this fair? Is this God’s idea of fucking just? I had just turned 17 for fuck’s sake.
I really would have ran until I died or something but instead I tripped and fell. Hard.
I guess just like I had in life. I had ran as fast as I could, wanting more than anything to grow older so I could move out and play adult.
Well, playtime was over. I guess I got my wish after all.
I must have lied in the concrete for quite a while because this old guy who helped me up, kept asking me if I was conscious and kept acting very alarmed around me.
I was fully conscious, only something was wrong.
Old guy had to point it out for me. Bloody knees, scratched hands and a broken wrist.
As if this shit couldn’t get any worse.
He convinced me to let him drive me to the hospital, I don’t know how. I’m usually quite suspicious of strangers. I guess it was the pain although I don’t recall feeling any pain.
Everything was very surreal like in a haze. It only got more weirder after that.
Old guy who happens to be named Irving, drove the same car as you. Same red glow, same fucked-up radio and same shitty velvet seats.
It only got worse when Tom Waits came on. I cried harder than I had in all my life.
Maybe you don’t believe me, too much coincidence you’ll say.
I don’t think I believe it myself.
Irving not convinced with driving me to the hospital gave his hankie and stayed with me the whole time they took to get x-rays and put a cast on me. He told the nurses he was my grandpa. When I asked why he was helping me so much he just said I reminded him of someone he used to know.
This was horrible because he reminded me a lot of someone I hardly know.
Who knows, but in my head when you turn 80 you are going to be just like Irving,
and maybe you’ll help someone who reminds you of me and wonder what ever happened.
A.