Passing Looks and Disappointed Faces

[Still Frank's P.O.V. ...]

"Sorry to disappoint, Frank, but we are in Belleville." I swallowed hard.

"Shit," I muttered without thinking. Trying hard to rectify my error I added, "Well I've never been around this place." Automatically my defenses were up; en guard. They all cocked a simultaneous eyebrow at me and I looked away, still feeling the heat on my cheeks and ears.

"Right. So, you go to school with Mikey and neither of you have talked with each other?" I shook my head, a slight smile on my face.

"Not really. I mean, I kind of go into my own little world when I play music (you know we take music class together) so I don't really focus on anything other than the guitar."

"Really? I play the guitar," Ray piped up, catching my attention.

"Awesome. How long have you been playing?" I asked curiously, wanting to stretch out my legs but realizing just in time that I still had a problem.

"Wow; I can't even remember when I started. It seems like I came out of the womb with a fucking guitar in my hands. It's this natural thing."

"I get you," I replied, nodding my head eagerly. "I haven't been playing that long; I started when I was eleven and haven't stopped since." We started a conversation completely forgetting that Mikey and Bob where even there; apparently, once we got into the topic of guitars, neither of us can be torn from it.

"Hey!" I finally heard and both of us snapped our heads to the side so fast I thought we were going to sprain them. "You guys realize Gerard hasn't come back?" We shook our heads guiltily, both of us having zoned out completely into the conversation. "Well, can either one of you look for him?"

"Why don't you just go Mikes; he's your brother," Ray said, slightly annoyed at having been torn from the conversation.

"Because I don't want to. Frank, will you do a favor for me and fetch my brother?" I nodded but I didn't move. Oh shit; how am I supposed to get up without anyone noticing the tent in my pants? "Um, Frank? You've kind of got to get up to fetch Gee." I nodded, shifting in position.

"I know." I finally stood up, racing into the house so I wouldn't be exposed for much. I walked slowly then, not wanting to interrupt Gerard at whatever he was doing. Still, no amount of time or slow walking could stop me from eventually reaching the basement door. So, I knocked; when I didn't receive a reply, I opened it gently, finding it unlocked. I slipped in noiselessly, closing the door with a soft click behind me. I walked down the stairs slowly, amazed when none of them creaked beneath my weight. What I saw did nothing but worsen the pressure in my constricting denim.

Gerard was lying on his bed, his eyes closed, sweat trickling down his body. He was only wearing a shirt that had risen to the top half of his chest, his jeans down at his knees along with his undergarments. His hand was fast at work pumping himself, moans slipping periodically from his parted mouth. I whimpered, resisting the urge to hold myself. "Oh God," he moaned out, "Fr-" he was cut off by a small whimper of his own and finally, with a grunt, he spilled out all his tension. I shifted uncomfortably, readjusting my pants in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure I had building up within me.

His eyes opened, his chest heaving beneath his bundled up shirt. His eyes roamed the room slowly and finally came across me. Instantly, fear welled up in his eyes and he frantically tried to cover himself up, though he was a sticky mess. "Holy shit," he managed to say, "Frank, what the fuck are you doing here?"

"Um...uh, see...your brother told me to go find you and...um, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to burst in on you or stay here or anything. Uh, I'll just, um...yeah, I'm sorry." Embarrassment riddled my entire body at having been caught; now I seemed like a really big pervert. "You should get cleaned and I've got to go...yeah...um; I'm really, really sorry. Uh...uh..." Stuttering still and with no clear concept on what I could possibly do, I simply turned around and ran. This time, my feet did not take me to the bathroom or the backyard; this time I actually found the front door and was able to exit this house.

However, there was this one problem, nagging at the back of my head constantly until I stopped from lack of breath. "Where the...fuck am I...supposed to go?" I asked myself, stooping over with my hands on my knees, trying desperately to regain my breath. Really, where could I go? Home was definitely out of the equation, subtracted by the various factors limiting the domain. Honestly, after my mother yelled at me that I wasn't her son, I don't have much of a pressing urge to revisit her. The only other place I could even consider was the one I had just left and I was not keen on returning there either. With a sigh, I looked to the street, looking at the various buildings, differing in size that littered it.

Where could I possibly go now? Uncomfortably shifting my weight from one leg to another and reaching my hand to relieve some of the pressure in my pants, I decided there was only one thing to do: I had to continue on, even if I managed to loose myself in the nooks and crannies of this dingy town. Nothing attracted my attention very much; if a murder took place in front of my very eyes, I would probably barely even blink. Already, at the tender age of seventeen, I have hardened myself beyond belief to the world. Nothing fazes me; nothing seems to trigger utter horror or fear in my system. Maybe it's for the better; this way the world cannot fuck with me. However, there's this nagging fear that says this coldness will only cause demise.

Either way, it matters not at the moment. My thoughts slowly drifted to those I had just met. Whether by fate or pure coincidence, it was definitely a good thing we encountered, even if it was because I had been unofficially disowned by my own mother. Oh dear Lord, I don't even want to think of that; I don't want to think of the way she always seems to demean what I do. And, as if on cue, like everything that seems to be occurring to me lately, a bucket of cold water crashes over my head, quickly getting rid of my persistent problem. Happy as I am at being rid of the bulge in the front of my jeans, I am entirely pissed off; anyone would be after a wave of incredibly cold, seemingly hard water crashes over your head and soaks you to the skin.

I look up, trying hard to discern the origin of this random wave. I finally find it, though it wasn't incredibly hard seeing as it seems to enjoy screaming obscenities. "Get out of here, you dirty hippie!" screams an elderly woman from an apartment high above me, a rusted old metal bucket in one hand while the other gestures obscenely in my direction. Hippie? Do I honestly look like a hippie? I look myself over before deciding with finality that the lady is deranged.

"Go back to the 70s, lady; I'm not a hippie!" I yell, unable to resist the urge, pushing my sopping hair from my face. Completely ignoring my comment, she continues her yells and degrading insults; I honestly don't care. This is all a very amusing situation I've found myself in; it would be even more amusing if I weren't shivering from the cold that seems to wrap itself around me from the water she dumped on me. "What's your name?" I finally yell in frustration, for lack of anything better to do at the moment and out of true curiosity.

Finally, something seems to enter her warped mind and she ceases her frantic screams at long last, looking down at me intently. Suddenly, her face twists in an undeniable expression of anger and she begins yelling, "You're a spy for the Russian Army! You dirty hippie; you won't be getting this! Bombs away!" Strange; I thought only the men could enlist in the army in her time. I shrug, unable to tear myself away from the strange lady yelling at me as if her life depended on it. I still don't think I look in any way or form like a hippie. Frustrated and convinced in that any attempt to convince her otherwise or figure out her name would be futile, I turned away, trying to continue walking down the street.

Unfortunately, I was stopped by the crashing of metal just beside me. Waving my arms around like a total idiot, I jumped to the side, a strangled yelp making its way past my lips. Looking down, I realized it was simply the rusted bucket of the old suspicious, hippie-hating, deranged woman. "My name's Lenore!" she yelled, waving at me with this twisted smile on her wrinkled face. I began laughing, though it seemed this was hardly the time for it.

"Nice to meet you, Lenore! My name's Frank!" And with that, I turned and left with only silence chasing me. When I looked back, Lenore was gone, the curtain from her apartment fluttering in the breeze from the open glass. "Aw, damn," I muttered to myself, "You can find anyone here." Shaking my head, I continued walking, my shaking more defined now. I wanted to run back to the place I had abandoned but that hardly seemed a possibility, what with my unfortunate run-in with Gerard. Trying to distract myself from the scene playing itself over in my head, I ran into a nearby convenience store, the first I could see.