The Fame Can Make You or Break You, Frank
01.
“Please, wake up” is the only thing I manage to say. “Please”.
It’s not guilt that makes me want him to wake up so badly. It’s not my fault, at least I hope it’s not. Still, I miss him so much. It’s so hard to se him like this. They say he doesn’t suffer, but I do. I’m not sure how long I can wait for him to wake up anymore. The doctors say they don’t know, that they don’t know how long Frank will stay in coma. Maybe he never will wake up.
“No, it can’t be true” I roar and begin crying once again. My bloodshot eyes can’t stand more tears. Why did he do this? The fame could make you or break you. We all knew it except for Frank.
Well, you may wonder how Frank ended up in coma. I recall it all starting about one year ago. He was an underpaid 18-year-old boy, working at the local supermarket. He lived all by him self in a little apartment on the outskirts of New York. I believe I was his only friend at that point of his life. We went to school together at the time, and we lived in New Jersey. I worked in a gallery so I earned a bit more money than him. Because of this I bought a house a bit closer the center of N.Y.
One day Frank and I were on our way to the cinema, when we suddenly walked by a poster with big red letters, telling us about the new reality show on TV. They needed volunteers! They needed men between the ages 15 and 18. Frank smiled, and without knowing what it was, he made up his mind and decided to go to the audition.
I met Frank after the audition, and judging by the huge grin on his face he’d done well. He told me about the show: it was a talent show. Frank’s talent was playing the guitar. Who could resist a handsome 18-year-old boy who plays the guitar? He was obsessed, he had to win.
“Whatever it takes,” said Frank, and he meant it.
The show got extremely popular, and even though Frank didn’t win, the media and the girls were all over him. He got invited to the big LA parties, and got a lot of celebrity friends. He was happy, at least it seemed like he was. Once I actually attended one of those parties with Frank. He ran around hyperactively, spoke to everyone, drank a lot of alcohol, and took a lot drugs. The drugs shocked me.
“Frank! What the fuck are you doing? You know that is bad stuff!” I scolded angrily. I really thought he knew better than that.
“Hey, chill out! You have to live while you still can!” Frank laughed.
“But… it can kill you!” I answered.
“You know, I really don’t care”
“How can you be so fucking selfish? Frank, I can’t stand you right now. I have to go.” I shouted, and ran out of the door.
“Fine, I don’t care! You are such a pain in the ass anyways.” Frank screamed angrily at my back.
The following day Frank called and told me just how sorry he was, and I forgave him, making us friends once again. He also promised me to never take drugs anymore, and I believed in him. But, obviously he didn’t keep his promise, because the week after he ended up on the hospital. He had overdosed.
Since I was such a good friend I sat up the whole night, by his side, worrying endlessly about his fate. He woke up the next day, a bit groggy, but still okay. Later that day he left the hospital.
“Thank you so much for being there for me.” He said, almost whispering. I knew he was sorry, and forgave him, because that’s what friends do, right?
The next weeks I took good care of him, and tried to convince him that staying home instead of going to those parties was the only smart thing to do.
“I guess you’re right” He smiled, but deep inside I knew it wasn’t a real smile.
As the weeks passed, he got more and more depressed. I’m not sure why, maybe because I told him not to go to the parties, but I doubt it. Actually, I think he got addicted to the drugs and kept taking them. They messed with his head. One night he called me and told me there was an old woman outside his window. He sounded terrified and I went over to his place to check. When I finally came, he had hidden under his bed. I walked to the window, but there was no old woman there, only a well know stinky smell. Marihuana. I grabbed the packed with the illegal cigarettes and threw them in the toilet. I screamed to Frank:
“You promised me you’d stop! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” Frank cried like a little baby.
“I hope you are! Frank. Seriously! You are not doing this for me, but for yourself!” I screamed, walked out and slammed the door behind me.
The next day the morning, the hospital called me and told me Frank overdosed once again, and he was lucky he still was alive. If the old lady who found him had found him one hour later, he’d be dead now. Again I went to the hospital and found him in the same room he was in last time. It was scary to see him like that. His skin was white like porcelain, and his lips weren’t pink like they used to be, no, they looked more violet. I sat down in the armchair next to his bed and waited for him to wake up, just like last time. One hour went by until a nurse finally entered the room. She told me this was way more serious than last time, and she didn’t think he would wake up for a while. I was in shock. Mixed feelings flew around inside me. Anger. Why didn’t he listen to me? Guilt. I wasn’t really that nice to him last night.
I went home. If I was going to wait for him to wake up, I needed something to read and eat. I knew this could be hard, but at the time I didn’t know how hard.
Well, so now you know why he is lying there, close to lifeless, sleeping. I’m still angry at both of us, and I still feel sorry for both of us. I look down on my book, trying hard to read, squinting. But I can’t, my concentration is vacant, gone. I’m gazing out into the white room. It’s quiet. Scarily quiet. Strangely quiet. It seems as If something is wrong. I stand up and walk over to Frank’s bed. He is barely breathing. The monitor starts to beep. Nurses and doctors run in, pushing me away from the bed. Is what I think really happening? Is it this serious?
“Can you please get out of the room?” A nurse says, and pushes me out without waiting for an answer. From where I stand I can see them using electricity to wake him up. He’s… dying. They try again and again. But nothing matters.
“Time of death: 07:45.” Says the doctor and a nurse writes it down. Fuck you Frank, is the only thought I can manage to think before everything darkens, my world swims before my eyes, and I fall.
It’s not guilt that makes me want him to wake up so badly. It’s not my fault, at least I hope it’s not. Still, I miss him so much. It’s so hard to se him like this. They say he doesn’t suffer, but I do. I’m not sure how long I can wait for him to wake up anymore. The doctors say they don’t know, that they don’t know how long Frank will stay in coma. Maybe he never will wake up.
“No, it can’t be true” I roar and begin crying once again. My bloodshot eyes can’t stand more tears. Why did he do this? The fame could make you or break you. We all knew it except for Frank.
Well, you may wonder how Frank ended up in coma. I recall it all starting about one year ago. He was an underpaid 18-year-old boy, working at the local supermarket. He lived all by him self in a little apartment on the outskirts of New York. I believe I was his only friend at that point of his life. We went to school together at the time, and we lived in New Jersey. I worked in a gallery so I earned a bit more money than him. Because of this I bought a house a bit closer the center of N.Y.
One day Frank and I were on our way to the cinema, when we suddenly walked by a poster with big red letters, telling us about the new reality show on TV. They needed volunteers! They needed men between the ages 15 and 18. Frank smiled, and without knowing what it was, he made up his mind and decided to go to the audition.
I met Frank after the audition, and judging by the huge grin on his face he’d done well. He told me about the show: it was a talent show. Frank’s talent was playing the guitar. Who could resist a handsome 18-year-old boy who plays the guitar? He was obsessed, he had to win.
“Whatever it takes,” said Frank, and he meant it.
The show got extremely popular, and even though Frank didn’t win, the media and the girls were all over him. He got invited to the big LA parties, and got a lot of celebrity friends. He was happy, at least it seemed like he was. Once I actually attended one of those parties with Frank. He ran around hyperactively, spoke to everyone, drank a lot of alcohol, and took a lot drugs. The drugs shocked me.
“Frank! What the fuck are you doing? You know that is bad stuff!” I scolded angrily. I really thought he knew better than that.
“Hey, chill out! You have to live while you still can!” Frank laughed.
“But… it can kill you!” I answered.
“You know, I really don’t care”
“How can you be so fucking selfish? Frank, I can’t stand you right now. I have to go.” I shouted, and ran out of the door.
“Fine, I don’t care! You are such a pain in the ass anyways.” Frank screamed angrily at my back.
The following day Frank called and told me just how sorry he was, and I forgave him, making us friends once again. He also promised me to never take drugs anymore, and I believed in him. But, obviously he didn’t keep his promise, because the week after he ended up on the hospital. He had overdosed.
Since I was such a good friend I sat up the whole night, by his side, worrying endlessly about his fate. He woke up the next day, a bit groggy, but still okay. Later that day he left the hospital.
“Thank you so much for being there for me.” He said, almost whispering. I knew he was sorry, and forgave him, because that’s what friends do, right?
The next weeks I took good care of him, and tried to convince him that staying home instead of going to those parties was the only smart thing to do.
“I guess you’re right” He smiled, but deep inside I knew it wasn’t a real smile.
As the weeks passed, he got more and more depressed. I’m not sure why, maybe because I told him not to go to the parties, but I doubt it. Actually, I think he got addicted to the drugs and kept taking them. They messed with his head. One night he called me and told me there was an old woman outside his window. He sounded terrified and I went over to his place to check. When I finally came, he had hidden under his bed. I walked to the window, but there was no old woman there, only a well know stinky smell. Marihuana. I grabbed the packed with the illegal cigarettes and threw them in the toilet. I screamed to Frank:
“You promised me you’d stop! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” Frank cried like a little baby.
“I hope you are! Frank. Seriously! You are not doing this for me, but for yourself!” I screamed, walked out and slammed the door behind me.
The next day the morning, the hospital called me and told me Frank overdosed once again, and he was lucky he still was alive. If the old lady who found him had found him one hour later, he’d be dead now. Again I went to the hospital and found him in the same room he was in last time. It was scary to see him like that. His skin was white like porcelain, and his lips weren’t pink like they used to be, no, they looked more violet. I sat down in the armchair next to his bed and waited for him to wake up, just like last time. One hour went by until a nurse finally entered the room. She told me this was way more serious than last time, and she didn’t think he would wake up for a while. I was in shock. Mixed feelings flew around inside me. Anger. Why didn’t he listen to me? Guilt. I wasn’t really that nice to him last night.
I went home. If I was going to wait for him to wake up, I needed something to read and eat. I knew this could be hard, but at the time I didn’t know how hard.
Well, so now you know why he is lying there, close to lifeless, sleeping. I’m still angry at both of us, and I still feel sorry for both of us. I look down on my book, trying hard to read, squinting. But I can’t, my concentration is vacant, gone. I’m gazing out into the white room. It’s quiet. Scarily quiet. Strangely quiet. It seems as If something is wrong. I stand up and walk over to Frank’s bed. He is barely breathing. The monitor starts to beep. Nurses and doctors run in, pushing me away from the bed. Is what I think really happening? Is it this serious?
“Can you please get out of the room?” A nurse says, and pushes me out without waiting for an answer. From where I stand I can see them using electricity to wake him up. He’s… dying. They try again and again. But nothing matters.
“Time of death: 07:45.” Says the doctor and a nurse writes it down. Fuck you Frank, is the only thought I can manage to think before everything darkens, my world swims before my eyes, and I fall.