Absolution
Prologue
Death is something that no one really likes, but it is something we all face and accept. There isn’t really a way to fight it, is there? Sure, you may last a week long battle but the fact is, eventually you are going to die.
I had never lost anyone close to me, surprisingly. That would be the case, though, because I didn’t talk to many people even at the age of 21. Of course there was my brother Mikey, but he’s seventeen. He isn’t young, but at the same time he wasn’t as old as me and there are certain things you don’t discuss with your little brother, no matter how trustworthy he is. The only other person I consider myself close to was Frank.
I didn’t know why I put Frank Iero into the category of people I’m closest to so early on in our friendship. We weren’t even that close before the death occurred, but I think I always knew we would one day grow much closer than simple talks about music in an art classroom surrounded by paint fumes and the sounds of Mozart playing throughout the room. He was only sixteen years old, but he was obviously much more mature than anyone else his age because he was already in college. He was short—about 5’4—with black hair and the brightest green eyes I had ever seen. To this day, he is exactly the same height and he often times changes his hair twice a month so I couldn’t begin to tell you about that. He always wore blue jeans, dark shirts, Chuck Taylors, and he always carried the same messenger bag covered with buttons, all of which he got at actual concerts. Misfits, Pixies, Black Flag, I could go on, but it would take way too long.
At first we didn’t talk much. I felt bad talking to him; I didn’t want my lameness or social ignorance to rub off on him. There was this innocence to him. He fit in with the kids, but he wasn’t like me. He didn’t do drugs, or drink; he smoked though and that was it. He doesn’t even smoke anymore now, he broke that habit ages ago. I didn’t think he’d had sex either. He’d never mentioned a girlfriend before. Those are things I did all of the time. Drinking, drugs, sex. I’m not proud of it, but it made me feel better about myself in a weird and fucked up way back then.
One of the things that drew me to Frankie in the beginning was the fact that he was an artist. He wrote, played the drums and guitar, he was even in a band called Pencey Prep. I’d seen him play a few typed before we’d even had classes together at school. I didn’t even know he was only sixteen at the time.
There was an energy surrounding him, and there still is. Everyone feels happy around him. I think it’s his giggle. When he giggles, it’s like a little child. Usually little kids annoy the fuck out of me, but not in this case. He giggles all of the time, and he did especially in our Art 2 class. I have a feeling I could listen to him giggle for hours and never get annoyed. I’ve done it for four years now, and haven’t gotten tired of it yet.
He can’t draw. He can’t sculpt, and anything he makes in pottery explodes. He loved that class though, and I can’t see why to this day. When I can’t do something, it depresses me. He just laughs at his failed attempt and goes on to the next project, which we by then knew he would probably fail as well. We sat alone in the front, laughing the whole period about entirely random shit that would only amuse us. Sometimes I think he would have done better in the class if he had concentrated on his projects rather than make jokes and laugh at mine, but whenever I mentioned this he just snorted and said life wasn’t about getting A’s and making perfect projects.
He is an amazing painter. He can mix these amazing colors that anyone normal wouldn’t mix, and they turn out beautiful. They’re kind of like him, I noticed in that class. He’s got all of these amazing traits and features that would normally clash, but they make him beautiful. They did especially at such a young age. He throws shit together and he’s honestly just… amazing.
We weren’t too close. He was the closest I had to a friend, but I was sure he didn’t feel the same way. We didn’t hang out after school, and we hadn’t even exchanged numbers. I didn’t know much about his home life; just that his dad and grandfather were really into music and that he hoped his band would make it big someday, so he could get out of New Jersey and make something of himself.
It was October, only two months after I’d met him. He was in three of my five college classes, so it would have been hard to not notice he was missing. At first I was a little worried, but by his fifth absent day I wasn’t even able to sleep at night. I knew we weren’t best friends, but he was still my closest thing to friendship and I was worried.
It didn’t take long for the idea to hit me, surprisingly, after the fifth day. At the beginning of the year, everyone had been given student directories. They were fully equipped with a person’s picture, name, address, and phone number.
Finding his name and going to his house that night changed my entire world. After that one visit, my life began to revolve around Frankie. I’d arrived at his huge house with his multi-thousand dollar cars and found him in the side yard crying. His grandfather had died, but what was most chilling was the fact that he was outside alone and crying and no one had even come to sit with him. I could hear faint chattering from in the house and he’d almost begged me to get him the hell out of there.
I did, and a side of him I had never seen was revealed. A side that told me he hated his family and their ways. I had never known he was rich, had never known that his family was basically scum enough to put the entire sane world to shame.
As sick as it may seem to say, I often find myself glad that Frank’s grandfather died and he’d needed someone that night. If he hadn’t, we probably never would have become as close as we are now. He’s turned into my entire life now, and I don’t know where I would be without him there by me every single day. I probably wouldn’t still be here.
I had never lost anyone close to me, surprisingly. That would be the case, though, because I didn’t talk to many people even at the age of 21. Of course there was my brother Mikey, but he’s seventeen. He isn’t young, but at the same time he wasn’t as old as me and there are certain things you don’t discuss with your little brother, no matter how trustworthy he is. The only other person I consider myself close to was Frank.
I didn’t know why I put Frank Iero into the category of people I’m closest to so early on in our friendship. We weren’t even that close before the death occurred, but I think I always knew we would one day grow much closer than simple talks about music in an art classroom surrounded by paint fumes and the sounds of Mozart playing throughout the room. He was only sixteen years old, but he was obviously much more mature than anyone else his age because he was already in college. He was short—about 5’4—with black hair and the brightest green eyes I had ever seen. To this day, he is exactly the same height and he often times changes his hair twice a month so I couldn’t begin to tell you about that. He always wore blue jeans, dark shirts, Chuck Taylors, and he always carried the same messenger bag covered with buttons, all of which he got at actual concerts. Misfits, Pixies, Black Flag, I could go on, but it would take way too long.
At first we didn’t talk much. I felt bad talking to him; I didn’t want my lameness or social ignorance to rub off on him. There was this innocence to him. He fit in with the kids, but he wasn’t like me. He didn’t do drugs, or drink; he smoked though and that was it. He doesn’t even smoke anymore now, he broke that habit ages ago. I didn’t think he’d had sex either. He’d never mentioned a girlfriend before. Those are things I did all of the time. Drinking, drugs, sex. I’m not proud of it, but it made me feel better about myself in a weird and fucked up way back then.
One of the things that drew me to Frankie in the beginning was the fact that he was an artist. He wrote, played the drums and guitar, he was even in a band called Pencey Prep. I’d seen him play a few typed before we’d even had classes together at school. I didn’t even know he was only sixteen at the time.
There was an energy surrounding him, and there still is. Everyone feels happy around him. I think it’s his giggle. When he giggles, it’s like a little child. Usually little kids annoy the fuck out of me, but not in this case. He giggles all of the time, and he did especially in our Art 2 class. I have a feeling I could listen to him giggle for hours and never get annoyed. I’ve done it for four years now, and haven’t gotten tired of it yet.
He can’t draw. He can’t sculpt, and anything he makes in pottery explodes. He loved that class though, and I can’t see why to this day. When I can’t do something, it depresses me. He just laughs at his failed attempt and goes on to the next project, which we by then knew he would probably fail as well. We sat alone in the front, laughing the whole period about entirely random shit that would only amuse us. Sometimes I think he would have done better in the class if he had concentrated on his projects rather than make jokes and laugh at mine, but whenever I mentioned this he just snorted and said life wasn’t about getting A’s and making perfect projects.
He is an amazing painter. He can mix these amazing colors that anyone normal wouldn’t mix, and they turn out beautiful. They’re kind of like him, I noticed in that class. He’s got all of these amazing traits and features that would normally clash, but they make him beautiful. They did especially at such a young age. He throws shit together and he’s honestly just… amazing.
We weren’t too close. He was the closest I had to a friend, but I was sure he didn’t feel the same way. We didn’t hang out after school, and we hadn’t even exchanged numbers. I didn’t know much about his home life; just that his dad and grandfather were really into music and that he hoped his band would make it big someday, so he could get out of New Jersey and make something of himself.
It was October, only two months after I’d met him. He was in three of my five college classes, so it would have been hard to not notice he was missing. At first I was a little worried, but by his fifth absent day I wasn’t even able to sleep at night. I knew we weren’t best friends, but he was still my closest thing to friendship and I was worried.
It didn’t take long for the idea to hit me, surprisingly, after the fifth day. At the beginning of the year, everyone had been given student directories. They were fully equipped with a person’s picture, name, address, and phone number.
Finding his name and going to his house that night changed my entire world. After that one visit, my life began to revolve around Frankie. I’d arrived at his huge house with his multi-thousand dollar cars and found him in the side yard crying. His grandfather had died, but what was most chilling was the fact that he was outside alone and crying and no one had even come to sit with him. I could hear faint chattering from in the house and he’d almost begged me to get him the hell out of there.
I did, and a side of him I had never seen was revealed. A side that told me he hated his family and their ways. I had never known he was rich, had never known that his family was basically scum enough to put the entire sane world to shame.
As sick as it may seem to say, I often find myself glad that Frank’s grandfather died and he’d needed someone that night. If he hadn’t, we probably never would have become as close as we are now. He’s turned into my entire life now, and I don’t know where I would be without him there by me every single day. I probably wouldn’t still be here.
♠ ♠ ♠
This is simply the prologue. Somewhat an overview of what is coming. Gerard is thinking back on his friendship with Frank.