Jet Black

February, 2002

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll be over in a bit. ”

She could hear the babbling coming from the receiving end of his phone, and he rolled his eyes, the light catching the thin loop through his nose as he turned towards the window of his bedroom.

“Okay, will ya just fuckin’ chill for a second? We’re literally getting in the car as we speak.” She raised her eyebrows as he shrugged at her, grinning while holding a finger to his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. Okay! I’m hanging up now.” He pressed the button on the box, resetting the phone and folding the cord up around the edge so it wouldn’t trail on the ground.

“Touchy little bitch, he is,” Frank huffed, pinching another thin piece of metal between his fingers as he pulled it from a plastic bag. “Help me?” he asked, barely pouting before she had started to cross the room. She had learned from years of friendship that she simply could not say no to Frank, even when it involved her slipping the metal through a tiny hole in his bottom lip.

“You’re the best,” he told her, and she shook her head with a soft smile.

“Believe it, baby,” she responded, picking up his guitar case from his bed and holding it out to him as he bent over to tug on his second shoe. His fingers fumbled with the laces, slipping one through the other and dropping them both. “Are you nervous?” she asked, pulling the case back towards her as she looked down at him. He looked up, pausing his endeavor before returning to his action as he spoke.

“Nervous,” he repeated, tugging the laces again. “Sure.” He was avoiding her eyes, his fingers trembling slightly as the laces slipped again. “Fuck, I’m not nervous,” he spat, pulling tightly, “I’m fuckin’ terrified.”

He managed to get a legitimate knot on his shoe with a shaky sigh, and he fell back onto the floor, putting his head in his hands as he rubbed anxiously at his forehead. She let him sit in silence for a brief moment before she set the guitar down beside her and moved forward, sinking to her knees before him.

“Hey,” she cooed, pulling his hands away from his face. He looked up at her, and she pulled upwards at one of his hands until he got the hint and shifted his weight. “Don’t be nervous,” she told him as he stood, sending him a smile. “You are a brilliant guitar player, Frank. And they asked you. Out of anyone else, they wanted you.”

“They are my fuckin’ favorite band,” he responded, taking the guitar from the floor with his lip between his teeth. “Remember that other kid, the one with the fro? He’s a fuckin’ monster.”

"Frank."

"And they've been having rehearsals for months, you know?" he babbled. "God, I feel like such a fucking noob and shit."

"Frank."

He was waving his hands around, for something to do, she expected, and he sighed. “What if they change their minds? What if I’m not good enough?”

“Frank!”

She had taken him by the shoulders, forcing him to look at her straight on. He pursed his lips, ceasing his words long enough for her to speak.

“You are good enough,” she said, “and fuck me if you aren’t better than everyone else who wants to be in this band. This spot was made for you, sugar, you just gotta show them.” He gave her a half smile, and she could sense that it something deeper than just proving himself. She pursed her lips.

“What’s really bothering you?”

He didn’t respond immediately. She knew she had hit the nail on the head with his conflicting emotions, and he inhaled sharply before he spoke.

“I don’t want us to grow apart,” he said, chewing on his lip ring. It was a tiny habit he had developed when he was uncomfortable. “They’re the real deal,” he said, “They may not know what the fuck they’re doing, but they know what they want and I have a feeling they’re gonna get it.”

“So?”

“So what if they…I dunno, tour and whatever, and I’m just never here anymore?” His eyes had dared to find hers, and she had to repress a smile. It shone through, just enough, and she ran her hands over his neckline, fixing the collar of his polo and patting it down.

“We will meet that obstacle as it comes,” she told him gently, slowly beginning to guide him towards the door. “We’re best friends, Frank, and you want this. I want this for you, baby, and I know you can do it.” They were standing in the doorway, and she smiled at him. “You’re always looking out for me, and I appreciate it,” she said, “but now it’s my turn. And I want you to go for this, because I’m sure as hell that you can do it better than anyone.”

His eyes, honey brown, today, and shining with worry, darted around her face, looking for any trace that she didn’t believe in her words. But what she said was spoken as truth, as his gaze dropped to her hands, where he reached out to hold one. She clasped his fingers gently, and he looked up.

“Come with me.”

“What?”

“Come with me,” he said again, a slight pleading note noticeable as his eyes silently begged. “Please.” She considered him, a small smile playing across her lips as one spread across his own.

“Of course,” she answered slowly, “but on one condition.” He squinted, his smile twisting as he observed her with mock suspicion.

“Which is?”

“Movie night tonight, “ she requested, “with pizza.” He grinned, grabbing her hand firmly and shaking it stiffly.

“Deal.”