Oh Baby Let Me In

December 22nd, 1999
Monday;morning

I let out a breath, it sounding somewhere in between confused and upset, and ran my fingers through my hair.

Or what was left of it.

Somehow my Mother had convinced me to get out of bed before noon, which is a stretch for both of us, and got me to meet her down at The Shop.

The Shop was where she worked as a hairdresser. She and three of her friends opened it up years ago, and since then has become one of the biggest haircut joints in our dinky town.

She had said something about buying me more art supplies if I got up and met up with her there. I was barely awake when she began explaining her plans for the day, but my selective hearing came into play, and that's all I really heard her say.

I could smell coffee lingering down the stairs, which by this time, I really needed, and once I had been woken up, I could never fall back to sleep.

I had somehow, half-asleep, gotten ready and drove my way to her Shop within the hour, successfully without spilling my coffee all over myself.

A new record for me, actually.

But when I saw my Mom eagerly standing next to one of those spinny chairs set up in front on those big tall mirrors and all the supplies, I finally totally woke up as she lifted up her arm, a pair of scissors in hand.

It had also only been 10:23 in the fucking morning, which didn't help my mood one bit. Nobody else was in the Shop, which gave me the hint that it was too early to be there.

So now, at 11:09, still the fucking morning, I sat in that same chair, trying not to scream at the woman standing behind me. I love her dearly, and she knows this. But I also loved my hair dearly, and she knew that.

She and Mikey had been telling me for the last year to get it cut, Mom especially because that is her job and all, but I always refused. It had finally gotten just past my shoulders, and I actually liked it that long.

Now it sat just below my ears, whatever fruity gel my Mom had lying around mixed in it, causing the ends to stick away from my face. I squinted my eyes at the reflection, slipping just a bit further down in my seat as I turned my head from side to side; inspecting.

I whined, closing my eyes as I did so.

I got slapped on the top of my head. "Grow up will you," my Mom laughed, unbuttoning the capelike thing from around my neck, shaking the hair that still stuck to it to the ground. "It looks lovely, right girls?"

The three other women who were spread around the Shop, sweeping or cleaning at the moment, reacted to her call in different ways.

"Of course, Dear!"

"Yes! It's adorable, Sweetheart!"

"If I was twenty years younger, I'd tap that."

I burst out laughing, spinning in my seat towards the back of the shop. Ruth, one of my families closest friends sat in a chair directly next to the rinsing sinks, a gossip magazine blocking her face from my view.

She was a few years older than my Mom, making her well into her fifties, but she still acted and talked like she was my age. One of the best old people I know, hands down.

"Ruth, please stop hitting on my son," my Mom sighed, smiling as she began sweeping up my hair from the ground. My precious hair.

"I am so sorry. Truthfully, I am. I just can't keep my eyes off of him though, Donna," Ruth sighed dreamily, dropping her magazine into her lap and lulling her head to the side, eyes on me.

Other people may find this a bit weird, but it wasn't anything out of the ordinary for me. It actually happened a lot.

So I gave her a small wave and smile in return before batting my eyelashes and turning back to the mirror in front of me.

I sighed once again at the sight. I didn't really know what to think about the sudden change yet, the change not only being the length, but the fact that you could actually see my face. It usually hid behind my big grease mess, but now it was actually clean and out of my face.

A change, which I think I may like in the future.

My palms poked the side of my head, the hair that stuck out amusing me at the moment.

"Gerard," my chair spun at the mention of my name, my body flying the opposite way the chair was going, before stopping abruptly. I groaned as my Mom began using one of those duster things to get the access hair off of my neck, which tickled like mad.

"Ma, quit. Stop it," I ordered, or at least tried, to. The fact that my voice shot up three octaves at the end didn't help.

"My oh my. You complain more than your brother does. Which reminds me," she finished with her torture, setting the duster thing down on her table, beginning to empty her apron pockets out that contained all of her supplies, as she continued talking. "You need to go pick up him and Frank up at the mall. They're doing a bit of last minute Christmas shopping. I'm here until seven tonight, so you'll have to entertain them until then."

I stood from my seat, taking one last look in the mirror, before grabbing my jacket from the chair next to the one I was just occupying, and slipping it on. "Why the hell are they at the mall this early? Do they ever sleep? And what? Are they three or something? Why do they have to be entertained all the time?"

I watched my Mom close her eyes at my continuous childlike behavior, whining like I always do.

She pointed to the front door, shaking her head. "Just go."

I laughed, before rolling my eyes and nodding. I gave her a hug, saying goodbye to the girls working in the shop, earning a wolf whistle from Ruth on the way out the door.

++

Mikey's shrill scream filled the small confines of my car as he threw himself in.

I let my head fall to the side lazily, a clear sign of annoyance plastered on my face. I watched as he laughed to himself in the passengers seat, slapping his knee like there was no tomorrow. "You finally cut off that mop, huh? How’d she talk you into that one?”

“Bribery,” I growled, reaching behind me and buckling myself back in.

“Art supplies?” He began laughing when I nodded. “She used my idea! Oh yeah!”

"You're fucking annoying," I grunted, turning the key that was still sitting in the ignition. Putting the car into reverse, I turned in my seat, my arm going behind the passenger's seat like always, my eyes finally setting on the boy in the backseat. I let out a small smile, lifting the fingers on my hand behind the headrest of Mikey's seat in some sort of wave. "Hey, Frank."

He looked up and shot me back a small smile before dropping his eyes back to his fingers that were currently sitting in his lap, along with a small plastic bag.

Finally the car had backed out of the space I had been sitting in for twenty minutes, and I quickly made my way through the packed lot. Mom had told the two to be ready to get picked up at noon, but being Mikey Way, he was always late. So I ended up sitting in the lot for an extra fifteen minutes than I should have.

"You guys are late," I mumbled, silently cursing at my broken radio as I turned out of the lot and stopped at the red light a ways down the street.

"For once, Gerard, it was not my fault," Mikey piped up, squirming around in his seat under the restraints of his seat belt. He quickly stuck his head between both of our seats, just above the middle console, and let out a laugh. "It was Frank's fault."

I let out a small laugh, talking a look at the mirror right outside my door, before merging onto the highway, leading back towards home. "I'm sure. Coming from you Mikes, I totally believe it."

Mikey scoffed, turning back around in his seat to face me. "Whatever. He took forever in the music store, picking out a new guitar strap," he rambled off, unable to sit still for more than a few seconds.

He had coffee this morning; a lot of it.

"Wait," I spoke, pausing to switch lanes on the road, before continuing. "Christmas is in what, three days, and you're buying yourself stuff?" I looked up to find Frank's reflection in my rear view mirror, watching him turn red and shrug his small shoulders, still staring at his lap.

Aww.

"Isn't there some sort of rule against that or something?"

"Apparently only for you Gee," Mikey laughed, turning around in his seat once again and began speaking to Frank. "Mom always bitched at him, cause every year he'd go out to pick up presents for others, but then he'd end up buying shit for himself. The stuff he got ended up being the same stuff she had bought for him, so now she basically told him he's not allowed to buy anything for himself before Christmas ever again."

I rolled my eyes at Mikey's long, and exaggerated story. Sure it's true -- but whatever.

"No, but Gee," Mikey stopped to turn back around, again, and put on a high pitched, annoying voice, curling his lip up as he spoke. "Frankie dear here already got his Christmas present from his Mommy deares -- ouch, fucker!" Mikey cried, before he reached over the side of his seat in attempts to hit the boy who had just kicked the back of his chair.

"Hey hey. Quit it children," I stated, trying on the 'authority' figure voice that I've had to hear from my parents thousands of times before.

"Whatever. We have to stop off at Frank's before we go home. He's giving me his old strap, and I want to see his new puppy!" Mikey squealed, quickly beginning to ramble off directions to Frank's house as I got off the highway on our exit.

Turning on some very familiar streets, I noticed that Frank didn't live far from our house at all. When I was told to do so, I stopped and parked in front of a small home, a large, over-sized tree, covered in snow, was placed almost smack-dab in the middle of the lawn, directly next to a small walking path that lead right up to the homes bright yellow front door. The trim of the entire one story home was that same bright, sun like yellow, and as I opened up my door and pushed myself out of the car, I became curious to know why that bright color was necessary.

I shook my head, locking the car and followed the two boys up the small, winding, snow covered path. Stepping up the four stairs to the front door, I entered quickly to escape the freezing cold that seemed to sneak into my warm coat, sending a shiver down my spine, before running my eyes over the bright door, which up close, really began to hurt my eyes as I shut it behind me.

"Frank, dear? Is that you?" A voice called from somewhere in the house.

I watched Mikey take off his shoes and coat before doing so myself. I guess we would be staying for a while.

"Yeah, Linda. It's us," Mikey called back, motioning for me to follow behind him, Frank leading the way, still clutching his plastic bag.

Walking down the hall, I couldn't help but notice how – boring -- everything was. The walls were a pure white, almost as blinding at the yellow on the front door. Upon entering what looked like the living room, though, my eyes widened just that much further. I didn't even want to walk through it, afraid that the ends of my jeans, which happened to get wet while walking outside, would stain the perfect white carpet. The light brown sofa sat against the far wall, pillows set up in a perfect line across its cushions. A small table lay just in front of that. And that was it. The walls white, nothing hanging on them and no television.

I snapped out of whatever trance I had fallen into, noticing that the other two had left the room. I scurried in the direction we had been heading, finding myself entering the cleanest kitchen I had ever set eyes on. The counters were almost shining as I stepped foot into the room. I looked down at my clothes, grimacing at how dirty they actually looked compared to where I was. I felt so out of place.

"And who might you be?"

My head snapped up, my eyes meeting the sight of a short, older woman, dressed in a bright yellow apron, grinning like mad up at me. The lady must just love the color. I smiled back, jamming my hands into my jeans pockets, something I always did when I was nervous. "Gerard. I'm Mikey's brother."

She put a finger to her lips, nodding her head. "You two do look a bit alike. Well, I'm Linda, Frank's Mother. It's a great pleasure to meet you!" She smiled once more, reaching forward and embracing me in a hug. My hands flew from inside of my pockets to hug back, but before I could even wrap my arms back around her, she slipped away from me. I smiled awkwardly, tucking my hands back into my pockets, before searching the room for Mikey.

"Dear, the boys went right through that door, and down the hall. Frank's room is the last door on the left," she smiled up at me, blowing a strand of hair that fell from her high ponytail, before turning back to flipping through the cookbook I had interrupted her from reading beforehand.

I nodded quickly, shuffling my feet towards the other side of the kitchen and through the doorway that lead me into the hall that I had just walked through not moments ago. Following her directions, I carefully knocked on the last door on the left, before turning the knob and entering.

So, as expected, Frank's bedroom wasn't any less clean then the rest of his house. It had more things in it though, but still. Who in their right mind would be able to keep everything this clean.

Apparently not me.

A loud 'yipping' filled my ears, followed by my brother's laugh.

"Gee, look!"

I averted my eyes from the plain, blinding white walls to Mikey, who sat on the perfectly made bed of his best friend, clutching the most adorable puppy I've ever seen.

I smiled, sticking my bottom lip out as I 'Awwed', closing the door behind me, something I had forgotten to do when I entered before.

The puppy looked no older than a few months, and by the way it was squirming around, its tongue hanging out of its mouth, and the whimpering and whining coming from its mouth, it had to be around that age.

Mikey looked like he was having difficulty holding the dog in his lap, and the animal didn't look like he, or she, even wanted to be there in the first place.

I swatted Mikey's hands away, quickly scooping the small golden retriever up into my own arms, staying standing in fear of messing up the perfectly made bed next to me.

"How adorable," I cooed, letting out a small squeak as its tongue came into contact with my lips.

Okay, it was adorable. It's gone a bit too far.

I shook my head, craning my neck to escape the slobber. "Frankie, what's the puppy's name?"

I quickly froze, regretting saying that.

I knew he couldn't answer me.

After reading about Frank's -- disorder -- on Ray's computer, I think I actually learned a lot from the site.

Children (and adults) with the disorder are fully capable of speech and understanding language, but can fail to speak in certain social situations when it is expected of them. It ranges in presentation from a reluctance to speak in certain situations to physical and social ‘frozen’ unresponsiveness.

It is like an extreme form of shyness, but the intensity and duration distinguish it.

Frank is probably one of the shyest people I've ever met, and reading about the description on the website, everything I read describes him almost to a point.

A difficulty in maintaining eye contact.

He's constantly staring at his hands, and rarely looks at me in the face.

A reluctance to smile and a tendency to have a blank facial expressions.

I think that's how he answers people, by smiling, and afterwords, doesn't know what to do next.

Clinging behavior.

I actually haven't seen that from him much, aside from Mikey. Which I would believe it would be something Frank would do, because he happened to be one of the only people he talked to.

Compulsive traits, even Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.

I stopped and began to think. I suppose that links to how clean his entire house is. And upon noticing how clean this house is, I've noticed my own house beginning to clear up a bit. Perhaps that also linked back to Frank too. He was over there almost everyday.

The dog's 'yipping' broke me from my thoughts, my head jerking down to the person standing next to me. Frank was avoiding eye contact, like usual, and was gripping onto the dog's collar. I used the hand that wasn't holding the dog up, taking the small metal dog bone charm that hung off the collar into my own hands, squinting down to read the small letters.

Princess

"Aww!" I cooed for the second time, gripping the dog under its two front legs, lifting the small creature up so our noses were touching. "How cute!"

The puppy began licking my nose with over-excitement, her, I'm guessing from the name, body wriggling around and almost falling from my grip. Mikey snorted. "You sound so gay, Gerard."

I pulled Princess away from my face, tucking her securely under my arm, before raising my eyebrows down at my brother. "And?"

He just rolled his eyes, letting them fall on Frank's form across the room. I followed not soon after, setting the puppy down as I did so. I watched her trot over to Frank, who was sitting at his clean desk, playing around with the strap on his guitar.

I had tried to learn the guitar once upon a time, and my acoustic guitar wasn't half as fancy as his. I was shit at playing it, and also with naming guitar brands, but from what I could see, it looked pretty fucking expensive, and looked like he took good care of it. And just like every other thing in this house; it was white.

The puppy began jumping up on his leg, trying to draw his attention away from his guitar and onto her. It worked, Frank smiling down at the small animal before setting his guitar back into its open case, shutting it before reaching down and scooping her up into his arms.

I was suddenly curious how he was going to handle keeping the dog from making a mess in his clean home, because everyone knew that the main things puppies do is make a mess of absolutely everything. I was curious if he actually had OCD, or if it was just his Mother's crazy habits or something. But after a few good scratches behind both ears, he set Princess down and began tidying up his already clean room. That seemed to answer my question.

I shot a glance down at Mikey, who was now entertaining himself with the guitar strap that Frank had thrown at him. Mikey was trying to learn bass, and had gotten himself one before I left for college, but I was still to hear him actually play something.

Quickly getting annoyed with the tick-tick ticking of the puppy's claws on the hardwood floors, Mikey's quiet humming, and Frank's constant cleaning, I spoke up.

"Hey Frank? How about we start those art lessons, eh?"