Waking the Neighbours, Unfamiliar Faces

Frank Iero was a mute. At the age of fourteen, he’d been persuaded by his mother who was slowly falling below the poverty line to move out of private school and into a state school. He wasn’t happy with him, but as his father had just left them they didn’t have the income to stay in the school. They’d scraped through the final term of 9th grade before he’d been transferred to Belleville high school. He pitied his mother, she’d loved his father so now he had left she found herself drinking away her sorrows on the days when she wasn’t working as a maid for the Urie household which worried Frank but he couldn’t say anything. He could never say anything.

Another consequence of his father’s departure was that Frank and his mother had been forced to move home. They’d moved to a council estate where they’d managed to obtain a four room flat which was littered by mould and stains that oddly remained them of oxidized blood. There was a constant smell that lingered around the flat, sort of like that of a bad cheese or by some strange definitions a good cheese. They’d sold up most of their stuff so Frank owned nothing more than a mattress, eight items of clothing and a pair of all star’s that were so worn that the toes were peeling away from the sole. He’d lost his comb and soap on the journey so was trying to save up any spare change he found to buy the rest of the necessities. The house was fitted out no better, coming with nothing more than a shower room, a gas cooker and a sink. Frank still counted his blessings; he could escape to school most days. His mother was stuck doing laundry for a Mormon couple and their five children.

Where Frank Anthony Iero Junior was a laid back boy, who never spoke and tended to keep out of the way as trouble as well as being one of the most caring people in the area, Linda Pricolo, his mother, was an alcoholic who wouldn’t care sixpence for her son or anyone else. She was crude. Her son was seriously malnourished and ill but she didn’t give him a second glance. He was a failure in her eyes: she didn’t think a mute could ever do anything with his life.

It was Wednesday, the week before he started at the new school when Frank grew bored of being trapped in the council flat. His mother often left him with strict orders not to leave the house while she was working, but when he pushed this morning she’d grunted at him which the boy took as agreement that the air would do him good. Along the road from the grotesque tower of dingy flats lay a park that was overgrown and falling apart. Nearly all the sets were made of rotten wood, but Frank was used to worse so he was quite content rocking from the precarious swing that was indisputably to blame for a dozen or so broken limbs. The gentle lulling motion and stillness in which the park was shrouded within made the Iero boy get a little philosophical about his life.

He knew in his heart he was perfectly happy but he felt like he was letting down his mother in his mute manners. It made him consider why he did not speak, and whether it was worth it overall. After half an hours deliberation, he kicked at the swing and decided within his mind it was definitely a better thing to be mute than vocal. He couldn’t really remember the last time he’d spoken, but the idea struck him with a gut wrenching fear. He couldn’t see much purpose to talking; he didn’t exactly know anyone he would speak to if he could. He didn’t really have much desire to be sociable either so in his mind he was fine as he was. None of us want to change. Frank had already had so many factors of his life turned upon their heads so he didn’t wish to change a defining element of his personality, one of his strongest idiosyncrasies, changed as well. Before his father had left, he’d had it all: he was rich and popular and his mother was the kindest woman in Kerny. Now they were the complete opposite; if you walked past Frank Iero on the street you’d assume he was a teenage runaway. He had that look about him as if he were a drowned rat. His hair was greasy and often snapped half way down, and his limbs looked as if they could snap with a touch just like his hair did.

The young Iero boy was busy playing in the park, too busy in fact to notice he had company and it had begun to drizzle with rain. The company, whom had crept up on him while he was lost in thought, was a boy in the grade below Frank, even if they were of the same age. He had straw coloured hair that was sticking to his face due to the fall showers. The blonde boy, William Beckett Junior, walked over to Frank and shook his shoulder gently. Frank’s head shot up like a startled deer, his eyes dilated and his breath caught in his throat, as he noticed the boy towering over him.

“Eh hey, I’m Bilvy… I’m sorry I surprised you, I didn’t mean to. What’s your name?” The straw haired boy asked. Frank sat a moment, chewing on his right thumb before searching through his pockets. When he couldn’t find his notebook he panicked a little, before wondering what to do. If he didn’t answer he’d seem impolite. Frank sat awhile, watching confusion trace across Bilvy’s features before pointing at himself, then shaking his head then tapping his lips. It was basic, not even vaguely like actual sign language but it seemed basic enough for someone to understand.

“You’re a mute?” Bilvy asked, hesitantly in fear that he’d gotten the wrong message. The raven haired boy sat in front of him gave a single nod to confirm the reluctant statement. The straw haired teen rocked back and forth on the spot, feeling slightly awkward, as he tried to work out what to say to his new acquaintance. William Beckett was a pacifist, so as he stood rocking for a good five minutes he tried to think of something appropriate he could stay without causing a fight or creating a difficult situation.

“Eh there’s a store just down the road, want me to run get you a pen and pad? You seem pretty cool and I don’t really know many people round here… You know, just if you want… I don’t think I’ve seen you in Belleville before you must be lonely…” Bilvy stammered causing Frank to grin and nod his head vigorously. Bilvy pulled four dollars as well as a couple of quarters and dimes. Bilvy excused himself for a moment before jogging down the street to the drug store. Frank was left in the park, rocking back and forth on the rickety swings. He was curious about this Bilvy boy. Why did someone want to know him? No one ever wanted to know the mute kid. Hell, most people didn’t even know anyone who was mute so it was kind of a scarcity meaning people couldn’t really make head or tail of mute kids.

As William Beckett browsed the aisles of the drug store looking at the meaningless array of products that the shelves supported he found himself wondering why this boy in the park was in fact a mute. No one hung out in the old park anymore, which led him to believe the boy was some form of a social outcast, either that or he’d only just moved here. That led William to wonder why the boy was a mute and who he was. It didn’t make sense to William why someone would become a mute, but he guessed they were either ill or had pretty good reasons behind it.

For William growing up had been a pretty simple path: his parents shrouded him from the problems of the world and he never had any truly horrible experiences. As a young boy he played with his sister and got ahead of the class, learning to sing and play a couple of instruments. He was a golden child: thoughtful, intelligent, athletic, popular, creative, family oriented, a great boyfriend, literate and politically aware. He was the child everyone wanted, but as he grew older he rebelled against his ‘golden’ image. He let his hair grow out and he learnt guitar rather than the fanciful piano. He broke free of the catholic ties and came out as bisexual. Deep down, his parents missed their little boy who would play baseball with his father and clean the house with his mother. Yet, they didn’t resent him for who he’d become – they admired him for it. He was living his life where his mother, a pregnant cheerlead dropping out of high school, had not managed. She’d lost her chances, and even if he wasn’t taking the chances that she’d tried to set out for him, well, at least he was taking some opportunities by the neck.

William picked up a plain white notebook with little lines and moved to try to choose a pen. Bilvy was slightly obsessive so it took him a good fifteen minutes to choose a purple biro from the pot provided upon the counter. He spun the biro between his fingers as he walked up to the till. The till rested upon a bright purple table covered in tiny nick nacks that no one in their right mind would buy. Behind the till resided a boy who looked like he was Hispanic. William found himself growing red with embarrassment at his feelings towards the Hispanic boy stood in front of him. The boy had dark hair and olive skin which made Bilvy’s jaw drop. He was snapped out of his dumbfounded state by the Hispanic boy folding his arms and clearing his throat.

“Escuchas aquí mocoso! I have work to do kid so if you actually want to get that pay up and leave my pa’s shop now.” The Hispanic boy ranted, his words coming out in a barely intelligible manner for any normal person. William quickly dropped his items onto the counter, repeating apologies under his breath constantly until the little ring of a bell informed the cashier that the pain of a child had left the family store.

Bilvy jogged up the road until he came back to the little park where the mute boy resided. The boy was rocking back and forth on a swing looking rather irritated by the long wait.

“I’m so sorry, I got held up.” Bilvy excused himself before handing the mute boy the notebook and pen. The silent boy smiled slightly at Bilvy before taking the cap off the pen, resting it on the opposite end of the plastic capsule and starting to write into the notebook that smelt distinctly of Girl Guide cookies.

”Hey, I’m Frank Anthony Iero Junior. It’s cool to meet you too, yes I’m mute but I don’t really like to talk about that sorry.” Read the elegant print upon the page. Bilvy smiled before shaking the hand of his new neighbour. It was awkward, as it is when most teenagers try to communicate with someone which isn’t a fit person way out of their league or their mother who they are pleading to tidy their room for them. It’s true – teenagers are antisocial. Frank Iero is possibly the best case of this, but Bilvy wasn’t a saint in this department either.

“So when are you starting school Frank, next week like the rest of us? What year are you in? Sorry I’m just really curious, I seem obnoxious but yeah…” Bilvy rambled, causing Frank to start scribbling into the notebook. It caused a moment of utter silence between the boys while they waited for Frank to present his notebook for scrutiny.

”Oh, yeah I’m starting next week. I’ll be a somophore but I’m young for it. It’s fine, I’m equally curious, what year are you?” Bilvy cast his eyes over the writing before looking back up at the mute boy.

“What so you’re like, super smart or summit? I’m a freshman so I assume we’re about the same age,” Bilvy murmured before glancing around him “Look it’s getting kind of dark, my mother expects me back by dark so I have to go. I’ll see you in school next week, okay? See you speechless.” Bilvy said with a chuckle, before pushing himself to his feet from the swing and onto his feet. He waved bye to Frank before shoving his frozen hands into his pockets and strolling down the street towards his parent’s house. It was a fairly long walk, so when he finally got home he earned himself a lecture from his mother until he explained to her why he was late, once she understood she hurried him upstairs to bed with nothing more than a tug at the corners of her taught lips.

After Bilvy had left the park, Frank made his way back up the street to the council block. He punched in the four digit key causing a high pitched tone to be sound and a green light to flash. The flimsy aluminium door creaked open to reveal a spiral staircase, which must have once been painted red as it was littered by flecks of ruby paint and the steps were still covered in patches of red. Frank hauled himself up the steps to his flat, which lay on the fifteenth floor. The lift had broken and the local council couldn’t be bothered to fix it, which meant a very long walk for poor Frank and his intolerant mother.

When he got back up the flat, he unlocked the door and stumbled into the dark flat. When he switched on the flickering lights, he noticed his mother passed out on the floor, cradling a bottle of tequila. He turned the light back off before wandering into his room and sleeping on the stained, lumpy, small, flat mattress. He was dreading starting school and the potential of being bullied for being mute.